goethbeforethefall | Inbox // IC Communication

[For a moment, he is surprised, dumbstruck as he has not been in longer than he might care to remember. That she is the one person who has most often in his long, storied life extracted such an emotion ought to be more shocking...

...but it is not. He is delighted.

A moment later, there are two creatures racing through the woods: a fleet-footed white Halla, bounding deerlike, and the swift-running shadow of a wolf in pursuit. No Dread Wolf this, only an ordinary-seeming wolf, save for the brilliant intelligence in his eye. Run, run, as fast as you can, for if he catches you—!"

[ It is Beleth's fault, really, that she gets caught. For a while, there is just the chase, the exhilaration of running as fast as a body can allow, the adrenaline of being hunted, with just enough undercurrent of safety to not truly stress her. She'd be at a disadvantage in any case, Solas long used to his form, and Beleth new to hers, only just accustomed to running on two legs.

But it's not long before she starts to tease (as she ever does), allowing Solas to get just close enough to give her a little jolt of danger, then dancing away, trying to seem within grasp, before pulling a hard left right as she might have been caught. She would've been wiser, more careful, if she had truly feared for her life, but this is fun, and nothing is more fun than dangling temptation in front of her love, and getting to witness his desire.

Which is how the halla is finally tackled, though it's a laughing, gasping elf who hits the ground, hair splayed out in disarray. A lie given is revealed: She did not put on clothes to leave. Only the lingerie she had tried to sketch out for Solas is left on her, little but cunningly placed lace and fancy ribbons, hiding just enough to tantalize. And even in her defeat, she is smug. ]

So the wolf was interested after all, I see.

Edited (bully) 2025-06-24 20:08 (UTC)

[Solas' own pursuit is no less playful; a shadow following through the bracken, snapping jaws and near-misses. He spoils the image of a vicious beast in the whisk of wagging tail and canine smile.

The Halla goes down in a laughing tangle of limbs and magic, and Solas' own transformation is slower, and more controlled; the beast that lands over her is still barrel-chested, half-elven, hunched over her. And as the fur recedes from him and pointed ears migrate to their proper places, his teeth are still fangs when he bends to set them at her throat— he laughs, with a wolf's growl in the shadow of it.]

Ah, but shall the wolf devour his tender prey? [The bite is real, wide-mouthed and grasping, and then another, and another, just at the top of the curve of a breast. Solas looks up at her, his right eye catching silver light and what he sees there undoes his control: he is surging up to put that mouth over her own, instead, wet and wanting, deep-tongued, domineering. He leans back a little, breathless by the time he has finished, and looks down at her appreciatively.] So beautiful.

You are perfect, ma'lath. What a gift I have here in my hands: to unwrap it seems almost a shame.

[But he chuckles then, low and wry: his wandering hands tell another tale.]

[ Beleth watches the transformation from her position underneath him, laid out with curls splayed wild across the ground. Purple eyes glint in the light, wide and intent, but there is no fear in them. Only open, naked desire. Each bite and nip is accepted with a gasp, arching up into him.

She burns, and she wants, and each whine and pant that escapes her lips echoes with her desire, more overt than she would ever dream of being with any save him and their shared beloved. He looks half mad, or half beast, the creature that lurks in the tales of her childhood, but it is not fear that pounds in her ears, flushes her cheeks.

But her attitude isn't completely vanquished quite yet, even if her mind is rapidly turning towards a number of things that would require a little more cooperation. ]

Well, I would never make you do anything you do not wish for, Vhenan. Even if that includes me. I can... simply go home. Put on a sweater.

[ She makes no motions towards carrying out her words, instead lifting up to meet his touch, one hand sliding up her side, to adjust some of the lace to hide a little less -- not that it was doing much before. ]

[That is incorrect— Solas stops her with another biting kiss, taking her hand by the wrist and moving to pin it out and away, up above her head where it can do no further mischief.]

