Deviled Eggs was going to be a ridiculously silly restaurant AU of Inquisition. Sadly, I don’t think it will ever be finished; other things got in the way. But my friend and I had a lot of fun writing it. Here’s an excerpt as a little holiday treat.
They crashed through the kitchen doors, a tangled mess of hands on shirts, and stumbled blindly past the metal shelves of food. Against the counter, Solas ran his fingers through Lavellan’s hair, kissing up and down her neck as he pressed his body closer. With clumsy, eager fingers, she undid his shirt and pawed at him over his trousers.
“Solas,” she gasped, eyes closed. “Is that a cucumber in your po--”
“Ah.” Solas took a step back, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a perfectly ripe cucumber. “They were on sale at the Crossroads Farmers Market today. I thought it would be splendid in a nice gazpacho.” Lavellan purred. He set the fruit aside and closed the gap between them once more, as if there had not been a pause in their clandestine tryst.
Thank you for tagging me, @evilbunnyking and @eveningshadowrising!
Cite the final line(s) of five of your fics or most recent ones (WIP or complete!) Then tag 5 writers who should do this next! (or you can pass on tagging if you’re not comfortable tagging people!)
And so he turned away, begging his heart for forgiveness and leaving yet another wreckage in his wake. {From I’m a Ruin}
“You are not the only one.” {From Man Down}
“Yes.” {From Simply Falling}
“Ma ghilana vir vhenas,” he finally said, and though the snow crunched beneath her feet, she was certain she was flying. {From Happy Halladays!}
He smiled, and after her he followed. {From Wisdom’s Gift}
I went backwards through my most recent fics, and I love how these lines sort of tell their own story--one of a relationship from the end to the beginning.
The delightfully wicked @anachromystic challenged me to write a story based on “Man Down” by Rihanna. She wanted murder and pain, so here we are. This piece stars my newest OC, and I’m pretty excited for her debut. Thank you for reading!
Please note: certain parts of this story may distress some readers. Trigger warning for death, blood, violence, and gore.
The fight carried on into the evening. Sounds of battle filled the air—panicked screams, grunts and groans of exertion, the crackle of spells, the clang of metal on metal.
And the fires.
Scorching flames engulfed the trees and cabins, and smoke and ash billowed all around, drifting into Mathilde’s lungs, burning her nose, making her eyes sting and water. She wasn’t their Herald. She was terrified, banged-up, bruised, and bleeding. The Circle never prepared her for the horrors of war.
Lifeless bodies littered the Hinterlands, mangled and broken so grotesquely, it was impossible to distinguish between mages and templars now. This is all anyone is in the end—just flesh and bone.
And, they were dead because of her. She had struck down these men and women without a moment’s hesitation at the time. Was this the only way?
“It’s kill or be killed,” Seeker Pentaghast had roared before charging into the chaos. “They will not listen to reason!” Mathilde joined the Seeker and the Inquisition’s forces under the pretext of self-defense, adrenaline coursing through her, guiding her actions.
But the battle was over now, and she felt monstrous. Her hands shook, and she could barely hold herself up. Her stomach rolled and heaved, and she fell on all fours to vomit. Too weak to stand, she slumped against the rock face behind a still-standing cottage. A pair of dead eyes stared at her five feet away. Hot tears streamed down her face as she hyperventilated.
She did this. She was a criminal, a murderer, an abomination, and she sat there rocking in a panic until someone crouched in front of her.
The apostate. The quiet elf. Solas.
“Take this,” he said, holding out a glass bottle filled with a swirling green liquid. “It will help.” She reached for the bottle, and he steadied her trembling hand with his own as she brought it to her lips and drank. In seconds, the tightness in her chest dissipated. Her heart calmed to a restful pace. The nausea vanished, and the shaking ceased. She stilled, her gaze settling on a point in the middle distance.
“How do you feel?” she heard Solas ask. “Herald?” She flinched at the title. “Mathilde? Look at me.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she forced herself to make eye contact. His brows were furrowed, but there was a softness to his eyes.
