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The first step steals the breath from her lungs. The atmosphere hangs thick and still, amplifying the sense of confinement. Her breathing becomes a conscious effort. The tightness in her chest eases with every deliberate intake of air. She spins, taking in her surroundings. Dark clouds gather in every direction, with green lightning striking sporadically above them. The Fade truly is a wretched place. If she hadn't agreed to accompany him, he would be alone here for eternity. Her heart reacts to the thought with a sharp sting. He has walked alone for far too long.
A gentle touch to her shoulder pulls her back to the present. "Vhenan?" It's a voice etched with sorrow. Solas peers at her with his grief-stricken eyes, still damp with tears. He has sacrificed much for the war he waged in Mythal's name. She saw his inner turmoil as he was released from his duty, like a soldier stripped of a cause. He is clinging to his side again. "We should not linger if we are to find some place to rest."
The implication is understood. His fight with the dragon is catching up to him quickly. She had glimpsed the Dread Wolf latched onto the Archdemon's throat. When she stopped to watch, Dorian had to pull her to safety. He looked fearless up there; equally beautiful and terrifying. Soon after came his howls of pain that echoed through the streets. They cut through her heart like daggers. She thought she might have lost him for the last time. Lavellan takes his hand and wraps it around her shoulders. It's still slick with blood from where he sliced it. She holds tightly with her right hand, unable to grasp with her prosthetic. "Let's go."
They continue walking. Each minute is painfully slow. The only sounds are their footsteps, the occasional crack of a stone breaking off, and Solas' labored breathing. He wipes away the sweat and blood trickling down his face. He leans heavily into her. Her grip is firm, but their steps are clumsy. She thinks she hears him apologize, but he keeps his gaze averted, his head hanging low. They arrive at a collapsed ruin. Did he create this? "We can stop here for the time being," he says eagerly. They stumble through the crumbled archway, and a bed begins to materialize. She helps him to sit, and he begins to catch his breath.
They haven't spoken much since their brief reunion. There are questions demanding to be asked. I chose to follow you here, but did you want me to? What exactly did Mythal compel you to do? Lavellan swallows hard and pushes the thoughts from her mind. She takes in his slumped form. "Solas, you're bleeding... well, everywhere." She kneels in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Are you able to heal yourself?" Her voice is soft, almost pleading.
"Ir abelas. I cannot. The energy required to take on the wolf form has"—a pained hitch of breath interrupts him—"drained me. To concentrate on a spell would be impossible in this condition." Noticing the worried expression on her face, he adds, "I will be fine." He attempts a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Not yet.
"Then I'll try it this way." She closes her eyes and begins to concentrate. How does one begin to create in the fade? Is it through will alone? Focus. Think: medical supplies. She opens her eyes to find Solas looking at her quizzically. Behind her, a table now holds a needle, but no thread. On the floor is an empty bucket. Is this her doing, or was that already there? It seems this will require more practice.
The sound of water draws their attention to outside. She had preferred the water to be inside the bucket. Grabbing the bucket, she strides out but quickly stops short. Around her is a valley of lush grassland. Two giant hart statues sit parallel to one another. A beautiful waterfall flows into a small body of water. It's just as she remembered. Crestwood. A painful memory begins to resurface. With a gesture, he had removed her vallaslin. In that moment, he looked at her as if she were the only thing that mattered. Then he pulled away. She had thought he left because of her. "Ir abelas, Vhenan. This was not your doing," Solas says quietly from behind her.
She clears her throat before speaking, "I'll gather some water. You should try to take off what you can." Lavellan strolls on without looking back. If he sees the hurt in her eyes, it would only cause him more pain. That wouldn't help either of them at the moment. Still, she can't help but wonder if his regret was leaving her or falling in love.
She arrives back at their makeshift home to find Solas slowly removing pieces of armor. His gauntlets lay on the ground beside him, and the metal plating has also been discarded. He's struggling with the last of the layers. "Here, allow me." He bows his head, and with some effort, the bulk of the robe releases. Underneath, he wears a light linen tunic and trousers. Blood has soaked through in numerous areas, most obviously being at the side he clutches. Without his grand elvhen armor, he looks more like himself.
