Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Elgar'nan has always been what I most feared becoming. Callous and uncaring, his arrogance unchecked.” The click of Solas’s tongue against the back of his mouth before the final voiced consonant practically echoes throughout the silence of the Fade Prison. “To have that much power and no one to remind him that he could be wrong…” The tiniest tremor from the reverberation confirms the hatred Solas bears for the false Allfather, vibrating down his taut frame to the minute shuffle of his feet over the dusty concrete. Shoulders draped in elven armor and leather roll, ever drawn behind his back from the clasping of his hands hidden in their usual spot. 

Rook has gotten used to spotting Solas’s smaller tells. The tiniest shift of his feet. The small oscillation of his shoulders. It wasn’t like there was much else to look at in the dreary, gray prison Solas and her shared their meditative, verbal jousting. Anything could be a trick, but anything could also be a lead. And truthfully, Solas was the best-looking… thing… to stare at in the prison, object or person. 

“Well, he had you,” Rook states, like she is stating that elves have pointed ears. Or that Minrathous smells awful. 

Or that Solas’s eyes are vibrantly purple; the color of pure amethyst glittering at the bottom of a clear river rushing over the precious stones. Gemstone eyes that for a second now bore directly into Rook’s with an emotion Rook didn’t recognize in the cut jewels. His face was too sharp, cheekbones and jawline cut and defined like Solas was cut from stone and lyrium rather than a former spirit. Too rigid on the surface to have anything close to what she was seeing in his eyes, which disappeared with a blink of his long lashes. It was too soft, too familiar, and too close. 

Except for his laugh. A chuckle. Chuckles, Varric calls him. Thoughtful, amused in such a way that is bordering on fond if it wasn’t from Solas, Rook thinks. Recognition drifting like seafoam atop the words that fall from his lips as the world seems to shift with them. 

“And I suppose I had you.” Solas’s eyes drift away again. Not fully, they are still on Rook, but just enough away to not connect with hers. He can’t look her in the eye. The trick - look at the lash line, the brow bone, anything to make it appear like one is staring into their eyes. But Solas can’t look her in the eye right now. Not when she speaks like that. So matter of factly, like she has the answers to all his problems when he knows she cannot. No one does, not anymo-

“Had me?” Rook’s words cut through his train of thought, startling Solas from his mental steps to distance himself once more. 

“A figure of speech,” Solas mutters out the phrase quickly.

“I am aware of the paradox…” Rook walks closer to the edge that separates the two of them, pebbles tumbling over the outstretched fingers. She leans over, long hair swooping over her shoulder in a waterfall that echoes her precarious position over the abyss. “I’m interested in the more literal meaning. The tense. Aren’t I still here?” 

Solas stiffens when Rook hovers over the edge, most of her lithe frame a single breeze from plummeting. His eyes are forced to meet hers, forced to stare down and see her at this new angle that elongates her spine to a beautiful dip into the swell of her hips. She let her hair down tonight, unusual, but it added to the allure and the dangerousness of her actions. Solas planned on having Rook take his place here, but not yet. And now, she was drawing not only the magics of the prison, but also himself. 

The clearing of his throat precedes the habitual shift of his hands behind him to squeeze one of his wrists. Armguard digging into the skin and bone of his flesh, pain was his ever reminder of purpose. 

“You are here in your dreams for the moment.” Solas takes a step back, subconsciously putting the physical distance between them. 

“Okaay…” Rook drags out the vowel with a sigh. Straightening when Solas moves suddenly. The snap of her waist sharp enough that her hair flies back behind her in a cascade of color through the dull background of the prison. “Am I suddenly going somewhere as a surprise for a job well done? Getting a vacation or a special one-way trip?”

Solas can’t resist watching the individual strands of hair fall back into place as Rook speaks, some catching on her typical Mourn Watch casual attire, even one slips across her nose that draws his attention to a dusting of freckles he hasn’t noticed before. Her typical irritating snark ignites sparks in his veins, much like veilfire burning through a forest, untamed and uncontrollable. His fingers twitch, his other hand tightening once more around his arm guard hard; hard enough it would leave a bruise which he couldn’t heal. 

Rook stares across the gap at Solas, waiting for an answer, but he is left speechless. Did she know his plan, and if she did, why did the thought of it now suddenly make him violently ill? 

