thisavrou_log | love is not a victory march.

love is not a victory march.

Who: Solas and Neriel Lavellan
When: Early morning in the middle of the month
Where: Their treehouse
What: Nightmares are definitely a thing
Warnings: N/A as of yet

[ Nightmares are not as common as some might imagine in a man as old and learned as Solas is; he's grown too used to the merits of his nature and grown accustomed to the howling hiss of the curse his name carries. Dreaming of times gone by and the world he had tried, with all his heart, to return to... That is, sometimes, a gift rather than a cruelty, and he relishes what little reminders and memories he can allow himself through the Fade and the discord his own knowledge allows him. Sometimes it is not so, however, and sometimes he is cast down into a darkness there is no means for him to escape.

It starts with a swirling mist, a whisper on the wind that is unavoidable as he tries to fight himself to wakefulness.

The failure was mine. I should pay the price. But the people, they need me. I am so sorry.

I am sorry as well, old friend.

There is blood upon his hands, both literal and metaphorical. He knows this. He has known it since the moment he woke from his slumber, powerless and surrounded by those heedless of what the world could be, what it was supposed to be - a world that he had created in his own ignorance, in his own desperate attempts to free the people from tyranny they did not deserve to suffer under. In doing so he had simply caused them more pain, and the agony burns inside of him as he tries to undo it, walking a long, winding path that will lead to his death.

A part of him thinks it is only just, to give himself over the death to right his wrongs, but another part dearly wishes he could live. A voice cries out to him, gentle and soft even in the echoes of agony that seems to thrum through his body, a broken Foci in his hand and a gentle touch to his cheek, his hand, his heart.

Solas. Var lath vir suledin.

I wish it could, vhenan. My love... I will never forget you.

And, as always, before he can see her face... He wakes up, cold and alone and finding it difficult to breathe. Slowly, he pushes himself out of his bed and moves, stepping around as he makes his way out. The room is too stuffy, thick with the emotions and the tide of his feelings, and the main room is cool enough to soothe his rattled body. His head aches a little with the memories he should try and forget, but it's impossible - as impossible as it is to forget her face in that very last moment.

Stepping up to the stove, Solas makes tea, quickly and quietly, hoping to return to his room before he can disturb the rest of the man who sleeps not so far - and who still needs time for his wounds to heal. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Unfortunately or not for Solas, Lavellan isn't asleep, for much the same reasons. And the house is small and elven hearing tends to be good, so he can hear the strange activity that comes first from Solas's room and then moves toward the dining room.

He doesn't know exactly what's going on. But he can suspect. There are only so many reasons why Solas would be up this early in the morning, and fewer still that would involve what sounded like talking in his sleep.

He hopes he was mistaken about what he heard.

There's little point in lying around in the dark listening to Solas, so he gets up as quietly as he can and follows him to the dining area. He's not all that surprised to find him making tea, considering what Solas had told him about it.

They're the same in all worlds, apparently.]

I thought you hated tea.

[ It should come as no surprise that he is welcomed in his solitary confinement by another, and that Neriel comes out to join him with the quiet grace of the elvhen people. A part of him wants to do no more than greet the other man and turn away, dismissing him entirely, but there's nothing he can do for it - he's sure that the Inquisitor won't let it lie. No, he fears he is far kinder than he would ever be deserving.

He steeps the tea quietly, fingers brushing over the cup, running along the rim as he tries to focus on words rather than the blurred images in his head. The tea will help chase away the urge to sleep and the dreams that come with it, but at the same time... It's a vice that he shouldn't really let himself slip into.

If the man beside him knew him as well as Sahlin did... Then he will know exactly why Solas has turned to tea to help him tonight. He wonders if they were ever as close as that, if they had ever known one another to be that close, that friendly. ]

I do. But sometimes it is all that can be done to ease the reminder of dreams.

[ Lifting his cup, Solas turns to look over at the other man. ]

I apologise. I did not make enough for two.

