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Please was never a word Solas had been fond of.
He had always been a prideful man, for better or for worse.
However, ever since Lavellan entered his life, the word had be in his vocabulary more than he wanted to admit. It was natural to plead for any number of reasons.
Please, don’t let them suffer for my mistake, he thought as he tended to the anchor on their hand. it glowed and pulsed in time with the breach. Even with them laying on a bed, unconscious, he knew it hurt. Beads of sweat clung to their skin despite the cold mountain air. Their body twitched and convulsed with every powerful thrum from the hole in the sky.
He never meant for any of this to happen, but to think one of the people suffered - even more, one could say - because of his own rash actions… it made the words slip from his chapped lips as he kissed over their hand.
Contact he shouldn’t have made, but wanted regardless. A sign of solidarity, an unspoken promise that he would see them through this.
Please, let me be right, he thought as he grabbed their wrist tightly. They’re too shocked to resist, too entranced by the rift. He’s grateful they don’t struggle, grateful they don’t seem to be hurt.
He met their eyes and felt a stir.
Please becomes very sarcastic from the both of you when the subject of modern elves comes up. Whether it be the Dalish or the city elves, he has made assumptions based off of very few observations. He knew he was aggravating them, frustrating them, but what else could he do?
They take pride in their culture, as he does his, and perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult for the two of them to find common ground. He knew the truth, but what do you say to someone who has a truth of their own? Who has lived off stories and fractured tablets and a dead language.
He wanted to reach out to his people, but how?
Please, he found himself thinking, teach me.
To his surprise, they did. They taught him. Through actions, through smiles, through anger. Later he would tell them they reminded him of the elves of old, but that was only half true.
They reminded him of himself.
Please, he spoke inwardly, addressing his foolish heart, don’t kiss them. You cannot afford to get attached more than you are. You have responsibilities and so do they. Do not hurt them.
It was all for naught.
He kissed them. Oh, he kissed them and it was heat. It was passion and tongue and teeth and sweet, alluring noises that could only be made better through the murmur of the name he had taken. Solas went back to them over and over. He felt himself smile against Lavellan’s lips.
His mind was screaming, yet his heart was singing.
Ma vhenan, please let me go, he told them on their balcony. It was such sad thing to say. To ask the person who had become his heart to let him leave, to pretend he has no love for them, to escape the inevitable hurt he would cause.
But they held onto his arm and even that contact is enough to break him. It’s enough to bring him back into their embrace. Enough for him to kiss them all over again, run his hands over their body.
It wasn’t a need for possession. Just a need to feel.
Lavellan kept finding ways of reminding him he’d been alone far too long.
Please, let them understand.
Those words repeated over and over in his mind.
Solas needed to tell them. They had to know the truth of who he was. This relationship couldn’t stay its course if he didn’t. He craved their companionship, wanted them with him always.
They were much more a god than he could ever be. If they understood that, perhaps they would let him worship them for the years to come.
Please, this is for the best.
Solas could not tell them the truth. They deserved it. They deserved the world and more. But there was so much left to do, so many things he knew he might need to sacrifice.
He would go to a dark place, and did not wish them to see it.
And he knew they would. From the way their face contorted in hurt, from the tears, from the rough emotion that weighed Lavellan’s voice down, he knew that they would have followed him through anything.
Ultimately, Solas knew he was unworthy of that.
The most selfish plea of all was when he turned his back on the Inquisition.
Solas could still feel the pieces of the orb in his hands, the way it crumbled and left grey marks over his skin. He had no choice. He had to leave. No hesitation, no goodbyes. Just a simple reminder as Lavellan apologized to him for the orb’s breaking, as if any of this was their fault.
What we had was real, he had affirmed.
As he made his way further and further from the person he loved, those were not the words that repeated in his mind.
All he had left was a please.
There were no specifications. No demands. No way for him to describe what he needed beyond one word that ran through his head over and over and over.
He wanted all responsibilities taken from him. He wanted their warmth again. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg for a thousand different things that Lavellan could give him with the simplest of touches.
Solas wanted to love.
Please.
Please.
Please.