“No.” Solas chokes out, traitorous bile scorching up his throat as he finally forces a word out. “I suppose not. Unless you plan to jump off a cliff or drown in the canals of Treviso before our alliance is finished. Neither of which I would prefer.” That would leave him trapped here, not that he was worried. Not that Solas cared or had started to crave Rook’s voice or her presence. It was simply desperation and connection as the only one he could talk to. Not that Solas has started to enjoy Rook’s banter and her mind as she makes him think in new and unpredictable ways… 

Rook crosses her arms with a huff, a small pout forming on her lips that pushes out the lower one just a bit.“I didn’t think you could see outside the prison! How do you know about that?!” 

A playful ruse, one Solas admittedly finds cute, except for the sharpness in her eyes that was focused entirely on him examining him just as closely as he was her. He could see the way her irises flitted right, up, down, left, and back, forth, and repeated while her body moved easily, taking in every inch of him for a sign of duplicity. 

And he was reveling in it. Attention he hadn’t acknowledged before, until the powder kegs of temptation ignited. Solas truly is Pride as he feels like a desiccated man finally given drink beneath Rook’s calculating gaze; his chest expands, shoulders rolling back and spine stretching to his full height such that even his lower vertebrae crack from being freed from the crushing weight.

“I cannot. But the ripples of your… flailing… and near death experiences do cross our connection. I am left astounded now how you have been able to get this far yet a fish is more capable than you in one skill.” Solas can’t resist smirking as Rook’s pout only deepens; though a little thought in the recess of his mind tells him that her bottom lip isn’t protruded enough for his liking, he could fix that by biting it. Solas shifts back and forth between his feet, darkening eyes focused entirely on Rook despite how every part of his body is starting to overheat. 

“I’ll ask the fish Lucanis is making for dinner how to swim.” Rook huffs, pushing her lips together to blow a wayward strand of hair out of her face while keeping her arms crossed. 

The mention of a member of her team is akin to ice water crashing over his shoulders, like the Veil once more snapping into place and sundering the world. The warmth coloring his skin and filling his flesh extinguished. There are others that Rook cares for, and likely care for Rook. He knew the abomination-assassin in particular was quite fond… it was wiser to encourage outside relationships but his damnable pride is rearing its head. Thinking of Rook with someone else defies his expectations and makes him question if the prison is changing him. Or if the blood magic is changing her in some way - not that he can ask without giving away his ploy. None of that matters; so his plans must continue for no other reason than to ensure Solas retains his motivation to see this through. 

“When we first met,” Solas forces himself to guide the conversation, and his mind, back to business matters.

“I saw you only as a foolishly confident child who disrupted my plans.” Who was still disrupting his plans by how Rook continues to look at him across the Fade prison and Solas questions if having the gap is a good idea for the thousandth time as the heat from his earlier has firmly settled in his hips and thighs flickering in restrained swells to his chest. “You were an irritant.” 

Rook finally uncrosses her arms, taking the half second moment of breath to curtsy and nod her head to him. No words, but the move is enough to make the fire’s intensity grow. 

“I gave you information to oppose Elgar'nan out of necessity, but I expected you to be nothing more than a tool.” A different kind of warmth trickles down his forearm from where his fingernails break skin, pooling in the palm of his glove when his fist clenches. 

Rook remains completely still, the playful Rook from a second ago that took a past insult as a compliment is replaced in a blink with the Rook that questions his decisions. One hand on her hip accentuating her curves, the other twirling a loose string on her pants as she listens thoughtfully. Her eyes flitting like a hummingbird from each of his eyes to each of his ears, down to his lips and lower before starting again. Actively listening and analyzing despite whatever sass might slip past her rose-colored lips first. 

“Seeing you with your team. I was wrong. “ Solas starts, his stomach twisting to fill the silence. “The only thing worse than being wrong is realizing it and being afraid to change.”  Rook remains silent, unmoving. Expression unchanged, yet her eyes are focused to a pinpoint on him, his lips, and his words. The attention is enough to motivate Solas to continue despite the discomfort. 

“Your team trusts you, you listen to them. It is impressive and enviable.” Solas hardly realizes how long he has been talking, adding on and leading the praise for Rook in her most recent effort, that it has gone to legitimate personal territory. 

The sensation of seconds drags into hours under Rook’s silence. Rook’s eyes never leave his face, scrutinizing every feature and beyond as if the words he said were hanging in the air between them to be picked apart. Her lips shift slightly, Solas’s eyes drawn at the subtle movement, tracing the word enviable left unspoken but practiced, followed by another silent word - a curse in Tevene. 

“So what are the gods going to do?” Rook’s voice is even when she finally speaks, the fingers twirling the loose string on her and yanking more of the green thread free from the fabric of her outfit. 

