Prompts: slow dance, salt on skin, devouring, bubble bath, love letter, skyhold gossip.
On A03: Part 1, Part 2
Ellana stared at the letter on the war table and wanted to cry. It was a neatly rolled bit of parchment, wrapped in fine ribbon and sealed with wax. Pressed into it was the unique inquisition insignia Solas only used when the contents were addressed directly to her. It was mostly the same as the standard sword and eye she had been unable to escape for years. But he had altered it a few months ago; not long after their first sexual encounter. This one had the hilt replaced with an intricate knot work she didn’t understand. It was complicated, and beautiful, and she knew it meant something. But she could not figure out what, no matter how many nights she spent pondering it over candlelight.
She picked the roll up and traced her thumb over the hilt of the sigil, feeling the bumps and ridges of his alteration to her organizations’s symbol. What did it mean? What was the significance? She wished she knew. She wished she dared ask. She stared down at the letter and tried to summon the energy to open it. It had been an extremely long day - an extremely long week, if she was honest. All the news had been bad. Raids and murders and battles lost. Solas tried. His overwhelming power ensured victory for every battle he participated in. But he could not be everywhere. Could not fight in every battle. And while he fought often, his were the only ones they won.
No.
They were losing.
Ellana shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. No. She had to focus. They had to win. Lost battles were to be learned from. Tactics to be studied. She could not let this stop her. Them. Too much was at stake. Whatever was in this missive was important. From the Dread Wolf to the Inquisitor. She had to see it. Had to open it.
Ellana slid her thumb under the pressed wax, and it broke easily with a little spark of magic. Ellana could not help but smile. No matter the lines that stretched out between them - lines Ellana had put there and maintained - Solas kept doing sweet things for her. Small, innocuous things that no-one else would notice. Like spelling her tub with a rune that both filled and heated it at a touch. For when she desperately needed a bath, but was too tired to spellcast. Or the way the kitchen was always mysteriously stocked with halla butter. No-one else liked it, and she had no idea where Solas got it from. But there was always a tub for her.
Or this, now. Spelling the roll sealed so none but she could open it, but warded so that it broke easily at her touch. So she didn’t have to bring her hated false left arm into it.
The paper rolled open, helpfully laying itself flat so she could read the words written inside in elegant script.
Ellana stared down at it, tracing the letters of his signature with the tip of a finger. He answered to Solas easily enough when she addressed him as such, but she rarely ever did so. Only in his bedroom. Only when she was naked in his arms. Only when she caved to her soul’s yearning and let herself be just a woman; and he, just a man. He never turned her away. He accepted the rules she laid out. Let her use him for relief and succor. It was selfish of her, and she knew it. Forcing the both of them to deny their love. To the impossible task of pretending it didn’t exist. All for a few stolen hours of shared bliss in this fucked up war.
Inquisitor,
Your presence is requested at the stone table by the singing brook at your earliest convenience. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.
Fen’Harel
Ellana removed her hand from the paper and let it roll back up loosely. She had half a mind to ignore the summons. Solas had said at her earliest convenience, and her preference in this moment was to return to her camp, find a tree, and crawl into its boughs until no-one could find her. But that was a stupid, childish impulse. To hide from her responsibilities. They would only multiply when she wasn’t looking.
Strapping a bit of mental steel to her spine, Ellana straightened, snatching the letter up in her hand as she did so. She marched out of the war room, and set her face in her ‘busy Inquisitor’ mask. She did not want to be stopped on her way to what she hoped was her last bit of business today.
-
The Singing Brook was so named for the musical way the water flowed over the rocks that made up the bed of the brook. It was no pretty euphemism, either. Some enterprising member of Solas’s followers had carved the stones carefully and placed them just so. Hundreds of rocks, from massive boulders, to tiny pebbles, and all sizes in between were carved, and shaped, and balanced, to create an unending symphony as the water rushed over, and around, and through, what Ellana could only call a work of art. With nature itself as the canvas.
As always, Ellana heard it long before she saw it, the music of the water drawing her onward. Though she was not aware of it, her shoulders relaxed, her teeth unclenched, and a small smile played at the edges of her lips.
Solas was waiting for her by the stone table as he promised, his hands clasped behind his back as they always were. A spread of simple food was on the table; fruits and breads and raw vegetables. His wolf-head pelt with six eyes that was perpetually pulled low over his face, and had come to signify his title of Dread Wolf, had been casually case aside to crumple on the stone bench of the table. Ellana walked through an invisible barrier she hadn’t even known existed, and suddenly the air was warmer. She let out a small gasp and lifted her hand to the ties of her cloak, pulling and loosening it on her shoulders.
“Solas,” she said, unable to hide the smile in her voice. Truly, not even trying. “What is all this?”
