Prompt, Spreading within the bones like slow mycelium :o!
Thank you, Sunshine! For @dadrunkwriting – a little Solesta post-Adamant realization.
Adamant had only added to her unbearable nightmares and unwillingness to sleep. Each night, Halesta once again faced the horrors of the Raw Fade; relived the loss of Stroud and her guilt, the jarring return of her missing memories. What ate at her most of all was the elven spoken by the hair-raising voice: Dirth ma, Harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. The tension that had caught Solas by his every muscle, momentarily freezing him in place, his face nothing but abysmal rage. She knew the words, knew their meaning, and her mind puzzled their place amongst her suspicions of the Apostate. But there was also another concern needling at her mind.Ar lath ma, Vhenan. He had said it the day they took Griffon Wing Keep, and she had said it in return. She had called him Vhenan once more, while he healed her from the siege of the Warden stronghold. Halesta hadn’t allowed herself to think about it much, there had been so much else to worry over. Dying, for example. Now, having said it twice and with their travel allowing for little more than reflection, she had to ask herself if it had been true.
She had felt the attachment creeping in since they first met; using suspicion and perceived slights like fire to burn it back, so sure she was managing to keep it at bay. She hadn’t expected so much more growing below the surface, spreading within her bones like slow mycelium. She certainly hadn’t expected love, of all damned things—
With the blessed return of pavestones beneath Da’assan’s hooves, she could feel the steps of her mount ease. She breathed a wordless gratitude that the horse no longer struggled to stay upright across the shifting sands of the Approach. Halesta was eager to return to Skyhold, and though they were still over a week out, their small progress towards Val Firmin was a little reviving.
“Nehn, ma’ Falon,” she murmured to her mount, and Da’assan pranced briefly, drawing a giggle.
“She understands the People’s tongue?” Solas had sidled up next to her.
“She speaks the language of the heart,” she corrected, patting her horse’s neck gently.
“Is that not the same thing?” His tone was baiting, though his expression remained teasingly passive.
“It can be, if it’s not used to confuse or manipulate…or to lie.”
She kept her tone neutral and calm—pleasant, even—though the casual remark was undeniably pointed. He met her gaze with a slow blink, composure apparently intact.
“She can tell the difference,” Halesta concluded, smiling warmly at him to soften the subject. A flicker of something crossed his face, but passed too quickly for her. After a beat, he reached out to her, and she entwined her fingers in his; holding hands as Fenvir and Da’assan kept in step. He looked ahead and so did she, riding for a moment in silence.
“Vhenan,” Solas sighed, and she thought it a quiet sort of surrender.
Despite herself, she felt her heart swell, and gently squeezed his hand.