Solas stares at Rook’s act of indifference and sudden change of subject; her failure to outwardly acknowledge his praise is something new. Solas doesn’t give it easily, and when he does, the tips of her ears always turn a beautiful shade of amaranth; he was looking forward to perhaps seeing a panorama of claret and wine rise over the horizon of her cheeks. Solas could work with this, tamping down the disappointment and selfish desire, an easier tool to bend as he guides the conversation back to Elgar'nan. To the task and his goal. He could focus on using Rook as he needed. It was his only focus, and needed to be Rook’s too. Rook, for her part, was focused, engaged. There was no comment or outward disagreement as they went back and forth. Solas found himself almost missing their prior engagements, if only to bring back that warmth he felt earlier. Thinking in another lane of thought of things to say and add to try and bring the blush to Rook’s ears, he didn’t achieve it earlier.

Except something feels off, and Solas is too distracted to figure it out. It is in Rook’s eyes, or Solas would believe it is in her eyes, but he can’t focus on them long enough to find the secrets she has hidden because of a certain annoyance. The annoyance is a singular strand of hair draped across her nose. She doesn’t fix it, leaving it there as they discuss strategy, and Solas is forced to watch it sway with every word, every breath. He finds he wants to pull it out of her head just to move it, or tuck it behind her ear. The blood from his scratches was now dried and itched, only making him more aware of his hand and reminding him that he can do that with that very hand. The warmth returns, his eyes finding hers again suddenly when she says his name.

“Let go of your wistful hope of having me repeat the praise from earlier.’  The dig of a metal button into his bone is enough to have him focused once more, waiting for Rook to continue. Leather dragging over the fresh scrape opening on the side of his palm. Pain and wit are his shield from whatever Rook seemed intent on throwing at him next. 

“Your praise this time was mid anyway. Too mushy and somehow generic. You’re more eloquent than that.” Rook smiles then, a tiny, gentle curling of her lips, as her head tilts. Her hair falls again, a curtain of colorful strands blocking the dreary endless expanse behind her. Except that one, still stuck to the freckles on her nose. “Besides, I’ll be back in no time. Or you will find your way out. You can tell me something new then.” Her hand finally comes up, curling around the fine thread of hair… and yanks it free from her scalp. Fingers flicking the free strand away from her, Solas can’t help but watch it flutter to rest on one of the rocks that lines her side of the divide. Heart racing in his chest, the warmth from earlier filling his veins despite what he is hearing from the tips of his toes up to his ears. His eyes don’t know where to go; the strand of hair he desperately wants to touch, her emerald eyes shimmering with amusement, or the curve of her hip cocked to the side. 

“Either way,” Rook continues, fading form starting to fade and the area around her brightening. “You’re stuck with me, Dread Wolf. Blood connection or not.” 

Solas takes the last few remaining seconds to stare at Rook, laughing. “Confidence. How can you say that?” 

Rook simply points down before she disappears back to the other side of the Veil and wakefulness. “You’re clever… It's one of your charms. But also incredibly dense. Like one of Neve’s eggs. See you next time, Solas.” 

Solas’s brow furrows, Rook vanishing in the shift of the Fade as he is left alone, again. He looks down following the absent trace of where Rook was pointing, only for the receding warmth in his body to ignite. 

There, beneath her gesture, was the single discarded hair. And her words from earlier come to mind. 

Solas huffs, the sound coming from deep in his chest making his cheeks puff out from the force of air in a low gruff much like a mutt would in annoyance and subconscious resignation as he forms a bridge across the gap, mindful of the rock. 

“I suppose I do have you, Rook. Leaving a piece of yourself for the Dread Wolf to catch your scent…” Solas’s mind starts to wander in different directions with various answers. 

He kneels beside the gift, fingertips plucking the strand from its final resting place. It did feel like silk, Solas ponders, rolling Rook’s hair back and forth before draping it across his palm. A single breath would blow it away, Solas thinks as he stands to walk back to his side bridge crumbling behind him. That was the problem with this world and why he had to fix it. The desperation in his chest multiplies tenfold in the loneliness - he needs to find his way out of the prison soon. Though another unknown seed has taken root, tangling around his resolve, thorns piercing his prior decisions with doubt and driving him to consider new ones - any that would keep Rook at his side. For if he were to help guide the new world after the Veil is torn down, he would need his Rook to keep him in check. Solas would not make Elgar’nan’s mistakes. 