Solas smiled and brought a hand out from behind his back to wave it at the table. “Food.” He turned and gestured at the water, stepping back as he did so. Beyond, Ellana saw the singing brook - and the change he had made to it. “And a bath,” he said.
“Solas…”Ellana said, stunned.
She walked forward, eyes on the water behind him. At the edge of the brook, he had dug a pool, deep enough to sit in, with a stone rim around it leading her to think he had lined it with river rocks. Not that she could see the bottom; the water was a milky white due to all the minerals in it, and she could see the steam rising from it from here. He had made her a hot spring.
Ellana slowly padded up to stand next to Solas, eye wide as she looked at the hot spring and then at the table next to her, covered in food. Closer, and she realized it was all her favorite foods. Hearthcakes with berries baked in. Sugared nuts. Dried dates. Meat stew, and sourdough bread, with a dish of halla butter to the side. A bowl of fresh, raw greens. And, yes. Even a pot of tea, cups set to the side, ready to pour.
It felt like a date.
Ellana turned to Solas and held up the letter she still held loosely in her fist. “An important matter?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.
This did not feel like a professional meeting between two leaders.
Ellana opened her mouth to object, and Solas quickly held up a hand to forestall her. “Please,” he said, hands raising to push her loosened cloak from her shoulders. “Indulge me. You are the excuse I need to take some time for myself.” He draped it carefully over the stone bench, a marked difference to the careless way his masked cloak lay crumpled.
Solas reached out and pulled the missive from her hand with gentle fingers. “Yes,” he said softly, setting it on an empty spot on the table next to them. “Your health and well being is an important matter.”
Love flowed through her for this man. For his care and attention. The week had been equally long for him - longer. He had fought in several battles, bounding from battlefield to battlefield with little rest. Filling in for fallen battalions. A one-man bulwark against the armies of the evanuris. And yet, here he was. Setting up a bath and a meal for her.
He turned back to her, and laid his left hand on the ties at the front of her shirt, asking silently. Ellana inclined her head. Solas tugged them free, a small crease between his brows as he focused on the task. Ellana lifted her right hand and pressed her thumb to the crease, smoothing it away with gentle pressure. He looked up at her, eyes shining with love. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then he swallowed and dropped his gaze.
Ar lath ma.
Once her shirt was loose, he lifted it up over her head, and she helpfully raised her arms to assist. He folded it carefully and laid it on her cloak. His hands came back up and hovered over the little clip that kept her breastband in place at front. His eyes flicked up to lock with hers again. Again, Ellana inclined her head. Seconds later, the hook and eye catch had been undone and her breasts were free.
Not waiting for him to ask, Ellana captured his left hand and brought it to her trousers. A soft smile flickered over his expression.
The words hung between them as he helped her undress the rest of the way, his hands tender on her skin. He knelt to undo her legwraps and her breath caught in her throat. She knew what he could do from this position. The pleasure he could bring her with lips, and tongue; when her leg was slung over his shoulder, and her hand was buried in his hair. Heat bloomed and his nostrils flared. There was a smug smile on his face as he stood.
“Don’t,” she told him sternly, fighting back her own smile.
Solas gave her an innocent look. “I said nothing.”
Ellana rolled her eyes. But she took his hand when he extended it, and let him lead her to the water. Closer, and she could see what appeared to be steps cut into the side of the pool and, sure enough. That was where he led her.
She held his hand strongly for balance as she descended the steps, her left stump lifted instinctively. The water came up to her hips and Solas crouched as she descended, never letting go. He tugged gently, guiding her to the edge. Ellana found a stone bench with her knees, and Solas smiled softly as he lifted her arm and twirled her about as if they were dancing. He drew her hand across her chest as she sat, and he rested their laced fingers on her left shoulder as he bent over her, and dropped a kiss so light and delicate on her hair that she could pretend he hadn’t done it at all.
Then he was letting go, standing and moving away to the table on soft feet. With all the revelations about the history of the world and his true nature behind them, he had long stopped pretending to make noise as he walked. One of the may masks he now dropped.
Ellana closed her eyes, slouching slightly so she could rest her head against the lip of the bath. She listened to the quiet sounds of the forest, the singing of the brook. The crunch of snow under a deer’s hooves. And the gentle clink of cups and plates as he assembled a meal for her.
“Here,” Solas said, behind her now, and Ellana startled slightly at his sudden presence. “Apologies.” He extended the teacup to her, the plate already fixed in place by her elbow with a little curl of magic.