[So he was right about what he'd heard. He inhales sharply. He wants to ask who the dream was about, but at the same time...

Vhenan. Who would Solas have called vhenan? There was no one in his Thedas, as far as he knows, which had to mean--

The words die before he can voice them. Something in him dreads the confirmation of his suspicions with a visceral intensity. He'll just have to convince himself that he didn't hear what he thought. he's at a loss of what to say, in the face of this. A moment too late, he realizes he's let the conversation hang.]

That's--that's fine, you didn't know I was awake and I'm not... I'm not really in the mood for tea anyway.

[ Solas is unaware of where Neriel's mind is going and he shifts, walking away from the kettle and the stove and moving to settle down in one of the errant chairs that decorate the main room of their shared home. He would feel more awkward if he were not tired and worn down from the memories that haunt his thoughts even now.

He feels as though he ought to say something, but he doesn't know what words should come out. He knows, too, that he will have to speak to Varric soon, and that's enough to leave his nose wrinkling in disgust, as if the tea wasn't enough to do that. ]

It is an acquired taste for a certain mood, true.

[ And his mood, currently, is running from his dreams and his nightmares. Glancing over, he hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, pursing his lips. Oh, he hates the taste of tea, the smell of it, the caffeine... ]

I hope I did not wake you.

No, I was already awake.

[He wishes he hadn't been, though. He could have done without this new idea pressing on him. If he hadn't been able to sleep before, he certainly wouldn't be able to now.

Maybe he should make himself some tea and stay with Solas, find something else to talk about until he forgets this anxiety and feels silly for worrying.

Or ask Solas to make him some, more accurately. Brewing tea is one of those mundane activities that has become much more complicated for him recently.

For lack of something to say, he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.]

Do you often have insomnia?

[Nailed it.]

All is well, then.

[ As well as it can be, given the circumstances and the nature of what had made Solas struggle to return to sleep. He's not sure what might continue to happen between the two of them if left alone to speak their thoughts, but he does his best to smother the last echoes of his nightmares.

He's not entirely sure what to say to fill in the silence, but thankfully Neriel does it for him. He tilts his head to one side, looking over at the other man before he huffs out something of a sigh, shaking his head. It seems they will be going straight for the heart of the matter.

Solas expected little else. ]

Not particularly. Sometimes it happens and in those times I ought to make sure that my mind is cleared for my next attempt.

[ His eyes flicker over and his frown appears once more. ]

Do you?

Occasionally. Doesn't everyone? [It's not entirely true, though; the only times he sleeps well are when he's too exhausted to do otherwise, after nights on end of bad dreams and staring desperately at the walls, unable to stop his mind from working. Sometimes he slips out to sleep in the open instead, like he used to do before the Inquisition.

But he doesn't want to talk about that, and he's certain that Solas doesn't know; at least, he's never said anything.]

I just wouldn't have expected it from you, I suppose. Is it because it's harder to reach the Fade from here?

I would think anyone that has seen what we have might struggle some nights. [ They've all seen more than most, and he can feel the echoes of it all thrum through his body in time with his pulse; Corypheus, the Foci, the mirrors, the Qunari, all there like a constant echo, repeating in his mind like a mantra. There's no escaping it.

There's no need, he thinks, to voice it at all. Surely it's clear on his face, on the way he speaks, holds himself. It is so blindly obvious to himself that he fears Lavellan will see through him as though he's made of glass. ]

Perhaps. It would be one explanation - I have less control of my dreams here. It may be, too, that I am simply tired.

[Lavellan can't hide a grin, despite the anxiety he's feeling. Or maybe because of it.]

Are you saying you can't sleep because you're too tired?

[He knows it isn't that simple, but he can't resist the jibe.]

[ He makes a quiet noise, something like laughter, and he turns his head to look at Neriel. ]

Is that such a surprise? You know as well as I how much I enjoy my rest.

[ He is, after all, a Dreamer. ]

Of course. I remember when you--

[He falters, because that same old obstacle is in his path again--this Solas has done nothing at all with him. Whatever Solas remembers, it's with another person entirely. Someone Lavellan has replaced.