Chapter Text

Solas knew that one day the visits would end, just as Rook did. The back and forth, push and pull of the enviable tide of his growing thoughts. The swell of heat in his chest when he pulled Rook into the prison physically crashing against his ribcage and spilling into his veins. The success of his plan, outwitting her fumbling despite the good intentions, for how could she, a mortal, ever understand the world lost by his failure in creating the Veil, as the People were lost with it. Solas had Rook; corrected, trapped, and no longer.

Yet that fiery wave breaking over the cracked edges of his crumbling skeleton receded as soon as he stepped out to freedom and onto the blighted streets of Minrathous. The wretched taint carried on the ocean wind only served to make his insides twist and churn, the need for sustenance after being trapped no longer a priority as the mere thought made the chilly, sickening feeling seeping through his muscles and bones worse. The day and night blend, one after one. Time again is endless, meaningless in the bone-chilling vortex within and without as Solas fights tendrils of Blight toward his most-twisted mirror while his mind questionably How long had it been since he had Rook; heard her petulant voice challenging his plans… yet euphoric when asking questions in kind; seen her scowling with narrowed eyes and drawn lips as he calls her a child, or was it a wry smile that curled the one corner of her mouth up with her eyes slanted in mesmerizing blithe. 

This should have ended when they swapped places. Solas feels the sweat mix with rain beads down his temple, pants of heavy breath forcing him to take a moment after he flings the latest onslaught of blight tendrils aside with his magic. The whiplash of his thoughts was starting to hinder him more than Elgar'nan's unceasing defense. He had Rook, that was a fact he ensured. Solas was a man buried in regrets, but he wasn’t so pathetic that he would latch on to a tool, an enemy turned passing useful convenience, simply because she was his only source of contact.  But perhaps she was right, Solas does have Rook in how she is constantly haunting his thoughts even after he had sealed her away. Another regret, one more to stack upon his pyre at the end, Solas thinks as he grabs another set of tendrils flying toward his person, manipulating them, taking more and more strength as time and regret wear on. Even now, he was surrounded by the Shadow Dragons fighting to clear the smaller bits of blight, but Solas feels more alone than ever as magic floods his ears in focus. 

Familiar footsteps cut through the shimmer of Fade, shaking Solas’s attention for a brief second that he has to use both of his hands to force the last large tendrils into submission. It couldn’t - but Solas should know better and laugh at himself for ever doubting. She ruined his ritual, called his game, and is now making him question everything… Only Rook would be able to challenge a former spirit of Wisdom and break free from his prison of regrets. His eyes are glowing azure blue with magic as he gazes at Rook. The broken world around him that had been spinning like an astrolabe was starting to right itself as the sound of her scuffed footfalls breached the magic swelling in his ears. Confident, every stride toward him purposeful if not a little antagonistic. Her eyes flickered briefly to his hands wrapped in saxe tendrils of power before focusing on his own, finding them returning to a darkened amethyst as the spells dissipate. The walk down the rubble feels longer than it is, mind racing as his mask slips back into place. Good, it is better this way - at least until another tendril makes it move toward Rook and Solas finds himself reacting, catching it with one hand and flinging it back. Rook remains fixed, watching him with rapt attention, unflinching. Solas’s hand returns to his side, fingers twitching; from magic or something else he isn’t sure, but he finds himself curious - is it ignorance, faith, or something else that keeps her looking into his eyes and refusing to move in the face of clear danger. 

“You are as surprising as ever.” Solas takes one more step forward, yet remains on a block of rubble above Rook, a new game as the gap of the Fade prison is no longer there. Posturing is still necessary.. “Even I could not have escaped that prison. For you to manage it…” 

The words burn down his throat, searing his tongue with each syllable, making it harder to breathe. Fervor spreads like wildfire across his overworked muscles and returns to his ancient bones at the simple sight of Rook dressed in new fitted mage leathers reflective of those from ancient Arlathan. The littlest twinges of magic remaining at his fingertips evaporate from the rising temperature of his palms when they nearly brush Rook’s hair, gesturing around them. There shouldn’t be anything but the familiar ice-cold pain of guilt, shooting penetrating shards into his buffering lungs, pinning them in place against his ribs; only to fizzle and dissipate in scorching heat waves reverberating from his pounding, confused heart. 

“Is that all?” Rook’s voice is too playful, flippant, with the way she places her hands on her hips and shifts her weight to one foot, one would think she is trying to have a casual chat. But Solas can feel the mordancy in her gaze before he sees it. Sharper than any dagger and shrewder than a fox. 

