The Old Wolf
and the mirror
February 9 2019
Originally written for Capsule Crit's Fan Work February edition, this story is based in the Dragon Age universe and takes place post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
A vision of the Tevinter capital swam in the elegant arched mirror behind Lavellan. He stood with staff raised, held in his left hand, which appeared to Solas to be constructed from a pure blue light from his elbow downwards. If he squinted past the corona of light, he could see the stump that was covered by dragonscale.
“This is an inconvenient time, my friend.” Solas said through gritted teeth. He tried to push himself up from the ground, but only got himself up on one knee before he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He would have leaned on his own staff, but he had a hazy recollection of it being dashed to pieces on the paving stones of the capital city where he was making his last stand.
“I could have come with you the first time if you weren’t so stubborn.” Lavellan replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked different from the last time Solas saw him - tired in a way that sunk down through the skin and into the spirit. His face was drawn, and still bare except for clusters of dark freckles.
“The time for matching wits with words is past.” Solas said, “I must return to Minrathous.”
“You don’t understand, vhenan.” Lavellan tapped the end of his staff against the ground and the image in the eluvian changed as he stepped aside. Solas watched four figures and a broad shouldered dog face an enormous black wolf in battle - a beast with wickedly sharp teeth and six bright yellow eyes.
The group that faced the wolf was comprised of representatives of the peoples of Thedas - one of the people with the ethereal sword of an arcane knight, a human bearing a silver shield with a blue griffon, a dwarf swinging a staff with a bright blue crystal at the tip. All together they faced the wolf. Solas watched the ethereal sword cut a bright red slash across the beast’s belly. He took his hand away from his stomach and looked down to see that his palm was covered in blood that had soaked through his golden armor.
“No more Fen’Harel.” Lavellan said gently as the image of the dying wolf was swallowed by swirling purple mist, then disappeared, leaving the eluvian empty. “Only Solas. You lost."
“This isn’t the Fade.” The blood and the pain and the landscape around them shifted and swirled before his eyes. “Are you even my beloved?”
“You’ll have to trust that I am.” The other man released his staff with his glowing hand, and both disappeared, leaving only the man standing in the simple hunting clothes with a golden tree embroidered on his chest. Lavellan kneeled down before him and offered Solas his hand, which he took. His palm felt cold. “Even Andruil can’t find us here.”