But more than that, he's remembering when the Solas he knew took him into the Fade, when he hadn't even realized what was happening. It was the first truly intimate moment between them, and Lavellan had wanted to--

But he hadn't, and there's no way to tell what kind of difference that had made.

He's overcome, suddenly, with a similar pull. But again he doesn't act on it in any way, and he has to wonder how long he's going to be doing this to himself.]

I, ah--I mean we'd dreamed together before. Me and the Solas I know.

In Haven?

[ Solas' smile is gentle and almost fond as he watches Neriel, considering for a moment what it might mean. He, too, had stepped into the Fade, had been in that same, wonderful, intimate moment. He, too, wonders if it ended the same way, the same touch of mouths, the same brief moment of pure affection that had broken him from the inside out and brought his heart to the forefront of his mind with the intensity.

His eyes flicker over the other man and he watches him, thoughtful.

Had his Solas been the same? Thought the same? Surely he'd have mentioned if there was any romantic inclinations, and for a moment he frowns. Perhaps he wouldn't, seeking to keep it to his chest, to not allow a stranger to pollute it. He was, not after all, the Solas that Neriel remembered.

It might not be worth questioning. If it was important it would be voiced, he is sure of that.

All the same, he shakes his head, taking a sip of his tea and making a face. ]

I shared the same dream with my Inquisitor.

Edited 2017-04-25 16:15 (UTC)

[He's not sure why it should surprise him, but it does. That their experiences really do align that closely despite including two completely different people is both comforting and alienating.

He can't help but wonder if Solas's Inquisitor had felt the same impulse he had, in the same situation. Whether she'd acted on it, if she did. Again, his thoughts creep toward the idea that she is the vhenan in Solas's dream, and he's too desperately afraid of the truth to ask for it.

(And a selfish part of him wonders if it is true, if he could have had the same thing, if he'd just let himself be a little more impulsive, a little less cautious.)]

It's... it's curious [his voice wavers] that the same thing should have happened to us both.

[And because he can't resist indulging in some self-deprecation:] It makes me wonder how much anything I did mattered, if you knew a different person and the same things still happened.

[ Solas frowns, turning his face away from his tea as he glances over at Neriel, pausing to consider his words. He has no idea about the similarities and differences between the world he knew and the world that this Inquisitor was from, but it was similar enough that his heartache was clear on the other man's face.

He wonders, quietly, what he may not know, what might have changed, what might be different - did Neriel make the same choices Sahlin did? Did he think the same, share the same wisdom? Or were his choices without merit, thoughtless and cruel? Some, he's sure, are the same, but others...

A part of him is sure he would not walk the Fade with people he mistrusted, but at the same time... ]

Perhaps the man you knew held the same affection for you that I held for Sahlin.

[ But he shakes his head, watching Neriel for a brief moment before he turns his gaze away. ]

I think, perhaps, you are incorrect. Look at our friend Master Tethras - his Inquisitor chose to abandon the Champion of Kirkwall in the Fade and leave them to perish. You did not. Your choice influenced and affected the people you care for, and that is paramount in a world that is falling to ruin.

Edited 2017-04-26 19:31 (UTC)

[Lavellan scoffs, more a bitter, harsh, humorless exhale of breath than anything. Affection. Of course there was affection. The problem is affection had never been what he wanted from Solas.

Perhaps he'd misread the entire situation after all. The idea is almost a relief. Suddenly frustrated, all he wants to do is cut the conversation short.]

And yet his still defeated Corypheus, didn't they? Perhaps they Dreamed of Haven with you as well. What do the details matter if the conclusion is the same? What's the purpose of any of it?

[More than anything, suddenly, he just wants to go back to bed. But for privacy, not sleep; there's no way he'd be able to sleep now, as worked up as he is.]