“Good,” he said, warm and patient. “Focus on me, only me. You are safe. It is over. Just breathe. Nothing else is of importance right now. Breathe.” His voice was soothing, and Mathilde found that soon she was breathing regularly. The tears dried.
“Yes, very good,” he said, rising to his feet. He offered his hand. “Can you stand? We must take you to the healers.” She nodded and placed her hand in his. He helped her up while she stumbled and swayed like a newborn foal, clinging to him for support. “Are you well?”
Mathilde swallowed. “Thank you,” she rasped, despite the rawness of her throat. Solas froze, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. He blinked.
“You… are welcome.” He scanned her features for a moment before clearing his throat and silently guiding her forward. Mathilde inspected the war-torn landscape as they walked.
“I wish there was a different way,” she whispered, shaking her head. “They’re just people; they don’t deserve this. I wish no one had to die.” Solas kept walking beside her. His jaw was tight and did not meet her eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was thick and low.
I was tagged by @anachromystic to write a fic based on “Simply Falling” by Iyeoka. I got carried away and had to cut stuff out, but it is now exactly 800 words long. Thanks for tagging me! And thank you all for reading. <3
Thunder crashes overhead as she fumbles with the keys. It will be another slow Monday shift if the storm doesn’t break. Once inside, Ellana ties her hair up into a messy bun and puts away her belongings. She makes a cup of coffee and slips into her usual routine.
There are dozens of books waiting for her by the book-drop. Good. She has plenty to keep her busy this morning. She hums to herself while she checks the books in, relishing the silence before her colleagues arrive. She reaches for the last book in the box, and her fingers find a smooth, leather-bound tome, unlabeled. A journal? Dropped along with the others by accident, she assumes.
She flips through in search for a name. Sketches and poems pepper the pages. Studies of hands, landscapes, faceless figures. Words of sorrow and longing. Scrawled above an illustration of a ruined fortress is a small passage:
Nadasalin telrevas ne suli telsethenera
Tarasyl'an te'las vehn'ir abelath'vir...
She regrets not being more fluent in elven.
Turning the page, she comes upon a photocopied portion of a book taped to the journal. Beneath it reads: THE STRUCTURES ARE ELVEN. More of Petrine’s Chantry rhetoric.
Petrine? Someone had just returned Empire and Imperium. A quick search through the database reveals its last borrower: Solas Harel, one of the library’s most frequent visitors. He always seemed so serious. Ellana would have never guessed he possessed such talent. She can’t help but carry on admiring his drawings and verses. The journal is only half-full. His last poem reads:
Old songs fall silent
In withering woods
No light in the shadow remains here
Dreams only memories
Of where once we stood
Left all alone as they disappear
Masked in the morning and mute as the night,
The wolf hears but echoes of yesterday’s fight.
Her heart sinks. What could have provoked such melancholy? Acting on an impulse, she writes.
But what of the good things that grow in the light —
The sweet songs of summer, the birds that take flight,
The smile of a stranger, or love at first sight?
The darkness is heavy, but it’s not the end
You are safe in the hands of a friend.
Not her best work, not by a long shot. But the Post-It is only so big. She leaves it in his journal, which she keeps hidden away until she sees him the following afternoon.
“Mr. Harel, I found this in the book drop,” she tells him, handing him the journal. His ears color as he mutters a thank you and walks out the door.
---
Two weeks later, Ellana finds the leather journal in the book drop bin again. She flips to where she left her note and is pleasantly surprised to see it taped permanently onto the page. Below it, a new passage.
Seedlings take root in
Rolling fields of gratitude
Watered by kindness
You have shown me there is good in this world. I will not forget.
-Solas
A neat row of little sprouts line the bottom. Smiling, she writes another note.
---
Their secret exchanges carry on for weeks.
In person, their words are brief and restrained, but they pour their hearts out on paper. He shares with her his dreams and stories from his journeys. She confesses her fears and composes him sonnets. He is gentle and somber, passionate and frank. She is curious and anxious, genuine and bright.
Slowly, the seedlings turn to flowers and the ruins into palaces.