Ellana turned slightly to take the cup from him, nose immediately over the steam coming off the tea. Jasmine. Jasmine and, she took a sip. A tiny dollop of honey. She took another sip, humming happily. Normally, she hated jasmine tea, disliking the delicate flavor. But when she was stressed and at her limit, it was jasmine tea she turned to; the subtleties of the flavor giving her something to focus on that wasn’t the disaster her life had become. She had drunk it after Haven fell, when the humans had sung to her. She had drunk it after Halamshiral, when the mask of pleasantness had bitten hard at her face. She had drunk it again when a poor decision had led to her clan being slaughtered.
Ellana hummed again, taking another sip and feeling the tension in her shoulders relax. Solas touched her shoulder, and Ellana looked up to see him crouched at her side, a piece of sourdough, slathered in halla butter, held up for her to bite. She looked past his hand at him. He was still fully dressed.
“Aren’t you going to join me?”
Solas shrugged awkwardly, the bread bobbing in his hand. “This is for you.”
This man.
Ellana let go of the cup and caught it with magic. She took the bread from him, and stared up into his eyes. “There’s plenty of space for two.”
“I didn’t want to presume-“
“Solas,” she interrupted sharply. “Don’t be obtuse. Get in here.”
He blinked at her in shock, his cheeks and ears blooming in red. This was the closest she had gotten to admitting to the unspoken between them. To acknowledging that this was not purely physical. Never had been. Love was at the core of all their interactions. When they argued strategy over the war table. When she kicked his spies out of her office. When she came apart in his arms, his come spilling hot and perfect inside her. And, here. Now. With this date he would not name such. Couldn’t, because she had forbidden him.
“As you wish,” he said softly, love thick in his tone.
Ellana turned on the bench to watch him, as he stood and took a step back. She knelt on the stone, chin resting on her forearm, as his hands went to the clasp at his shoulder that held his shirt together. She had learned so many things about him since they had joined forces a year ago. Including this detail: he preferred asymmetric clothing.
He turned away as he pulled his shirt from his shoulders to dump it at the table. She had the bread to her lips when the bruises came into view. She bit down hard in shock, the bread crunching. Ellana chewed desperately, chewing without tasting as her eyes roamed over the mottled black and blue bruises that spread across his skin. Her mouth was still full when his legs were revealed, and she was glad. Because she would have gasped if she’d been able. While the skin of his back was bruised but not broken, the same could not be said of his legs.
There were puncture wounds still slowly seeping blood all along his thighs and calves, long red welts connecting them. They wound around his legs, as if some thorny vine had wrapped around them and pulled him down. Ellana thought back to one of the missives she had read today, and it suddenly made a lot more sense. Andruil preferred to use plants to capture her prey. She had faced Solas in the Anderfels before he had driven her away.
Solas turned and saw her staring at his legs, and his eyes went shadowed. That would not do.
“Bring some of the stew, would you?” she asked, turning back around on the stone bench as if she had not just seen the unhealing wounds that were the hallmark of Andruil. “And the vegetables.” Ellana settled back into the water and took another bite of bread.
It was another few minutes before Solas joined her, and Ellana spent that time eating her bread, and no doubt doing the same thing he was: tucking the pain away behind a mask of pleasant smiles. There was no cure for Andruil’s Wounds except time. And he would not thank her for useless fussing.
She looked up when he approached, smiling gently into his eyes. He returned it, a bowl of stew in one hand and the raw vegetables in his other. He set the vegetables next to the first plate he had brought, and floated the stew over to her as he slipped into the water. He did not hiss, or flinch, or otherwise give any indication that he now had multiple open wounds soaking in mineral water.
Ellana paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. She looked down at the bowl, then up at Solas. Surely not. “Did you….? You didn’t.”
Ellana locked the bowl of stew in the air and had a spoonful. Her eyes closed, and a pleased groan escaped her. This was so good! Solas’s chuckle had her opening her eyes to stare at him as she chewed.
“I am glad you approve,” he told her, reaching out with one long arm to snag a handful of vegetables. He popped a carrot into his mouth and bit down. “It is my favorite recipe.”
He blinked at her and ate another carrot.
“Did you make this?”
He smiled placidly at her. “Did I?”
Ellana scowled and kicked out at him, making sure to only gently touch the top of his feet with her toes, one of the few parts of him that was undamaged.
Solas laughed, free and clear, making a show of dodging her kick, his smile wide enough that it crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Ellana hid her dopey grin in a spoonful of soup.
“I’ll never tell,” he said smugly.
Which meant that, yes. He did. Solas was quick to give credit to others when they did something, but would never claim his small acts of kindness.
“Well,” she said, taking another bite. “It is very good. Please give the chef my compliments.”
Solas’s grin softened to a sheepish smile. “I will,” he whispered.
-
The picture of the brook is something I made in a game called Cozyrama on Steam. I had a lot of fun putting all the bits together. The name of this story, as well as the overarching series is a reference to "Paper Walls" by Rezz.