[ Solas frowns, turning his head to look at the other man, drink entirely forgotten. He is a firm believer in the strength of a person, their liberty, their freedoms, and he is quick to cut in, voice sure. ]

Your world would not exist if you did not. The people you knew, the friendships you made? They would have died, have been drawn into the Breach and become nothing. Corypheus would have overcome any obstacle and returned triumphant and there would be no hope for a better future.

[ The better future, of course, being the one he has planned. ]

The purpose is that you lived. You were a being that survived against innumerable hardships. The strength of another's character does not lesson your own - because even if they survived there are others that may not have, that would have crumbled in the face of such unyielding odds. It matters because you were born, you lived and you carried a weight that no one ought to have had.

[ Stopping, he frowns, reaching for his drink again. It's not cooling, not really, but it feels colder for their talk. ]

I am sure the man named Solas that knew you was changed for the better, too, from your friendship and company. That is not something I would quickly give up.

[Lavellan's petulant frustration melts away the longer Solas goes on, and by the end of the speech he doesn't have any words of his own. All he can do is stare at Solas, jaw working without anything to say.

Some part of him still wants to challenge, wants to say that Solas still doesn't know, that he can be sure all he wants but he still doesn't know, and that little sliver of doubt is all Lavellan needs to undo everything.

The rest of him simply can't imagine what he could have done to impress this incredible man so much.]

I-- [His voice cracks, quiet, entirely unlike him.] Thank you.

[ There's a moment where Solas isn't sure why he said what he did - all the words come out with an intensity that startles him. He knows he's lost in the depth of his own emotions, thoughts tangled up as he tries to rationalise it, but... All he can do is fight and push through it.

Sahlin haunts him, it seems, even now. Var lath vir suledin.

Turning his gaze away, Solas breathes in and out for a moment before he relaxes, going to finish his tea. ]

You are welcome, Lavellan.

[He almost caves, then. You can call me Neriel. Some part of him craves to hear Solas use his name again; the rest of him is too afraid of what will happen if he allows it.

He doesn't know what to say, so the silence stretches. Moments pass as he just stares at the angle of Solas's head turned away from him. He wants to say something, to try and soothe whatever is troubling Solas. He wants to take the teacup in his hands, remove the distraction, and kiss Solas before he has a chance to react ~~(to move away, to reject him)~~.

He wants to go back to bed.]

I... hope you manage to sleep.

[It's all he can manage. He turns to go.]

[ The tea is cooling and it tastes awful, almost as if the knowledge that he is going to be distant from the Fade is enough to make his tongue feel heavy and too herbal for his own good. He feels out of touch, all of a sudden, and he wishes that he was able to return to Thedas, to return a world that he understood, that he could go back to a place that he understood.

Neriel is troubled, that is clear, and Solas fights back a sigh even as he pushes himself up, returning over to the kitchen. ]

I hope the same for you, too. Dream well, Neriel.

[Lavellan sucks in a breath but doesn't comment, instead taking it for the gift it is. He's lucky, really, that Solas is willing to put up with so much from him. He knows he's been moody, inconsistent, irrational, ever since he's come to this place, and he doesn't even really know why. He didn't used to be this difficult to deal with, he's sure.

He's never really been sure what he did to deserve Solas. In any sense.

He lingers in the doorway for another moment, uncertain, before he finally withdraws.]

[The first thing Lavellan does, once the procedure is done and he's back from the asteroid, is go back to the house to try and find Solas.

He remembers Solas's obvious reservations, when Lavellan had hinted what he'd been planning to do. Lavellan had felt them acutely himself. But he'd gone anyway, and... it couldn't have been a better idea, as far as he's concerned.

The entire way back, he flexes his new arm, curls the fingers in and out, feels the pull of new tendons and muscles against each other. It's incredible. It shakes pretty badly, still, and he can't do much with it, but the scientists assured him that would pass in time and it doesn't matter, he has a left arm again. One without the horrible green mark in it. One that won't wake him in the middle of the night with pain.

He doesn't even bother with preamble before he bursts through the front door, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.]

Solas!