---
Nearing the end of their journal, Ellana writes something different:
I want you in ways beyond paper and ink.
Say yes.
---
She dashes to the book drop the next Monday morning, but the journal isn’t there. It doesn’t show up that week or the one after that, and he, too, is nowhere to be found. Had she crossed the line? Destroyed whatever they had? The days are a blur of dull colors bleeding into each other. Is this what life was like before him?
Lightning flashes in the sky as she’s locking up one night, her ears filled with the rushing sounds of the storm. Yet she stays dry. She glances up. An umbrella. She turns, and there he is, protecting her from the downpour. Caught off-guard, she dares not blink lest he vanish right before her. But what to say?
“Solas…” she breathes. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess. “I… Where have you—? If you don’t—”
“Yes.” The word spills from his lips. She stills, searching his face, her mouth forming words that never surface. He lays his free hand against her cheek, cradling her face with gentle adoration.
“Yes,” he says again, and he steps a little closer, noses almost touching. She closes her eyes, and his lips are on hers.
“Yes.”
A/N: That passage in elven I swiped from this DAI codex entry. Everything else is from my own brain.
Here’s a little festive fluff for the wonderful @ithesalesman.
In this modern AU, the Inquisition celebrates Satinalia at Josie’s, Ellana Lavellan gives Solas a gift, and he finds a way to thank her.
With his mouth.
***
The room erupted into raucous cheers and laughter as soon as Bull and the Chargers finished their song. Ellana’s friends were packed inside Josie’s apartment, transformed into the picture of a winter wonderland. They spent the evening sipping ale, mulled wine, and hot apple cider and enjoying a variety of hors d’oeuvres and main courses served by the finest Orlesian catering company. There was even an entire table dedicated to sweets and petit fours for them to pick as they pleased. Josie and Leliana had outdone themselves.
Ellana was on her way to the kitchen, when Varric’s voice cut through the chaos.
“All right, everyone! Get your best card face on. It’s time for a game of Wicked Grace!”
“Varric, we’re not betting clothes again, are we?”
“It’s house rules, Curly. I will be deferring to our honorable Ambassador.”
Sera snorted into her ale. “Hope you got breeches under your breeches, ‘cuz my money’s on Josie.” Cullen swallowed and ran a hand through his hair, following the group into the other room.
Ellana chuckled to herself and popped a truffle into her mouth. In the kitchen, Cassandra and Dagna were chatting away about the latest Swords and Shields, while Vivienne and Dorian debated the quality of the Montsimmard vintage versus the Jader red.
As she poured herself a glass of water, Ellana heard Josie’s voice down the hall.
“Not one for Wicked Grace, Solas?”
“I am afraid my gambling days are over, but thank you for including me in your festivities.”
“It was lovely to see you outside work for once, and you are always welcome. Will you have trouble walking home in the snow? I can call you a cab.”
“You need not trouble yourself. I find the weather to be most tolerable, and I do not live far. I wish you a pleasant night.”
“Thank you for coming, Solas. ” Josie’s voice rang with sincerity. “…need anything, we’re just a phone call away. Joyous Satinalia!” The door opened and closed, and Ellana hesitated a few seconds before she remembered Solas’ gift in her pocket.
“Aw, leaving so soon, Boots?” Varric called from the playing room as she gathered her coat and scarf.
“It’s almost midnight, Varric, and I’d rather get home before it gets worse outside.” She motioned to the window.
“Ellana, tsk tsk. Your mask has slightly slipped since Celene’s masquerade last season,” Leliana chastised, appearing out of nowhere. Ellana suppressed a blush and tried again.
“I have to water my elfroot?”
Thom threw his head back and laughed, raising his pint in the air. “That’s a new one!”
“Everyone knows why you’re leaving. You don’t have to lie to your friends.”
Ellana balked. “Right… Thank you for that, Cole. Helpful as ever.”
“You gonna go give Droopy Ears something to smile about, yeah?” Sera popped her head out from under the table.
“Okay! This is me leaving. You’re all gems. Thank you for a lovely evening, Josie!” She kissed the Ambassador on each cheek, waved goodbye to her friends, and almost tripped over her feet as she ran out the door.