The environment they were in was anything but even remotely comfortable, but the view was certainly one that left him questioning if Minrathous was truly worth saving or if it could burn a little bit longer. Or entirely, just so Solas could finally let loose and ravage… 

He bites his cheek mid-thought, the familiar tang of metals on his tongue seeping through his canines, cutting off that daydream, Rook’s words processing but still not making sense. There is no explanation for his wayward thoughts, other than the longing of a man approaching what might be his final moments. Except for the warmth of his blood, a usual reminder that he is alive, is serving as ignition for the fires simmering throughout the other parts of his physical body, turning into a single synchronized roaring inferno, spreading into his veins, reaching like serrated knives toward the fluttering fragments of his heart. 

“Rook, I am sorry,” Solas admits, forlorn, shifting in an attempt to get everything back under control. His body, his thoughts, his emotions. Blood was still pouring from the bite to his cheek, tongue pressing hard to the side to try and stem the flow, but as he continued to gaze at Rook, the punctured vein throbbed in defiance.

Rook’s expression turns annoyed, brows drawing together in a tight V, conveying a sense nearing offense, one hand flipping up from her waist and rolling up and over like one would dough or a scroll to encourage it forward. 

“Aaaand?”

“You seem to be expecting me to have something prepared. Was my genuine praise not enough to satisfy you, Rook?’ Solas tries to resist, but he finds he can’t when he hears his voice drop, swallowing the pool of blood with the tilt of his head that comes off as challenging.

“Your genuine praise is a little lacking, to be honest.” Rook huffs, arm dropping with a sigh.” Her face was still tight, what Solas could only imagine as soft furrowing into deepening rolls rippling up along her forehead. It looks painful; he dreams of easing each one with a tender touch away. 

“And what would you have me say instead? A lie to - ” Solas’s jaw snaps shut, teeth clacking hard enough the sound echoes in his eardrums and his jaw aches; a wolf biting madly in the air when he takes the bait, only to find himself pinned with pointed jaws of another predator at his throat. 

A predator that Solas should have expected by now, and one that he should not be so invigorated by to have been caught by that he thinks about rolling over for a second just to see her reaction before he- 

“It’s a start.” Rook finally drops her arms, the mask slipping from her expression as emotion fills every part of her body. 

The tension filling her lithe frame is what draws the Elven god- claimed man away from his wretched thoughts. Rook had always kept a mask of some kind up between them, as had he. It was the practical thing to do and smart. Now, though, Solas can see every distinct feeling filling Rook and where in her body it settles. Anger is the slow coil of a python up her body, tensing and flexing every muscle starting from the roll of her right ankle to her calf, the shift to her left hip, and a subtle inhale that she holds as her abdomen tightens up to her shoulders, settling back for a solid core. Pain is a dashing herd of halla in her eyes, hair and horns glistening in the deepening crease of her brows, only to be chased away by disappointment, the beasts in the dark circles that were far too deep and stretched far too north around her eyes. Yet there was something else in her eyes, something that was always there, blooming in the luminescent petals of her irises that Solas hadn’t been able to name.

“I betrayed you because I believed that only I could save this world.” Solas found himself pleading. He did not want to see that look anymore. But he couldn’t tear himself away.

“But I have failed, Rook. I have not stopped Elgar’nan. I have not even defeated his Arch-demon. The victories that have been won have been yours, not mine.” Solas continues to stare into Rook’s eyes. She hasn’t moved, nor has she blinked. His words, his praise, and his desperate plea to move her are falling on deaf ears. “If we are to save this world, we must work together.”

Finally… finally , there is a reaction on Rook’s face in the form of a singular eyebrow lifting from the deep crevices of condemnation that should never mar her face. Solas felt his sanity start to fray the closer he came to his goal, and with it the realization that he was further from it than ever before, until Rook came to him. He was not above pleading for his beliefs; he has been a dutiful supplicant in the past and will be so now if it gets him what he needs. 

“Rook…” His voice drops, beseeching, dragging out the syllables in her name, a prayer he had once done to another. 

“This world?” The two words sound like a question, but ferocity in her voice nearly sent Solas stumbling like a mind blast. “Are we even thinking of the same world?” 

Rook’s eyes meet his, pinning him under her fierce gaze. Solas is enraptured by the hope that still lingers in her eyes. It’s enough; it has always been enough for Fen’Harel. 

His jaw drops to speak more, attempting to answer her question with half-truths and a rousing speech. But before a single, elegant word can fall from his lips, he is silenced by the skittering of stones. His head snaps down, tracing the sound, his chest twisting in longing instantly, to realize Rook has stepped up onto his broken pedestal. 

“Together?” 

