Arwen Lavellan: Ma Nuvenin chp10

Solas glanced repeatedly at Arwen as they walked hand-in-hand into the cave. The events at Mythal’s temple had left the Inquisitor more than suspicious, and he knew that she had come to a stand still: either he had to finally open up, or she was leaving him. He could feel her withdrawing further and further even as he fell deeper love. It used to be that he was terrified of telling her the truth, of her anger, of her hating him. But now he looked at her and knew that he was more terrified of losing her than anything else. Though she had remained flirtatious and teasing, he knew that behind her mask lurked frustration and despair. It was more than obvious now that he was ancient Elvhen. She had some of the pieces but not all of them. And it saddened her that he would not fill her in.

Well, no more. He couldn’t lie to her anymore. He looked at her and he loved her so deeply . . . he just couldn’t.

She was worried. He smiled to put her at ease. “The Veil is thin here,” he said and squeezed her small hand. “Can’t you feel it? Tingling on your skin?”

Arwen smiled.

They came to the water and stopped. Its chill mist rolled against their pants, damp and frothing. Solas looked down at Arwen, a soft light in his eyes. He was still holding her hand – so tightly, as if he was afraid she would disappear. She seemed genuinely happy to find herself alone with him in such a quiet, beautiful place. She smiled and dropped her head to the side, her green eyes warm.

“I’ve been trying to think of a way to show you how much you mean to me,” he said and touched her cheek with affectionate blue eyes.

Her lashes fluttered at his touch and her lips pulled in a slow half-smile. “I’m listening . . . and I might have a few suggestions,” she teased.

Solas lifted his brows, and for a moment he was taken back to her bed in Skyhold, to the sight of her on her back, gasping, her black hair spread around her on the red coverlet. “Oh? Then I shall keep that in mind. But for now content yourself with what I have to say.”

She looked at him, waiting, patient and happy. He crumbled a little inside to see her so glowing and content. What fury and anger would cross that face in the next few moments? But he took a breath and went on.

“You are unique,” he told her, blue eyes dancing over her, warm with love. “In all of Thedas. I never thought I would find someone who could turn my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me.” He squeezed her hand. “More important than I ever thought possible. You deserve . . . the truth.” He swallowed hard. She was waiting. He tried to speak the words: I am Fen’Harel. He failed. “Your face,” he said, hating himself, “the vallaslin. I know what those markings mean. I have seen it in the Fade.”

She looked at him hesitantly. “They honor the gods,” she said, as half-heartedly as if she knew his next words were going to punch yet another hole in her faith.

A pained expression crossed his face, and he hated himself with every word he spoke next, “No. They are slave markings.” Something in her eyes crumbled, and he whispered miserably, “I’m sorry.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. He knew it would hurt her. But it was suddenly better to hurt her with this than to tell her the other truths. How would it benefit her to know that he had given Corypheus the foci? That he had caused Arlathan’s downfall? That he was directly responsible for the current state of the elves and all of Thedas? It wouldn’t benefit her at all. The truth of her markings was a pain she could bear. But knowing the other truths. . . . he didn’t want her to hurt. Not the way he did.

“We try to preserve our culture,” she said heavily, eyes glistening with unshed tears as they lowered to the ground, “and this is what we preserve? Relics from a time when we were no better than Tevinter?” She blinked and a tear escaped over her cheek.

He caught her tear with his thumb. It pained him to see her wilting like this. She had already been through so much. Learning the truth at Mythal’s temple had shattered her faith to fragments, and now here he was, crushing those last fragments out of his own selfishness and fear.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pushing her hair back. She moved as if she would turn away, but he caught her shoulder. “I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin.” He smiled and touched her chin, gently coaxing her to look at him.

She did. Her face was twisted over with Falon’Din’s spidery markings. The vallaslin all but obscured her face like the tangles of a web. Falon’Din still slept in his prison in the Void. If he were to rise again in his true form, he would have her under his geas. The least he could do was set her free of him.

She looked at him miserably. “If what you’re saying is true . . .”

He frowned sadly. “It is.”

“Then . . .” She sighed, then drew herself up and smiled. “Cast your spell. Remove the vallaslin.”

