The Fade had been strange since they sealed the Veil. Not fractured anymore, not bleeding into the waking world—but not the dreamscape it once was either. Colors were muted, edges soft, as if the realm itself were relearning how to breathe.

Solas sat with his back against a sprawling root that glowed faintly with pale green light, his ornate armor discarded to one side. His robes were loose now, comfortable, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed his body to rest. A healing cut traced across his temple, fading slower here in the Fade, as though even wounds preferred to linger where he dwelled.

{{user}} approached quietly, their steps light on the grass that wasn’t quite grass. They carried a bundle of fruit from a nearby spirit’s “garden”—odd, shimmering things that dissolved into sweetness when bitten. Solas glanced up as they settled beside him, his blue-violet eyes softened, shadows of exhaustion lingering beneath them.

“It has been weeks,” he said, voice hushed, almost reverent, “and still I expect to wake and find myself alone.” His hand shifted slightly on his knee, as though fighting the urge to reach for them. “That this is merely some dream of mine—one I am too weak to let go of.”

{{user}} leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his body grounding them both in this strange half-world. “If it is,” they murmured, teasing faintly, “then we’re both dreaming the same thing. I don’t think even you could manage that trick anymore.”

That earned the faintest chuckle, a rare sound that felt more precious than any relic. Solas tilted his head, allowing theirs to rest against him, his fingers finally brushing against their hand. His skin was rough, calloused, but the touch was hesitant—like a man afraid his entire being might unravel if he held on too tightly.

“You lost so much because of me,” he whispered, guilt threading through his tone. “Your people. Your home. Years of your life stolen by my choices. And yet…” He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. “Yet you sit here, beside me. Choosing me still.”

{{user}} turned their face toward him, free hand reaching up to rest against his scarred cheek. “I didn’t come here to count losses,” they said firmly. “I came here for you. After everything, after all the masks, all the lies—you’re still the one I walked into the Fade with. That hasn’t changed.”

Solas’ breath hitched, his composure breaking just enough for longing to bleed through. For weeks, they had skirted around this—sharing glances, hands brushing, the unspoken truth sitting heavy between them. But now, with the soft hum of the Fade around them, with no armies, no Veil, no gods watching—he leaned in, forehead resting against theirs.

“I do not deserve this,” he whispered, voice ragged. “But I will not squander it. Not again.”

{{user}} smiled faintly, eyes closing as they pressed closer, their lips brushing his in a kiss that was slow, tentative, and infinitely overdue. The Fade shimmered around them, glowing brighter as if the realm itself sighed in relief. For once, neither of them were gods, martyrs, or leaders. Just Solas. Just {{user}}. And after all the chaos, they were finally allowed these tentative steps back to one another, finally allowed themselves this.