Solas can’t help but watch the way the word forms on Rook’s lips, slightly chapped, no doubt from the fights through Minrathous to him and the inability to rehydrate easily. He takes a step back, long legs taking him to the other end of the cracked cobblestone. 

“I know I have earned your skepticism-“ Solas finds his thought broken as Rook matches his stride, placing herself once more in his space. While the rubble was smallish and crumbling, there was plenty of space for them to stand on even ground. Why Rook insisted on being close enough that Solas could feel her warm breath on his throat and hear the thrum of her heartbeat on the edges of his senses only served to confuse him more. “Things are different now.” His voice softens, amethyst eyes trailing from the exposed expanse of her throat, smooth and soft to her lips, slightly parted and not flush enough, back to her kaleidoscope eyes that enraptured him. Layers upon layers of mystery, wisdom, and beauty he hasn’t seen since he made his greatest mistake. 

A warmth in his chest blooms; Solas dismisses it as the familiar unidentifiable sensitivities, except Rook has taken another step forward, pressing herself against him to ground him in the present. This world. 

“The elven god of trickery and rebellion… saying he wants to work together.” Rook angles herself a little, body still pressing into him just a little bit, so the warmth of her life radiates into his. Solas’s back was now to the blighted tendril he had taken down for her when she arrived. How long ago was that? Minutes, seconds? 

“And lies… depending on the story…” Solas found himself falling into the routine, the usual banter so easily, as he was lost. They didn’t have time for this. Elgar’nan would destroy the world. He clears his throat, trying to regain control. “Rook-“ 

Rook, in response to her name, presses herself closer as Solas straightens to use his height and power to regain control of the situation with an additional step forward. Equal forces meet with nowhere to go, leather and armor crashing. His hands snap to her hips, one lower than the other, to feel the depth of the curve in her body. Long fingers digging into the small of her back from the hand at her waist, hard enough, Rook undoubtedly felt the pressure. One of his legs has slipped between hers, boosting her higher and closer to his lips. His elven ears would never miss the small moan that slips past the clench of her teeth digging into her bottom lip from her ascent up his flexing armored thigh. And his now-violet starlit eyes imprint the rose flush spreading across her pale cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears. 

“Rook-“ Solas tries to push Rook away, forcing the distance despite how every part of his physical body now burns with an unquenchable flame. The muscles previously aching from exertion relax beside her hum of life. There is almost a desperation in his hands, instinct taking over to get Rook away as he lifts her from his leg with ease and places her on the wooden platform above. It made her just a bit taller than him, but Solas couldn’t think beyond what he could conclude to be survival, fight or flight; Rook is too close and she would immolate him. 

But Rook, as always, has other ideas that conflict with his plans. She grabs the collar of his jacket, her other arm slung around his neck, forcing herself back into him with a grunt that leaves Solas breathless. She is kneeling, a supplicant to their god, but the position has their eyes level for the first time. 

“Ugh- aren’t wolves supposed to be predators or something? Fucking… flighty…” Rook grumbles more to herself than Solas, which stills his fleeing momentarily.

“You are the one who said you’re a liar. Not me.” Rook’s tone is accusatory, matching that of when they first met. The tip of her nose brushes his, and he nearly goes cross-eyed. “Not this time.” 

Solas chuckles, a small thing of disbelief and annoyance. 

“Is that all?” His arm betrays him and finds its way to her waist, an attempt to extract her once more from him as he looks away and toward the increasing rings of Minrathous. “Is there a difference between the tales, the past, and the present, Rook? I find this is hardly the time for such musings. Elgar’nan will not wait.” Solas was waiting, his ear turned to listen to her voice, and his eyes avoiding her expression. 

“You have always had me. This entire time, since I toppled your stupid bald statues. And it took you using blood magic, locking me away in the fade, and lying to yourself to get you to admit it.” Rook gently cups his chin but doesn’t turn his head back to her. Thumb caressing the dimple at the bottom of his jaw. “You are stuck with me, wolf, but I have chosen you.” 

“You’re mad.” The words leave Solas before he could think. His eyes widen as he turns to face Rook. He expects anger, mortification, or shame. Instead, he feels her hand cup his cheek with the movement and a smug smile. 

“So are you. But that’s why I will always be here. Wisdom finally gets it. Now let’s go, ” Rook releases a sigh, letting him go to hop down back to the same broken cobblestone he is standing on, taking one more look at him before turning away and stepping off to walk away. She has said her piece, and much like the nights in the Fade prison, Rook is leaving. 