"I won't be able to stitch, but I can at least clean the wounds." Without any rags, she rips part of her sleeve off, dipping it into the water. She takes a seat on the bed beside him and starts washing his face. The ichor is thick but comes off surprisingly easy. She tilts his chin up to get a better look at his eye. The cut is deep and will most likely scar. Another dip into the water, and she's back to it, carefully dabbing the gash. She stops only when she finds him staring. "What is it?"
"You are as beautiful as the day we met." His face has softened. His thoughts seem far away. Lavellan smiles at that. "Sweet talker," she teases. His eyes settle on her lips before his body stiffens. In an instant, the weight returns to his features. He lets out a sigh. "I have words... important things I must say."
"As do I, but we have been through enough for today. We have all the time in the world here, right? Let us be at peace tonight." He considers her words for a moment before nodding and allowing her to continue. She gestures for him to lie down. His brain and body work as separate units; his tired limbs react slowly to his commands. Carefully, she rolls up his tunic, revealing several dark bruises across his torso. A gasp escapes her. A long, jagged claw mark—or perhaps from a tooth—starts at his ribcage and wraps around to his lower back. "Oh, Solas..." she says, barely a whisper. He must be in so much pain. He places his hand over hers. "Do not be troubled, Vhenan. I will heal," he reassures her. "Also... I would like to thank you. None of this was necessary, but it is appreciated."
"It is necessary to me," she says earnestly. Dunking the cloth back into the water, she starts at his ribcage. The sudden pressure causes him to wince. She'll need to be extra gentle with this one. Each dab on the wound is followed by a dip into the bucket. If the cloth stays moist, it might hurt less. It must be working because he hasn't moved much. The water has turned a deep red; it will need to be replaced before she can do his back. She opens her mouth to say something but stops herself. His eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls in an even rhythm, slow and steady. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. How is this man the feared Dread Wolf from the tales of her people? He's not some villain, only a man who has been broken too many times. What stories will the Dalish tell of him now?
Lavellan grabs the blanket and pulls it up to his neck. She watches him for a time, afraid he might disappear just as he's done in countless dreams. To join him now would surely wake him. Instead, she leans down and kisses his forehead. "Sleep well," she whispers, leaving a caress on his cheek. Her own exhaustion sets in. The day had been filled with a range of emotions. She sits on the floor against the bed and tilts her head back. Images from earlier replay in her thoughts. A flash of resolve in those violet eyes. The blue lyrium dagger and a bloody palm. He willingly bound himself to the Veil in order to protect the world. After all this time, she was still able to reach him.
Just as she closes her eyes, there's movement on the mattress. "Vhenan?" Solas' voice is panicked. He has thrown the blanket off, and the usual furrow has returned to his brow. "I'm here, Solas," his shoulders relax as she stands, "I didn't want to disturb your rest." He shifts his body, making more room, and pulls her in. "You are truly here; I thought it a cruel dream. A punishment I deserve, no less. Still, to live without you would—" The kiss is unexpected, almost desperate. His arm wraps around her waist, beckoning her closer. A hand cups the side of her face, his fingers curl around her neck. He draws back to meet her eyes. Her lips are still parted, and he brushes stray hairs out of her face. "If there ever was any doubt before, I confess to you now that my feelings for you have not changed." A moment of hesitation before adding, "Ar lath ma." She smiles for what feels like the first time in years. Something stirs from deep within her; a piece of a broken heart beginning to be made whole. Even beaten and bruised, he looks at her with unwavering affection. "If you truly willed it, I would be yours." After all this time, it seems he still doesn't understand that despite all he has done, she would always choose him. She leans in, kissing him softly, "Var lath vir suledin bellanaris."
"So it seems." His amusement at her past words tugs at the corners of his mouth. His warm hand caresses her cheek, and he lowers his forehead to hers. It's a moment of intimacy, with fractured walls crumbling. A strained bond never severed. They lie down with her head resting on his chest, and he wraps her up in his arms. His fingers trail up and down her back. Each breath comes slower as his heartbeat lulls her to sleep.
For the first time since he left, their dreams will remain unhaunted.