The street was still and silent, a stark contrast from the drunken revelry taking place inside. Not a soul could be seen in either direction, except for a figure a block away. Ellana caught a glimpse of a bald head and pointed ears as the figure passed under a streetlamp, and she allowed herself a few deep breaths before taking action.
“Solas!” She cried after him, picking up the pace down the snow-covered sidewalk. He turned and waited for a moment before approaching her.
“Ellana, is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes! Sorry to alarm you.” They met under the bookstore awning, and she pulled out a small parcel tied with a simple green ribbon. “You left without saying goodbye, and I wanted to give you this.”
“Ah, forgive me,” he said, accepting the package. “I did not mean to leave without a proper farewell. I suppose my mind was elsewhere.” He merely held it in his hand and said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet; open it!”
Heeding her urging, he tugged the ribbon and made sure not to rip the paper. When the wrappings fell away, he stared down at the token his hands.
“It’s not much, but I know they’re your favorite…” she trailed off, a lopsided grin on her face.
It was a small wooden carving of a sleeping wolf, its features detailed with what must have been an impossibly fine brush. Something caught in his throat, an unfortunate lump he could not overcome. There was a tightness in his chest, as if his ribs were expanding and breaking under pressure, an iron cage making room for his swelling heart.
“I have not received a gift since… It has been more than a few years.” His fingers trailed over the tiny wolf, no bigger than a golden coin.
Lavellan was taken aback. Solas did not have many friends; he’d said so himself in the past. But she never anticipated such a reaction. There was a gleam in his eyes that she could not quite explain.
“Not even for birthdays?”
“It has been longer still since I last celebrated a birthday, I assure you,” he laughed, though she did not understand what was so funny. “It is perfect, and I shall cherish it always.” Ellana broke into a smile. “I only wish I had possessed the foresight to recipro–”
“Oh, no no! Please, Solas. Don’t worry about that. This is nothing.” She waved a hand nonchalantly.
“This is not nothing. This is… everything.” His voice was firm and earnest, and suddenly she felt hot despite the falling snow.
Chantry bells rang, then, about half a dozen announcing the midnight hour. Rather than continue staring into his eyes like a dumbstruck fool, Ellana took a step back and began dancing in the empty street.
“I love this song!” She spread her arms and whirled around. “I know it’s Andrastian, but I’m a sucker for a nice melody and sweet words about the meaning of home.” Solas stepped onto the street, taking slow strides toward her.
“It is not Andrastian,” he said with that look he often got when he knew he was right. Ellana stopped dancing.
“It isn’t?”
“No.” And with that, he took her hand in one of his while the other found her waist. He closed the gap between them until they were almost chest-to-chest. He smelled of cedarwood and cloves, along with a third, more delicate scent she could not place. Before she knew it, they were moving in small circles, slower than a common waltz, with his mouth by her ear.
He was singing, his voice soulful and soothing, in time with the music resonating through the air around them. She could not understand most of the words and suspected his lyrics were in ancient elvhen, the tone more reflective and yearning than that of the version she had learned.
The bells soon stopped ringing, but Ellana barely noticed, for Solas carried on sotto voce. Were they still dancing, or was her head spinning? She felt feverish. She had chills. She was sure this was a dream.
They stood motionless for a moment, entangled in each other’s arms, and then he bowed and touched his lips to her fingers. “Thank you. For everything.” He released her hand, and then buried his in his pockets.
“I should be thanking you,” she uttered, as soon as she could find the words. “That was beautiful.”
“I am pleased you enjoyed it.”
“Can you translate the song for me? Will you teach it to me?”
“It would be my pleasure, but perhaps at a more convenient time.”
“I have time now.“
He smiled, and tiny wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. "I would not dream of keeping you at this hour.”
“By all means, keep me!” She laughed at her boldness. “I have no one waiting for me at home.”
"A tempting offer, but it is late.”
“All right, all right. Do you at least live nearby?”
“Yes, I know a shortcut to my home near Skyhold Park.”
