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Language:
English
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Published:
2025-10-28
Words:
298
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1/1
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1
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3
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57

Let me breathe once more

Summary:

If I could only catch a glimpse, if I could see you from afar. If I could just... just once more...

Takes place in the ten years where they did not see each other.

Notes:

In this version, the inquisition is disbanded and Lavellan goes off to live alone for some years.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Only the rustle of the leaves beneath me can be heard. I’m far—so far I can barely make out your shape. Is it even you, I wonder? I sharpen my eyes, draw closer, just slightly, just an inch, and—

I wake up. Grasping for air as always. It’s as if reaching for you severs my connection with the fade. It’s been seven years since I last saw you. I wonder—can one live off a single moment? Can one love a single moment? Can one moment last a lifetime?

Some days are kind. The sun comes out and warms my face, and I smile. Sometimes the bread rises just right in the oven, filling my stomach with comfort. The mead is sweet, and for a while, nothing clouds my mind but joy. On those days, I cling to laughter, to the glow of the fireplace, to the scent of flowers, to the quiet company of friends, to the stars that shine and bathe my skin in silver.

On those days, your memory feels gentle. I remember your smile, your warmth, your touch—and those words. You always knew what to say to make me feel loved, to make me feel seen.

But some days are grey, and the world grows cold. Then your image cuts through me like a blade. The way you left—the final brush of your fingertips, your eyes… your eyes. They were so sad. That look, I can never forget.

I no longer know which part of you is real and which part my mind has conjured just to make it through the night.

All I know is I wish you hadn’t left.

All I know is I wish you had chosen me. Chosen us.

This love endures, Solas.

I kept my promise.

Notes:

Ok check out all the fics I've written. You already know that what inspires me is nostalgia. Devoted love. Undeserving love.
Was it ever love if they stopped loving each other? Can we still call it love if it fades away?

In my book, we only love once. All time does is deepen the roots of that love.
It’s a kind of parasite — love without reciprocity. It grows without food, without sun.
It feeds on the blood and heartbeat of the host who once had warmth and oxygen to spare.

The roots of that love turn black and dry, because it’s no longer love — just something that wants to be.
It becomes an ode, a poem of what once was. The heart and roots fuse together, and the once-green leaves are now stained.

What’s real? What’s fantasy? We never know.
When a love so pure leaves, when leaves so green turn red, we end up with one foot in the present and one in the past.