They took her staff and her blade hilt, but Lavellan has never truly been unarmed. Disarmed, perhaps, and more often than not by him. The joke falls flat even unsaid; she would rather save her breath as quickly as she loses it around him, when a look threatens to bring her low. Whatever satisfaction she could glean from knowing he is not without some lingering feeling is inconsequential in the face of the truth -- that he is not the only one, and as sure as her presence brings him pain, so does his.
Words come to her lips the moment the wall springs up -- he won't even look at her, if he was going to kill her Lavellan would hope he would have the decency to look at her while he did so -- but a second attack never comes. A chance -- hopeless and desperate -- but Lavellan has always been about causes like that. Why should Solas be any different?
Fire has never been her preferred element, but it jumps to her hand easily, warm and familiar as she casts it out towards the base of the wall. Not an attack, a counter. If she has to break every barrier he puts between them to get through his self-loathing, his grief, and drag him back from the path he's set upon, she will. By magic or with her bare hand -- she must.
"At least face me here, Solas," she calls, letting her voice ring out amongst the ruins. "If you can't bring yourself to do it in the Fade, at least do it here." He slips from her grasp in dreams, but Lavellan won't let him go without a fight. Not this time. He has to obey the rules of the world he created, has to live here like the rest of them, see that the wound he made has healed, and learn to live with the scar.
They've left enough wounds on each other for her to know she's not asking for the impossible.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-03-12 11:26 pm (UTC)Words come to her lips the moment the wall springs up -- he won't even look at her, if he was going to kill her Lavellan would hope he would have the decency to look at her while he did so -- but a second attack never comes. A chance -- hopeless and desperate -- but Lavellan has always been about causes like that. Why should Solas be any different?
Fire has never been her preferred element, but it jumps to her hand easily, warm and familiar as she casts it out towards the base of the wall. Not an attack, a counter. If she has to break every barrier he puts between them to get through his self-loathing, his grief, and drag him back from the path he's set upon, she will. By magic or with her bare hand -- she must.
"At least face me here, Solas," she calls, letting her voice ring out amongst the ruins. "If you can't bring yourself to do it in the Fade, at least do it here." He slips from her grasp in dreams, but Lavellan won't let him go without a fight. Not this time. He has to obey the rules of the world he created, has to live here like the rest of them, see that the wound he made has healed, and learn to live with the scar.
They've left enough wounds on each other for her to know she's not asking for the impossible.