“Solas, that’s three miles away! Don’t tell me you were planning on going that far in this weather.“ She crossed her arms.
“I do not mind the–”
“No. Come on; I insist. I’m just a few blocks past the Haven market.” He looked at her, snowflakes dusting his eyebrows and a ghost of a smile lingering on his face. Without another word, he wrapped an arm around her, and let her settle against his side.
”Ma ghilana vir vhenas,“ he finally said, and though the snow crunched beneath her feet, she was certain she was flying.
[A/N: I’m not going to pretend I’m some sort of elven expert, but the phrase is supposed to mean, “Guide me down the path home,” or something similar. Thanks for reading!]
This is part of a fic/art trade with @salesart. Sales created an incredibly gorgeous painting for this story, so head over to her page, and give her some love. Happy Solas Fluff Friday, and thanks for reading!
The forest stood like an army of jewel-toned behemoths, captivating and threatening at once. But while some people knew this land as the Emerald Graves, Solas remembered it by different names.
The Dales. Elvhenan. Home.
The region was once celebrated for the life it nurtured, for the magic that sustained its wonders. Now, it endured as a tribute to lives lost. A blooming cemetery. He craned his neck as he wove through the woods, cloaked by the Fade. Every towering trunk and glittering branch was a heavy weight on his mind. In his eyes, each tree was a personal failure, a reminder of all that was lost.
His greatest fear, his most torturous nightmare, became a little more real with each passing day. He was alone in a world both strange and chaotic, a world he had unknowingly created. Save for Mythal, everyone he knew and cared for was gone.
If only he had saved Wisdom.
The rare and benevolent spirit did not deserve such a fate, one of corruption and torture, of pain and destruction. His memory of Wisdom kneeling at his feet, begging to be guided into the beyond, would haunt him evermore. Passing landmark after landmark on his way back to camp, Solas recalled one of their last conversations.
***
They lounged in a lush malachite meadow beneath their favorite copse of trees in the Fade. The moss-covered branches rose high above their heads, twisting and twining, creating a serene and swaying sanctum. A gentle breeze rained blossoms all around them.
“Lethallin,” Wisdom began, “Some time has passed since last we met. I sense the conflict in you yet.”
“Indeed, my goal was once so clear and anchored.” There was a crease between his brows, guilt and worry written on his face.
“The world has changed; its people, too. And though the constant here is you, I would not have you bear that weight alone.” Wisdom cupped his face and flashed a knowing smile.
So Wisdom knew. The emphasis on that last word was laced with playful insinuation. His gaze shifted away from Wisdom. “I will not lose sight of my path.”
“Dear Wolf, you need not fight your heart.” With a nearly imperceptible gesture, the spirit summoned scores of flowers—roses, tulips, violets, and daisies—that sprung from the ground all around them. “Love is a garden, blooming with showers of trust.” He kept quiet, considering the metaphor, and moments passed in silence, a song sung only between the closest companions. When he finally spoke, it was in a low and measured tone.
“She has a kindness so surreal. The things she says, her mind… She—” He faltered, losing himself between words and thoughts. He sighed and tried again. “She makes me question what I feel. Have I misjudged her people all along?”
“Your doubt reveals more hope than dread. Allow yourself this happiness. Seek Truth, and she will love without condition.” Wisdom was the picture of composure, as if this unfortunate situation were no more alarming than a dark cloud passing overhead.
“I cannot have her walk beside me.”
“You can, for we are bound by choice. There may still be a path towards coexistence.”
The trees shifted to let sunshine filter in, and he listened to the babbling brook nearby. So much had changed in ages since. The People’s blood was on his hands, but he would not spill more without good reason. If he could just retrieve the orb…
“I treasure our companionship. You know my face, what I have seen... I truly would be lost without your guidance.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a symbol of his honest veneration. A fragrant floral garland then settled on his crown, and Solas smiled, for Wisdom was a playful spirit, too.
“You give me purpose, Fen'Harel. I know your secret fight so well. You heart will always be the link that binds us.” Wisdom placed a tender kiss upon his brow, and a soothing warmth overcame him, stirring him awake.