Or perhaps I shall leave you as you are, and bring you to climax again and again, until you are begging for a rest. [With the hand not holding onto her, he wanders; soft breast, smooth satin, the barely peep of pink nipple. Lower, teasing along the straps and lace, hooking one finger beneath the narrow band between her legs. The heat against his knuckle is shockingly sweet; his teeth part over a grin, wolf-like.] Shall I, Vhenan? I could ruin you entirely, whilst leaving intact the enticing view you have so generously provided.

[ His threats leave her contemplating pouting, but his clever, skilled hands working their magic upon her skin leave her entirely distracted. She shifts underneath him, each touch earning him another noise escaping her lips. Well, it seems there's only one thing for it. ]

Solas. Sileal. Please. I want you, ma'lath. [ And if just begging doesn't work: ] I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel your desire.

[It is enough: Solas' self control is not equal to the task of denying her. True to his impatient promises, he does not wait, nor try to undress her, but simply moves aside what clothing must be, and slides into the went heat of her body with a fumbling, eager passion.

It is not a graceful coupling, there is no teasing slowness, no drawn-out poetic moments. He has chased her through forest and dell, his rightful prey, and Solas puts his teeth to her throat as he fucks Beleth in the moss and sunlight, their bed a bed of last year's leaves. When it is over, he is left panting, a little ashamed, but despite the raw, importunate, wroth of it all... he cannot help, but to be satisfied.

Even so: he kisses the marks he has left on her, and whispers promises of healing. In a moment. When he is not so tired, nor so smug.]

[ There are no complaints from Beleth on the roughness or the rawness of their coupling -- quite the opposite, each time she feels his teeth against delicate skin, she gasps, each rough grind meets eager hips, and his growl causes her to clench around him, until they are both finished and she is left boneless and self-satisfied. Letting Solas take control, letting herself go and unraveling the self control she's twisted so tightly around herself... each time, it is new and just as much a relief as the last time.

Though, of course, being in control has plenty to recommend it... but that will have to wait.

Meanwhile, she wraps an arm around him, lazy and quite pleased all around at the fruits of her machinations -- even if part of it had been a silly doodle. She'll figure out something better next time. At his whispered promise, her hand goes to one dark mark, and shakes her head as the tenderness makes itself known. ]

Leave it for a little while. Let me admire your handiwork -- marking what you have rightfully claimed. [ A kiss, then another. ] I wish to see the proof for some time -- something I can look at when you are not near.

[Solas makes a small, skeptical sound, caught between tenderness and the absurdity of it all. Still, he cannot truly leave it be, pressing kisses into the blooming bruises, the tender places already welling with blood. Marked indeed: she would wear the evidence of this day for a week, and he cannot glory in the idea of her pain... but her satisfaction is undeniable.]

You are... perfect. [He whispers it to her skin, to the junction of neck and shoulder, the tea-scent of her hair. He kisses her properly then, breath mingling, her own kisses making him hitch her higher again, sensitive, and now groaning.] Insatiable, unstoppable... My heart, my heart...

[He loved her so dearly, he thought it would burst. Even when all he could remember was the ways he had wronged her, that love would remain.]

Yet another clever scheme come to your desired end. I suppose I was a fool ever to think it might be otherwise.

[ Beleth's eyes close as Solas pours kisses over her, making a small, content noise. The impression is not entirely unlike a cat soaking up the attention of a good pet. Truly, after a life of trials and effort, this is the finest result she could ask for: being cherished and loved so thoroughly, so deeply, beyond what even she could imagine. It made it all worth it, entirely. ]

And you are everything I have desired -- Sileal, my love. [ And then it's hard to speak, not when he is kissing her so thoroughly, groaning against her lips, and she feels the satisfied after glow start to fade and be replaced by a bright, renewed interest. Though she can't help but laugh at his words. ]

Not all my schemes end the way I wish. [ Though she demurs from providing examples. Instead, she turns to run her hands up his sides, across his chest, up his collarbone and to his face. ] Just the ones that matter the most. And what matters more than the ones I love dearest?