[He doesn't know what he'll do if Solas isn't home. He needs to tell somebody, and there's some kind of perfect sense in Solas being the first to know.]

[ Solas did not put much stock in the 'magic' of the asteroid or anything that they might offer as a gift; to be tested upon, to be treated like subjects rather than people, despite consent being given... it did not sit well with him, and it reminded him of elven slaves and Templar recruits that had very little choice in the matter and very little discussion about what might happen to them.

There are always resulting effects. It's simply a matter of waiting for them.

All the same, when Neriel comes through the door, more jubilant than he has been in days, there's not much Solas can do other than turn his head and look over, watchful and waiting. The glee is clear in the way he rushes through the door, vibrant and alive in a way that Solas hasn't seen... Ever.

Not that he knows much of the man, but all the same. ]

Lavellan.

[ Slowly, he stands, putting his book to one side and taking him in. There lies his hand, free of the Anchor, and Solas... Solas steps over to take the fingers in his own, examining it with his own quiet scrutiny. ]

I see your venture was a success.

[He grins when Solas arrives and he grins when Solas takes his hand, feeling the new skin; some of it's from the sensitivity, but most of it is the sheer giddiness that this is a real thing. The scientists did what they promised: he's whole again. Whole, when it should be impossible. He grins, almost laughing, wide enough that his cheeks hurt.]

A part of me didn't think it was really possible, but... [His fingers flex again, still in Solas's grip, as he watches in wonder.] There it is. As if nothing had ever happened.

[ The skin is soft, he notices, not like one that has been calloused by holding a staff or a sword; Neriel is whole again, he has come together and found his arm, and there is no anchor. There's no green mark, nothing to connect them to the Foci and the Fade, and there's a moment of blissful relief that overcomes him before he can do anything else.

Slowly, he tilts his head up, expression softening into something gentle. ]

I did not think it possible either, but I remain constantly surprised by what you are capable of. [ His fingers don't quite move away and instead stay resting against Lavellan's palm. ] How does it feel?

I'm not sure how much I really did, except be unconscious for a while. Their... scientists did everything.

[A quiet, cynical voice at the back of his mind tells him that the less he knows about it, the better. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

He shoves that thought away, at least for now. He won't let himself entertain that today.]

It's... normal, mostly. It's weak, and I can't control it very well or use magic with it yet, but they told me that will pass.

You made the choice. Sometimes that is the most difficult part.

[ Solas regards the hand again, a little uncertain about it. It feels similar enough and looks the same, with his limited experience of the other man and his palms, but... There is still a part of him that does not trust this place or the gifts they give so freely.

He understands better than anyone else that things come with a price and sometimes it is not one so easily paid. ]

I would not attempt magic until you are sure you're well and you're accustomed to your arm. It would be a waste to hurt yourself again so soon.

[Lavellan really doubts it will hurt, but something in Solas's tone makes him pause anyway, causes his smile to flicker.]

You have doubts.

[It's not a question, but it's not an accusation, either. Lavellan has doubts too, that are growing the more time he has to process this decision, and unfortunately he's too sensible to ignore them. As much as he might want to.]

I have lived long enough to know there is no such thing as a miracle.

[ But he shakes his head. He doesn't want to be the one to ruin any of Lavellan's happiness, really, but all the same. ]

You have made your choice and I will stand by that.

[ But he'll keep an eye on it all the same. ]

[Lavellan exhales softly. Apparently he would have to confront this now, rather than later. Probably for the best, though not exactly a pleasant idea.]

Yes, I know. There must be a consequence somewhere, but...

[He stares at his own palm, still under Solas's thumbs, and remembers the alien sigil, the searing, unbearable pain from the last time Solas had held his hand like this.

It feels a lifetime ago, rather than only a few months.]

You understand, don't you? Why I did it?

[ It's not as if Solas has any right to criticise him for his choices, all things considered, but he can make his opinion known all the same. It's done with all the care that he might have done before, his cutting words quietened by the nature of their friendship, budding as it may be. ]

I can understand, yes. I am not going to damn you for your choices.