***
He crested a hill, and the Inquisition camp was now in sight. Although he longed for solitude, to sleep and roam the Fade to alleviate his grieving heart and weary mind, he had been wandering on his own too long under the pretext of locating Elvhen artifacts. He did not want to worry the others.
As he approached, he could see the Inquisitor’s companions around the fire. Dorian perched cross-legged on a tree stump, his face buried in a book. Cole hunched over a pile of carrots and potatoes, peeling each vegetable with one of his deadly daggers. Iron Bull wore a too-small apron as he stood turning the spit where a druffalo sizzled and roasted over the fire.
Such a sight would be mundane for this time of the evening if it weren’t for the fact that each of them donned a wreath of wildflowers, worn in their own way. Dorian’s was perfectly centered on his head and knew he wore the garland well in spite of often teasing the Inquisitor about her Dalish habits. Cole wore his around the top of his hat, for he refused to remove it whenever possible. The Bull’s dangled loosely from one of his horns, as casual and unconventional as the Qunari spy ever was. Solas stopped and scanned the camp, noticing that everyone from Scout Harding to the requisition officer and even the guards all wore similar circlets.
And there, leaving camp, was Lavellan, with yet another floral headpiece in her hand. She curled a hand beside her mouth and called his name. Solas, still cloaked by the Fade and hidden from sight, leaned against a sturdy trunk and allowed himself a moment to observe her from afar.
The Inquisitor walked a few more feet before she sneaked a glance behind her and removed her boots, tying the laces together to hang over her shoulder. She paused twice to gather herbs and stored them for future use. Now passing the Andrastian monument, she called out his name a second time. She looped the band of flowers around her arm, pulled out a small pouch from her pack, and emptied its contents into her hand. Every few feet, she’d toss a morsel of food—fruit?—into the air and proceeded to catch it in her mouth. Lavellan never missed. She admired the chestnut-colored nugs that scampered through the grass and kept a leisurely pace, her movements smooth and uninhibited. She was in her element, the burden of her title temporarily lifted from her shoulders. He had seen enough. A tug inside his chest compelled him closer, and so he dismantled his Cloak, rounded the tree, and walked to bridge the gap between them.
“Inquisitor.” She turned her head, following his voice. When she spotted him, he caught a glimpse of a smile before she vanished into a Fade Step. But she had been too hasty and miscalculated the distance. She collided into him, losing her balance and tripping over an exposed tree root until she landed on all fours on the soft forest floor. She sprung back up onto her feet before he could offer his hand. The sound of her light laughter was more invigorating than the first breath of spring air after frost’s final thaw.
“Solas, ara seranna ma!” she said between breaths. He smiled in spite of himself, unable to mask his own amusement at the sight of her: rumpled clothes, tousled hair, with mud on her knees and a flush upon her cheeks.
“It is no trouble, Inquisitor. I must say, that was a rather unique way to conclude a Fade Step.” He clasped his hands behind him—anything to keep himself from doting on her without need or propriety. “Are you well?”
She turned her palms up, examining a patch of fresh scrapes. “Oh, this is nothing. I’ve seen much worse.” Another easy laugh. “And you? You were gone for a while.” She stepped closer and brushed off nonexistent dirt from his tunic, while he stiffened at her touch. “Well, you seem fine, but look!” She bent to pick up the wreath of blossoms that, in her hurry, had slipped from her grasp. “I’ve come bearing a peace offering!” She held it before him and paused with wide, eager eyes, seeking his consent first.
The gesture conjured memories of his friend, calm and curious, who saw the world in ways he could not, who guided him down darkened paths, his light in the shadows. Lavellan burned bright before him, vibrant and alive. In her eyes, he saw Wisdom, and something which he had misplaced along the way. There was Hope.
He bowed his head in silence, and she promptly crowned him. After some minor adjustments, she took a step back and looked him over, a cheeky smirk forming on her lips. It was a dangerous look, one that tested his resolve. “It brings out your eyes,” she mused. “Don’t tell Dorian,” she leaned in and lowered her voice, “but I think it suits you best.”