Solas looks at her for a moment, shaking his head against her audacious humility. He must kiss her: he does, slow and sweet, tender, ending with his brow pressed against her own, resting his weight on his elbows above her, as she cups his face in turn. They could not be more entangled if they tried, and Solas has not even truly undressed.

"You have changed the world. You have changed me. You change everything," He whispers, low and fervent and full of wonder, "I have had time enough to be important. Is it not your turn, emma lath?"

"Did you forget that you're speaking to the Herald of Andraste, sent by the Maker to save Thedas? I'm quite important." Beleth responds primly, and even manages to say it with a straight face. Well, she'd said it with a straight face often enough to have practice at it. Often enough to make the people close to her believe it -- because they'd needed it. And if Beleth was nothing else, she was what was needed of her.

At least what Solas needed was not the Herald of Andraste, or even the Maker. What he needed was simply: her. Her, loving him, entwined with him, and with him. It was easy to be what he needed, because it was what she wanted to be.

And slowly, something occurs to her. Something that she hadn't been quite hiding, because she had always intended to tell him, but it was never the right time. Before Elgar'nan laid dead at Solas' feet, before his service to Mythal was over, before he had turned from his duties, he could not know. But here he is, wrapped up with her, and nothing hanging over their heads. She was so full of love, his and her own, twisting within her heart.

Surely now would be the time, if there should be one.

"Sileal." Her voice is low now, eyes suddenly more focused, fingers caressing his face as she studies him carefully. "There is... something that has been sitting upon my mind, but I must confess I did not tell you immediately. I... feared your reaction, and my heart could not take you being unhappy at it. When Cordelia asked us to trade meaningful things and receive visions, I accepted. I wanted to see the future that awaited us in Thedas, after all was said and done."

It was something that others seemed to have the benefit of, that she did not. Most of those from Thedas had come from an earlier time than her. In Hawke's case, decades separated them. None had, to her knowledge, come to Caldera from a later time than she. And she had desperately wanted to know how their leaving to the Fade had gone for them.

"I saw us in the Fade, standing together. And Felassan stood besides us. I couldn't tell at the time that it was romantic in nature, but it was obviously friendly. And there was one other with us." The look on her face begins to turn to a bright, barely contained joy. She can't help it, even now -- thinking about it makes her feel like she's glowing with the happiness of it. That sight in the orb, the little face hidden away in a sling.

"It was a child, Sileal." And now she feels like she really is glowing -- it's easy to see why she'd kept the news close to her chest, when she thought he would not care for the news. Because she can't keep out the warmth when she finishes with the obvious conclusion: "Our child. And they were... they were perfect. They were the most perfect little baby I've ever seen."

"To me," Solas murmurs, a gentle correction left between the pressure of his lips and her tender collarbone, "I have put aside all such things, and placed my wishes, my duty, where I thought it must go. No more."

Importance was so poor a word for the worship of blind fools; he knew, as well as she did, that she was no more Andraste's Herald than he was Fen'Harel. They both were, and were not, and in all the ways that mattered most... were only themselves. Particularly now, with his robes rucked up and dirt on his knees. But he can be sober, despite the moistness between them, and Solas looks up at her serious tone, and affects a listening pose.

His thumbs are still stroking soft circles against her skin, idle affection, but he is... he truly is listening.

And more and more he really is listening, stilling as focus turns inward and the light came into her eyes more clearly. He stares, not sure what to think, or to say. A thousand denials come into his mind— that it is not possible, that it is inadvisable, unwise to become parents here, that it's... that any child of theirs might be more of the flesh than the Fade, may age and die. That Cordelia's magic might have lied, and how could they— how could she—

"A child," He says, numbly, as if the word were a form of gibberish, meaningless and strange, "Our child?"

And they were perfect. They were the most perfect little baby I've ever seen.

The joy in her at the idea was undeniable. Whether or not this specific promised child were real, whether or not it came now, or later, it was clear that the idea was one that Beleth cherished. But Solas is still recovering from the stumble, and must inhale sharply, to refocus, and remember himself.

"Are you certain?"

Beleth's eyes are on his face as he grapples with what she's told him. He'll need a moment, or two, of that she knew well enough. Even a man who had led a far simpler life than Solas might need some time to come to terms with what he's heard. What she saw.

So she continues cupping his face, brushing his cheeks with her thumbs, letting him mull over it. And, of course, there are nerves. She'd sounded confident when she'd told Felassan. He's not ready now. But he will be. She'd felt confident, too. That this vision were her desire come to pass -- Felassan and Solas by her side, and her child in her arms. But, of course, she could hardly have that latter part without Solas' willingness. Had she not been careful with her words or timing?

Then again, maybe the timing really wasn't the best... Well, it was what it was, and they were here now.

"I am certain of what I saw. And while I can't guarantee that the child was born from us... they had purple eyes. And we were in the Fade. I don't imagine it's easy to find children there. Though I suppose it's possible that we manage to leave at some point, and found a purple-eyed child to raise as our own." She takes a moment to consider the possibility, then: "It would not matter if we bore it or not, not to me."

Perhaps less dangerous, at least, if another found out. They were content to let the Dread Wolf go, as long as he politely removed himself to the Fade. Would they be as content if he were making a family there? It did not matter, she decided -- no threat could be sustained against the three of them, particularly if they were safe guarding a family.

"Others have suggested that the orb meant only to show what I desired, not the truth of the future. But... did you not just say that I am skilled at making my desires come to fruition?"

And Solas... does not know what he wants, nor what he is feeling. He wants to feel certain, to respond to her with passion and eagerness. He wants to voice his fears, his trepidation, his certainty that it is a lie, a mistake, a fool's-dream. But it is no fool's dream, it is her dream; whatever lies Cordelia's orb had offered, that much is no spate of wishful thinking made manifest. He can see it in her face, her voice, the flash of her throat as she breathes.

She wants a child, and will have no other's but his own; if he could have induced her by evidence of cowardice, to leave him, then she would long ago have gone. But she is here, with him, waiting patiently for an answer.

"I..." And still, he does not know what he wants, except not to hurt her again, and again, and again. But there is no clear path to it: honesty, fear, confusion, anything but an unreserved, dishonest joy seems doomed to failure. The chance to lie is all but gone, in his shock, and hesitation, "This is what you want? We have never spoken— though of course, there was never much time."

Not yet, though there should have been, and now is that time indeed. Finally now, at the end of their long journey, when there is nothing but to heal, and heal the world in place, a broke bone left unset too long.

"...Vhenan..."

She did not expect him to be giddy at the idea -- Solas is rarely giddy about anything, and any important news tends to turn him inwards, where his thoughts are rarely kind to himself. It's why she had waited, for if she'd told him before he felt his business was done, then he would be... well. She suspected his reaction would be worse.

It is not the worst reaction she had feared, nor is it better than she had hoped -- it is simply... Solas being Solas, unable to act as any other than himself, time after time. It is almost endearing. And it is time, she thinks, for a story.

"I spent most of my life with what would happen to me already planned out. It had been so since it was confirmed I had no magical powers to claim. I would be bonded to another Dalish, preferably a Keeper, and I would spend my life having children, like a good Dalish woman, and helping my clan, and being..." She shrugs, vaguely. "...I think I described it to Felassan as content mediocrity." She would have been happy enough then, probably. Told herself that she had done all that was expected of her, and be pleased at the thought.

"But truth be told, I had not relished the idea of bearing children, even as inevitable as they seemed. They, and the man who would have fathered them, seemed to be as much a duty as hunting deer, or gathering herbs. Things that were done for the good of the clan, because we would die without them. My enjoyment was a nonissue." And Beleth, as Solas, and anyone who had spent any time in her general proximity would probably note, was a woman who would do what must be done, no matter her private opinions, nor what it would cost her.

"And then... the conclave happened, and all expectations of my life were as thoroughly demolished as the temple. Perhaps it is unkind to sad this, but for as many people died in that explosion... gaining the anchor allowed me to live. Of course, it nearly killed me in the end, but." And here, she reaches for his face again, fingers gliding over his skin. "You saved me twice -- more than that, now. I had a new chance at what to get out of my life. I had choices. And this..." She leans forward then, pressing her lips to Solas, before pulling away. "...is what I have chosen. I love you so much, Sileal. I have chosen you, and if we have a child, that it would be a choice between us."

Her hand moves, to rest over his, and it is a soft, gentle smile that she gives him, full of love and satisfaction. "If you don't feel ready, Solas, I understand. It's a choice for both of us. I have as long to wait as you need. And if that time never comes... than that is the path we will walk, together." The image of her holding that child flashes in her mind -- but after just sharing her own fears of having children out of obligation, she would cut out her own tongue before forcing it upon her beloved.

Some of the fear recedes from his heart.

Solas has always been someone who loves with all his heart. Even as a spirit of Wisdom itself, the most important decisions in his life had been determined by love, for the better or worse. Falling in love with her had been the most wonderful thing he had ever done, and the most frightening; to realize, once again, that he might be shackled and tethered by his idiot heart. That she might pull him this way and that, away from his path and his nature, broken and skewed though it might have become.

Terrifying. Terrifying. Why else had he spent ten long years running?

But she has never broken a promise, not where he could see it, not to those she loved. And if Solas trusts nothing else, it is that she does love him, as he does her. Long ago, she swore to lay down the power of the Inquisition, when its mission was done, and so she had— he need not fear that her sorrow and longing will be used as a goad to bend his neck.

And, free from that terror, one among many, he finds the room to breath, and makes a decision.

"Show me," He says, quiet and urgent. It is the voice he once used in the field, to direct them around a particularly problematic rift, or to point out a danger a non-mage might have missed, "Dream with me, emma lath, and show me what you saw."

Solas sits back on his heels and rucks up his trousers, putting himself aright before rising— and extending a hand to her. Where intuition and emotion cannot hold sway, it is in asking the question, and in being curious for more knowledge, that wisdom lies.

There is an attempt on Beleth's part, to try to school her expression. Solas has delivered no form decision, and to be so obviously pleased by his statement would walk back her declaration -- for surely him seeing her gladness at his desire to see the child would serve as a kind of silent pressure, however unintentional.

It's just as well that she finds something new to focus on, as she takes Solas' hand, rises to her feet, and turns to face the way home. It is then that she remembers that she is wearing little but ribbon and lace, some distance from the privacy their home promises. Well... at least there is always the halla, able to neatly solve both the problem of her expression, and of her semi-nudity.

And then it is a quick journey, to the house, then the bed, wrapping her arms around Solas as they are pulled into the Fade.

They stand in the Fade -- the Fade of Thedas, or Caldera's facimile of one, as close as this version can get to mimicking it. And before them, as in the orb's vision, stood Beleth, sandwiched on either end by Solas and Felassan. But it is, of course, the bundle in the sling across her chest that draws the eye, a little chubby hand appearing as a tiny voice fusses. As before, it is Felassan that draws the infant out of the sling, holding a flower to the child. And it is Solas who plucks the baby away as Beleth immediately starts scolding him.

The infant is of a skin tone between Solas and Beleth, lightly tanned, with wispy hair, and a healthy chubbiness to them. But it is the eyes that stand out -- the cherubic face turns, and vivid purple eyes are as clear as anything, staring directly at the two observers. The others carry on, oblivious to the dreamers.

It is, Solas thinks, a charming lie. But like all artistic endeavors, this holds a core of the truth, one he knows for fact the moment he hears Beleth breath in the Fade's facsimile of air between them.