[ That's said wryly; it would be rather hypocritical, and this is not a choice that would impact on anyone's freedom or impede Solas' own path. This is simply... A matter beyond anything Thedas might have offered.

A crossbow is not a real arm, after all, and Solas understands what it means to lose a part of yourself, even if that may not be physical. ]

I hope only that you are able to have the result you desired.

I...

[He flexes his fingers, again. What he wanted was his arm restored, and he has it. But something about Solas's words, and his own doubts--that a part of him was hoping Solas would disperse--is making him feel like he made the wrong choice.

It makes him feel like he can't ever put himself first. Like he has to accept everything that's happened to him without argument, like he doesn't deserve more than he's gotten.

He shoves aside that creeping despair.]

Well. I have a hand again. I suppose that's the best I could expect.

[Suddenly, he's aware that Solas has been holding his hand for the past several minutes, and suddenly it's like the sensation of their skin touching has been heightened, like he can feel every whorl of Solas's fingertips in his palm. He has to tug his hand away, and hope that Solas doesn't notice the obvious flush in his cheeks.

Where Solas touched his palm still tingles.]

A-Anyway, it's done now, so I suppose if there's any consequences to be had, I'll have to take them as they come.

[ Solas watches him, watches the flex of his fingers, and for a moment he's completely and utterly entranced. It's incredible that they can bring back an entire arm and gift it to someone as if nothing had ever changed, but it's also incredibly interesting that it has not come back with the Anchor as part of it. Was this simply a replacement, or was it not Neriel's arm at all? Was it ripped from someone else and gifted to him?

He peers at the hand again and lets his eyes flick to its twin. It doesn't look terribly different and he considers, for a moment, what it might mean - just as he considers venturing to the asteroid to examine things himself. Later, perhaps, when Neriel is not back, fresh from his excitement and rolling in his glee. He feels a touch guilty being the one to sour what should have been a joyful situation. ]

It seems as though it is working well. I see nothing that should be concerning.

[ Not yet, anyway, and he blinks a little when the hand is dragged away from his grip. He stands there, a little blankly, before he shakes his head and lets his hands fall away to hang at his side. It's something he's going to have to think about - he's going to have to see what he can learn about this magic and what place it has. Perhaps other people will be discussing their experiences; there is, after all, much to be learned from idle gossip and quiet whispers when no one thinks anyone is listening.

All the same, he turns his head to look at Neriel, thoughtful for a moment before he speaks. ]

I am glad that you have found something good in this strange world, Lavellan.

[Lavellan doesn't look at him, instead holding his new palm, remembering the feel of Solas's skin on his; wishing he hadn't pulled away, wishing he'd pulled away earlier. He's so lost in it that he almost misses what Solas is saying.

This is getting out of hand, no pun intended. He'll need to do something about this. But at the softness of Solas's voice any urge to change the situation leaves him.

He'll accept the ache if it means Solas's presence in his life. It's not the first time he's had a crush, after all. He'll endure.]

Thank you. [But he can't pretend to that extent.] For however long it lasts, of course.

[ There's an uncertainty, now, in how Solas handles himself; he's not sure what to do or say and it leaves him feeling a little stranded, as if he has to wade through a whirlpool of emotion to figure out what he's doing and what he needs to do. Eventually, he thinks, he'll figure it out, but until then he has much to think on and much to consider.

He thinks back to the Thedas he knew, the Inquisitor he had loved, and he thinks on Neriel, too much coming to mind for him to consider for now. He feels artwork and paints calling for him and his own doubts must be put to rest. He cannot lose focus, not again, and he cannot allow himself even the slightest chance of failure.

The only thing he can let his mind linger upon is returning to his world and continuing his path. There is no other option. ]

Of course. [ Solas bows his head gently. ] Rest your arm, at least, to give it time to adjust.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

love is not a victory march.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

sometime pre 4/30 oh fuck it you know the drill

aww yEAH

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject