Dragon Age One Shots

The Cat And The Wolf, Solas

His brush drew the final strokes of the shadow, Solas stepping back to try and realign his perspective. He'd been so focused on the minute he nearly forgot how that one piece fit into the entire mural. As he glanced higher to take in the scope, he heard a rattle above him.

Someone was upon the scaffolding in his room. Crossing his arms, he turned to confront them, just as three drops of green paint descended from above. The first struck the ground before his bare foot, the second on top of his head, and the last landed in a globbed stain upon the middle of his chest. While wiping off the dot of paint on his head, he turned to glare down at his sweater forever marred.

An older woman, hands gnarled from a life she didn't own, spun her last ball of wool and gifted it to the Dread Wolf. She wanted him to keep it safe, to remember her life in its threads. Slowly, as their world unraveled, as he ripped free every pretense of godhood from the world, his followers knit for him this sweater. Which was now stained by whoever found this kind of behavior hilarious.

"Sera..." Solas growled, his eyes narrowing to hone upon the scaffolding. She didn't confess, nor did she leap down to laugh at the sight of him covered in paint. "You cannot escape my notice," he warned her.

Movement rattled old brushes soaking in turpentine, Solas drawing closer. A spell formed on his fist, nothing too painful, when a head coated in brown and white fur poked itself over the edge.

"This is surprising," he said aloud, shaking away his attack. The cat stretched upon the razor's edge fall, its partially bobbed tail wafting too and fro to keep it steady. "What are you doing up there, cat?"

He didn't expect an answer, but disconcerting yellow eyes bored into him. Part of the left ear was notched, and a scar ran down the length of the old cat's face. A fighter. Perhaps it was hiding in here to lick its wounds. Or waiting for its next chance to attack.

"Would you be so kind as to get down?" he asked. A foolish thought, cats did not care to do what they were told. Much like gods in that fashion. They took what they wished when they wished it, and demanded praise for their wanton ways. Idolization. Worship.

To his continued surprise, the cat scampered to the edge of the scaffolding and leapt. Its pain coated paws landed upon his sleeping divan, small prints in shades of green and red trailing the creature. The cat paused just before Solas' feet, its eyes staring up at the Dread Wolf, while the nobby tail twitched in contemplation.

"You see me for what I am, don't you," he spoke to the judgmental eyes. Turning over his shoulder, he took in the half painted mural of the Inquisitor's last accomplishment. "Do you see the mural or the line?"

The cat mewled, stretching its limber body long against the floor. Bending to his knees, Solas kept his hands to himself even as he watched the animal roll around to scratch its own back. "Do you tire of the fight? Have you tried to find succor where none would expect you to hide? Do you hope for peace to fill the gaps left behind from your absence?"

He reached forward, tender fingers bouncing into the cat's head. When his nails found the spot, the cat leaned into him, using his fingers for a free scratch. A rumble rose from deep in the creature's gut, the soothing purr bringing a smile to Solas' lips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stopped to simply pet an animal.

A bird of bright plumage, colors no longer seen in this drained world, landed beside him. It watched same as the cat, eyes of a haunting blue wondering what that bald elf was doing. For a moment, he'd let his fingers wander from his path, curling against the downy feathers. Peace. Serenity. It was what he'd hoped for.

So he chose to end the reign of the gods. To free the people from what their own fervid beliefs created. The bird took wing before the veil erupted from his trembling hands to coat the world and change it.

He meant for it to be better.

Rising from his crouch, Solas turned to face the wall. It wasn't the line he stared at, nor the mural itself. The wall, a fortress, a mountain, a country, a world. All of it in shambles because he created a void and they filled it with pain.

Heat brushed against his shins, Solas' eye drifting down to find the cat circling his legs. With a smile, he patted his shoulders and commanded the cat, "Up."

Paint prints trailed the cat's climb, red and green tracks circling Solas' back as the animal nested upon his shoulder. It drew its face against his, the scar of war scratching upon his chin. The animal purred relentlessly, finding a kindred soul within this world -- the cat who followed orders, and the wolf who followed none.