They will have a child. If it is not this precise child, it will still be so like as to mean no difference. They will raise the babe not in the physical world, but in the Fade, where they will be born of its eddies, and washed in every heartbeat by the endless currents of dream and emotion, power and life.

And he knows, with all the terrible, undeniable force of his very physical body, that that is what will give him the strength to complete the great task: to clear the Blight, to rescue Felassan.

This moment. That child. Those small, violet eyes peering back at them from some unnamed future. He cannot blame Beleth for wanting it; it carries the force of the inevitable.

"Oh," He says softly, and for a moment or two is more vulnerable than he has been since his own first breaths, reach forward by instinct as if to touch that tiny hand, "I see."

He wants that future... And so does she.

"...I..." Solas hesitates, turning away, "I... have never been a father. Nor a parent of any kind. Occasionally, a teacher, but I am told me methods... are harsh. Are you sure, Vhenan?"

Not that this was what she wanted, of course. He understands now, her heart-deep passion for this. But with him? Will he not ruin such a small and fragile life?

In the dream, the three adults don't acknowledge the two of them. They seem almost frozen in place, slightly faded into the background. Beleth's focus is on the child, who peers at the two dreamers curiously, just as they had seemed to see her through the orb. Slowly, the baby reaches out, to met Solas' hand, and grab his finger.

And Beleth wants it. Watching Solas look upon the baby, and the baby stares back at him, unafraid. That baby seeing what Beleth sees every time she looks at Solas -- so much more than all of his titles, he is the man that she loves. He is her beloved. And she wants this proof of their love, a life they create together, wholly separate and more wonderful than either of them.

Slowly, she steps forward, reaches up to touch Solas' face, run her fingers down his jaw, then cup his cheek. Her smile is as full of love and gentleness as she is capable of. "You are a good husband, and you will be a good father. There is so much love in you, Sileal. And you deserve all the unconditional love that will be yours in turn. Neither will you be alone... between the three of us," And her eyes move across the adult figures, eyes all locked on the child, "I'm sure we'll figure it out, together."

They will. Whether or not Cordelia's orb was true hardly matters. It is the future that they desire, and between the three of them, what could possibly stop them from grasping it?

He allows the touch, allows himself to be turned away, held close, and embraced. For a moment, everything in him wishes to rebel; to declare it all foolish, unknowable, impossible. But Wisdom wins out: what was the use? She was right. The fact that he wanted her to be right did not make it less true.

She declares him full of love and he feels himself a creature bound up entirely in uncertainty and fear, a broken figure of grief and regret.

But her faith in him has never wavered. He sighs, and bends his face against her hand, dropping his head forward in agreement. Yes. Yes, he will master his fear and forge ahead once more— had he not done so once already? It made no difference if it was into the Fade itself, or to this strange new reality, suffused in beauty and love. If anyone threatened them, his family, he would show them a Dread Wolf indeed...

"Var lath vir suledin," He whispers, almost in recognition. Her words, his wistful desire; if they commit to this path, it will be made true, "Ar lath ma, Vhenan."

As he leans into her hand, Beleth moves until there is barely a breath's width between their bodies, her other hand wrapping around his body (he's gotten some weight on him, she thinks with pleasure, since he came back to Caldera. He'll gain more if she has it her way.), and closing what distance there had been. Her head rests against his chest as she looks up at him, still cradling his face.

"And I, you." She whispers to him, then gives a long, happy sigh. Content -- that is how she feels. Content in the world and her life. Wrapped around her heart, loved and loving. It hardly matters when this baby will come about: what matters is that it will, some day, and that Solas will be there for it, and happy that it has happened.

It's almost a strange feeling. To be so pleased with everything, with how it has all turned out.

"Kissing you in that dream, so long ago, was the best thing to ever happen to me." She tells him, voice only slightly muffled in his chest. "I love you so much, Sileal."

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