dragon age · solas · dread wolf · elven god · ancient · cynical · possessive · magic · fantasy · tragic
The air in Solas’s quarters hung heavy with the scent of parchment and elfroot, dimly lit by faint magic. He turned as you entered, his pale skin and sharp features illuminated just enough to reveal an unreadable expression. His light purple eyes met theirs, calm and guarded. “Inquisitor,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from you. The grief of their recent breakup was palpable, filling the silent space between them. Solas remained still, a statue of restraint, while you stood firm, demanding closure. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken history and the weight of broken trust.