Solas smiled at her, greatly relieved. Though it was his intention to set her free of the geas, a part of him secretly longed to see her face. Finally see her face. In all its beauty. “Sit,” he said and led her by the hand to the rocks at the water’s edge.

They sat facing each other. His thousand year imprisonment had weakened his powers significantly, but he still had enough power to destroy another god’s geas. Her lashes fluttered as he lifted his hands and slowly waved them over her face. The green light of his power reached in gentle beams over her skin, and as he worked, he could see the dark etchings of Falon’Din snaking back, twisting to nothing, until they were gone. The light collapsed into so many glittering diamonds, and he took her by the shoulders and helped her stand.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” he said happily. “You are free.”

“I feel all . . .  tingly,” she said and shook her shoulders. Indeed, he could still see the light of his magic dancing over her.

He laughed softly. She was smiling and shy beneath the intensity of his stare. But he couldn’t stop staring. He had never dreamed that under those markings she was so indescribably . . . beautiful. Perhaps it could work after all. He would give up everything and live with her, helping her reshape the world in her way, the quiet apostate ever at her side. Perhaps he could finally just . . . be happy. And by the gods, she was worth it. She was still shy and uncertain. Look at me, he thought, I want to kiss that pretty mouth.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

Her lashes fluttered and she smiled. He leaned in to kiss her, slowly, gently. It wasn’t like that first kiss, where her tender affection had lit him on fire, awakening him from his thousand-year starvation. This was a kiss both gentle and loving. His arms closed around her, intimately familiar with her curves, and she yielded, kissing him back readily.

Yes. He could spend the rest of his life with this sweet, small thing warm in his arms.

No. . . . No, he couldn’t. Thoughts of Abelas, of the other Elvhen, bubbled to the surface of his mind and would not leave him be. His people were out there, bound in eternal servitude to gods who could no longer protect them or care. And . . . it was his fault. To leave his people to suffer just so he could be happy with her . . . a happiness he didn’t even deserve. He had to do what was needed . . . regardless of what he wanted.

As the last brick in his sudden wall of resolve clicked into place, he pulled himself free, abruptly ending the kiss. He looked at her and slowly shook his head as the horror crept over him. What had he done? He had allowed himself to become entangled with her, with a mortal who should not even exist, had diverted from his path and abandoned his people for his own happiness. No. It wasn’t right. And it wasn’t right that he was lying to her.

He had to get back on the right path. The foci. The foci was all that mattered. And then . . . he would set the world right. And if that meant losing her then . . . so be it.

“I have distracted you from your duties,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “It will never happen again.”  

She looked at him with frightened green eyes. “Solas?”

He swallowed hard, swallowed the pain. The sadness in her eyes was almost enough to break his resolve. Almost. He took a step back, prying her small hands from his waist. “Please, vhenan,” he almost begged. Don’t make this harder than it already is.

She looked at him in confusion and despair, and he understood perfectly how much it was hurting her. She had lost everything, everything -- her clan, her faith, even her understanding of the world. And now the one thing she had worth living for was walking away from her. He looked at her and on impulse wanted to hold her. But he strengthened his resolve and took another step back.

She slowly shook her head. “Don’t leave me, Solas. Not now. . . I love you.” She sniffed, the tears rising to glisten in her eyes as a black tress escape her bun, falling down near her cheek.

Something in him cracked to hear those words. She had never said them before. And it almost made him flinch to hear them spoken now. If only she would say it again, he would hold her and forget the world, forget everything. She had no idea how easily she could pull him back, how tightly his heartstrings were wrapped around her fingers.

“You have a rare and marvelous spirit,” he said miserably. “In another world . . .”

Her lip trembled and she took his hands. “Why not this one?”

He pried himself free and kept stepping away. Don’t touch me. If you touch me, I’ll never get away. “I can’t,” he said, a tremble in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

Something in her eyes dulled, as if she was scolding herself for not seeing it coming. Her hands dropped and her voice was tiny when she whispered, “Ma nuvenin.” A single tear escaped, cutting down her cheek to her lip.

The pain swelled heavy in his heart as he turned away. I love you. She said she loved him. Why did she have to say that? For a moment he almost went back to her, held her, begged her forgiveness. But he thought of the People – dying and dwindling in the ruins of a once mighty empire – and he kept walking.

He didn’t look back.