Solas finds he is missing her touch, fingers twitching to grab her wrist and pull her back. No, they need to go. They have loitered long enough. Yet he is unable to take a single step as he watches Rook walk toward what will most likely be her death at the hands of either Elgar’nan or the fall of the Veil, bile crawling up his throat, tearing the lining of his esophagus with each attempt to force it down. 

Things hadn’t gone as he had expected when he saw Rook appear before him. There were things left unspoken and unknown, additional layers of tacit regret and obscure subtleties on his spirit weighing heavier than many others on his register. 

Rook shuffles to a stop, a few stones skipping across the cracked path and smaller tendrils of blight, spinning on her heel to face Solas. Hair left down fanning around her like a halo adorning an angel of chaos in the eclipse’s red glow. Hands planted back on her hips for balance, elongating her lean figure and curves, drawing him in once more and reminding him that he is just a man with wandering thoughts. Lips tinted red but not enough or full enough, but Solas could make them that way if those same errant thoughts became real. Eyes shimmering brighter than magic bejeweled petals, a thousand years extinct, instinct snarling in his mind, her survival is dependent on his awareness, as her focus is all on him . Yet the wisdom and cunning behind them beg him to try, the perfect bait for a wolf that has his spirit salivating.

Solas cannot continue like this. This disconcerting, unidentifiable yearning that has taken over his entire being in the form of augural flames… 

No. Solas inhales sharply, head shaking slowly to himself. To Rook. To what question, there were thousands. In the end, it doesn’t matter as he ends up laughing. Loudly, maniacally. Loud enough that the companions that had accompanied Rook finally made their appearance at the edge of his periphery, worried the Dread Wolf had lost it and murdered their leader. The sight only intensifies his chortles, arms curling around his abdomen more out of habit than pain. Rook’s body flush against his earlier had done wonders to his muscles, so that now only his jaw hurt from laughing. 

Chuckles. That’s the nickname Varric gave him. Irony is seldom absent, even in the greatest of horrors, such as the end of the world. That also meant it would be true in the opposite as well - where Varric had found this woman, Solas would never know now. The thought made him cackle harder, nearly bent over double, tears dotting the corners of his dark lashes.

Rook’s companions are inching closer, but she hasn’t moved except for her hand coming up to stop them. Solas’s head lifts just enough from the murky sea, clouding his lashes to see Rook, her eyes still on him, as they ever have been since the day they met beneath the tear in the Veil. Though this time, she is the one not moving. Solas straightens, needing to regain some of his dignity when his glimmering amethyst eyes lock with hers. Waiting for him to decide if she is prey to be hunted or something much less desirable.

The familiar stirrings of the veiled feelings flicker to life, spreading in his veins like a warm blaze to dry his sorrow. Feelings that he had denied to name before. Before, when he only had his lies and the comforts they brought. 

Solas, once again, is the one who is forced to make the choice. Does he risk his heart, or maintain the dignity of his People as their last remaining hope for salvation in this desolate hell with just one more regret - for what is another after so long and so many? 

And he managed to successfully tear down at least one Veil - even if it was a personal one. A triumph deserves a reward. Just as going off to final battles deserves well wishes… Solas couldn’t stop himself from smirking as he internally and continuously lists all the reasons his following actions are good ones. 

Rook swears, when she recalls the day the world changed, she heard a familiar gruff bark of laughter drowning out curses from a voice she didn’t recognize drifting at the edge of her perception - like a melody just out of range that she would normally run toward if the elf in front of her hadn’t decided this was the moment to remind her that his moniker is The Dread Wolf . 

Solas stalks Rook across the bloody, blighted battlefield, taking the final step down from the broken cobblestone ramp onto the solid path between and making it to her in two long strides. His long, pointed ears easily pick up her sharp intake of breath, sliding his hand around her back the second he enters her space. Fingers claiming the curve of her waist as he pulls her the rest of the way to him flush against his body and into his space, a low growl rumbling from his ribs when leather and armor prevents him from pulling Rook closer - he couldn’t feel her racing heartbeat sync to his and that is yet another regret he will have to bear. Amethyst eyes darken to sugilite, pupils blown as the hunter focuses intently on the final steps of his attack.

 His other hand is gentle on her flushed cheek, Rook’s head naturally angling to his when Solas kisses her hard, lips crashing like a hurricane that made it to land. Bending Rook back over his arm possessively, desperately. Rook shifts only slightly in his arms, one of hers wrapping around his neck and pulling up to press herself closer to him, and the other gripping his coat hard enough that the leather whines beneath. Or perhaps that was her, whimpering from how his tongue pushes past her lips, demanding entrance to the wet cavern of her mouth. Solas only pulls away when he needs to breathe, the arm around her waist dipping to squeeze the swell of her ass once before straightening. Hand remaining in place. Rook sways against him, out of breath and nearly delirious. 

