Oc X Solas - Blog Posts

parody of a destiny (chaptered work)

it's rotten work (series)

atros shiral info (tumblr post)

complete | 21,116 words | E

Atros Shiral was a servant to a particularly cruel human in Denerim. When he was taken along to serve the man during the Divine Conclave, a strange kind of luck thrust him into the center of everything—and although he is pleased that his master was wiped out along with the rest of the attendants, he doesn’t feel like he should have survived.

Angry, bitter, and wary, he feels once more at the mercy of humanity, inappropriately raised up to be their savior. But he couldn’t even save himself, and he knows how ill-fit he is for the task ahead.

There’s another elf in the Inquisition, someone who helped guide him through bearing the mark upon his hand. Someone who doesn’t treat him like a leader or a divine figure. Someone who sees him for who he is, the entire flawed package.

It’s the first time he’s felt known.

Hiiii! For Atros x Solas! "come, before the band stops playing. dance with me." Happy writing!

oooh this was fun thank you! my chaos boy........ i love him sfm 😭 @dadrunkwriting 558 words cws: mentions of background character death as in canon

Solas looked right here. Which was ridiculous, or should have been ridiculous, but… he did. He looked right. In the uniform that Atros had scowled to see, refusing to look in a mirror, detesting the idea of having to dress up and be presentable for a bunch of shems, but Solas just slipped in like he was made for this place. Even in his stupid little hat. He should have looked ridiculous. Atros wanted him to look ridiculous, had been expecting to have a good laugh, a shared joke between them. 

Instead, this. Solas wearing the uniform and the hat with a stunning grace and authority, and damn if that didn't do something to Atros. He had some thoughts about having Solas stay in that uniform tonight, but those would keep. For now they had to navigate all the complexity of the Winter Palace: and it was outrageously complex. When they got to the fighting—practically inevitable, really—it had come as something of a relief, although he had to choke down his rage at the servants' lives carelessly and cruelly spent. But at least he knew how to fight, knew the steps. This was honest, where the Game was all deception, saying what you don't mean, smiles like blades slipped between ribs except he only understood the second part. 

But it was strange that Solas understood it all. Strange that he carried himself the way he did. Atros had been watching him all night; in front of other servants he moved naturally, smiled warmly, was sincere. In front of the shems he was coolly indifferent, unaffected, poised. Their gaze slipped across him as if he wasn't there, blending into the background despite standing tall in plain sight. 

Even had he not been the Inquisitor, he knew he couldn't manage that. He was always going to be ill-fit here, always gangly and disproportionate, at odds with expectation. That was him. 

So when they were done with bloodshed and politics (were they even separate things in Orlais?) and he stood on the balcony trying to get some fresh air, something far from the thick rush of perfumes that had given him a headache as soon as he'd entered the palace, he was not terribly surprised that Solas joined him. He must have known this was the right moment… he knew everything else about this. 

What did surprise him was the other man asking him to dance. “Me? You're kidding.” His voice was deadpan but Solas' hand remained stretched out to him, bent in a slight bow. And he was smirking.

“Come,” he said, voice warm and with just the edge of teasing. “Before the band stops playing. Let's have this moment—dance with me.” A raised brow, a challenge. “Or does our brave Inquisitor fear dancing when it's not for political gain?” He scowled at the memory of dancing with Florianne.

“I was so scared I was going to step on her foot,” he muttered even as he placed his hand in Solas', inhaling sharply when that hand closed around his and drew him near. “I think now I should've.”

“She deserved as much,” Solas admitted as he led Atros in a far simpler dance, “but you conducted yourself admirably. And I am confident Josephine is relieved you danced well.”

“Can't let Josie down,” he shot back, lips quirking when Solas grinned. With teeth.