Solas grins in pride at Rook’s disposition just from a kiss. His lips are red, full, bruised, and matching Rook’s. His tongue dips out to taste Rook once more, giving her time to compose herself, enjoying every second of watching her fumble in confusion; the way she brings a hand to her lips, cursing to herself in Nevarran, glazed eyes wandering but truly unseeing and, the most important part, never letting him go and never leaving his grasp. 

Rook can finally speak what feels like hours later, and starts in usual Rook fashion - by surprising him. 

“So, the Dread Wolf is the elven god of trickery, rebellion, and flirting.” Rook’s pupils are pitch black like the sun, sharp ears rose quartz caged in knotted strands of hair. Her smirk is equally as smug as his, hips wiggling back into his palm still resting on her ass that was hidden by their positioning to her gaping allies. “I can see how that would get mixed up. Lots of broken hearts back in the Fade?” 

Solas chokes, clearing his throat. The smoldering blush forcefully quenched is now a raging inferno of crimson beneath his pale skin, searing a path along the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose over defined cheekbones, up his ears, and even catching his exposed head in the blaze. “T-There was no such thing. It-it has been a long time.” 

A long time. Solas’s expression shifts to solemn, grim and fatalistic, lips curling down as he shuffles to hold Rook again with his arms around her. This was all but a stolen moment and another regret-perhaps one of his largest, most treasured ones in his immeasurably long, tortured life.  He would still need to betray her once more at the end, but his heart was no longer in it. It was in his arms, warm and still smiling despite his shift in mood and the destruction rotting around them. 

“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right.” Solas murmurs, his mind and resolve willing him to push Rook away but his traitorous hands grip her physical body tighter. One more indulgence before the end. 

Rook, true to her promises to never leave and to always counter him, grips him incomprehensibly tighter, somehow stepping closer despite the absence of space. As if their flesh bodies were simply spirits of the Fade, she could force them to blend and mend under her will. 

“Too late, Solas. It’s been too late for a while. Try to keep up.” Rook rises onto the balls of her feet, pressing her forehead to his. Gentle, but unrelenting. 

“It would be kinder in the long run…” Solas said, once upon a time, he had her to keep him in check. Rook corrected him that she would always be there - he realizes this is what she meant. Where he previously was the hunter claiming his prey, Rook has always been the predator chasing the wolf, waiting for him to stumble. He may have claimed her with his fangs, but she was already waiting. “But losing you would - “ 

Solas isn’t sure if he or Rook started the kiss. Maybe both. It is a war of teeth and tongue, push and pull as the two fight for dominance over the other. Neither giving up nor fully relenting. Solas pulls Rook’s tongue into his mouth, guiding her where he wants her in the depths of his mouth. Her teeth biting and nipping his lips, deep groans matching her moans of victory. His hands claim her body, squeezing her ass unabashedly and lifting her slightly off her feet, forcing Rook to rely on Solas for balance. Neither giving in and neither fully giving up.

“ Mierda , I could have brewed a cup of coffee and drank it by now!” Lucanis’s curse shatters the illusion, dragging Solas back to his senses with a snap of his head to the possessed Antivan eyes flickering blue with a quick blink. His arms tighten protectively and possessively around Rook. 

“More knife stabbing and less tongue stabbing.” Lucanis continues, making his way leisurely toward them, intent clear as their third party member follows, making gagging noises. 

Rook, for her credit, laughs; the sound is a dreamy melody over the cacophony of death and destruction. She twirls easily out of his grasp, yet the one grasping his jacket was now laced with one of his. Still waiting for him before taking the last steps forward to not drag him along, eyes always on him, here for him as she always has him. 

“I am a fool who has finally met his match,” Solas whispers to himself. Chuckling as resignation falls softly past his lips. 

“Hmm?” Rook tilts her head, focusing on Solas from the staircase up to Minrathous proper. Eclipse behind her paling in comparison to the beauty she brings. Lucanis and their last companion march up past Solas, glaring from his periphery, but the elven man doesn’t care. Not when Rook is still holding his hand and waiting at the end of the world.

Well, shit , as Varric would say. 

Solas shakes his dissent, moving swiftly, taking the stairs two at a time to pass Rook. It is well past time to end this.

”Now, if you come with me. I could show you what has prevented me from reaching Elgar’nan. And you can tell me your plan, vhenan.”