“I would not dare challenge Dorian’s vanity,” he chuckled. “Your secret is safe.”
“Thanks,” she snickered. She broke eye contact a couple of heartbeats later and added, “So… now that I’ve found you, I guess we should get back.” She motioned to the camp behind her.
“Of course. But first,” he glanced at her hands, “may I examine your wounds?” Already he was retrieving spare bandages from his pack.
“You don’t have to, Solas. Really, I’m fine.”
“Inquisitor, I must insist. It is not wise to risk infection.”
“Very well,” and she placed her hands in his after a glimmer of hesitation.
The cuts were not so deep. She had been right on that account. But they did bleed and would need proper cleaning. He wrapped her hands with a slow and gentle motion, careful not to cause discomfort. When both were dressed, he shot her a stern look only to catch her staring. She had been silent the whole time, and with her hands still cradled in his, he could feel her quickened pulse.
Could she feel his?
They stood like that for some time, his thumbs ghosting over her fingers while her gaze fell to his mouth. This was different than when they walked through Haven in the Fade. This world seemed to suffocate in a languid haze; every action required great effort. He hungered for her, wanted nothing more than to draw her to him, to wrap her in a tight embrace, and indulge in her pleasure as he had once. But it would never be enough. How could he stop himself?
No, this was unwise and selfish, and so he took a step back. “You should try to be more careful… Inquisitor.”
“Thank you,” she whispered and shifted close enough to feel her breath on his skin.
She was so real. How could he have ever thought otherwise? He would not let this moment go to waste, for time was fleeting, and he knew it all too well.
Their faces inched closer, hands clasped between them, until at last they closed their eyes and found each other’s lips. She was honey and sunshine, all sweetness and warmth. She stepped up on her toes to deepen the kiss, and he hugged her tightly as her hands slid up his chest to wrap around his neck, clutching to his frame. She was a waterfall, and he was parched, ready to dive, to drown and never surface. She moaned into his mouth, and his head was spinning, and he was falling, crumbling, unraveling—
“Hey, Boss!” the Iron Bull’s booming voice echoed through the forest, sending birds flying and jolting them apart as if they had been electrocuted. “You gonna make room for dinner, or are you filling up on face snacks?”
Solas took three steps back and balled his hands into fists, arms hanging rigidly at his sides.
“Oh, Bull…” Lavellan groaned into her hands, ears reddening.
“Inquisitor, forgive me. I did not mean— this should not have… There are things to—”
“Consider?” she finished for him, tugging and twisting her sleeves. “I kissed you. You said you needed time after we… you know. If anyone should apologize it is me. I didn’t mean to push you.” She rubbed her neck and averted her gaze.
“No, you are p—” he stopped himself before he said too much. How quickly could she undo him! He sighed and shook his head. “This is simply unexpected. I am… unsure how to proceed. I have been apart from others for so long.”
“Well!” She turned to walk back to camp and spoke to him over her shoulder. That smirk was back, and he could barely stand the distance. “If you ever need a tour guide, so to speak, I’d be happy to show you.” She gathered her boots and Fade Stepped back to camp without another word.
He lingered frozen in her stead, with Wisdom’s gift upon his head and a new song to guide his cautious steps. There were yet things to contemplate, but for this moment they could wait. He smiled, and after her he followed.
Thanks for tagging me in the five-minute writing challenge, @ithesalesman!
“Inquisitor, do not forget to review the scouting reports.”
“The soldiers would really benefit from new requisitions, Inquisitor.”
“Inquisitor, I must remind you about your meeting tomorrow morning.”
Inquisitor Lavellan looked at her advisors with the grace and composure expected from one of her status. But as soon as the door to the war room closed behind her, her vision began to blur. Heart tugging inside her, pulse deafening, throat tight, she ran to Skyhold’s battlements. She found a dark corner, somewhere where the moonlight did not touch her, and she let the tears fall. The ancient stone bricks provided some cool relief from her aching head.
There was a gentle touch on her shoulder, and she gasped as she looked up, embarrassed at her sorry state, until her eyes met Solas’ worried gaze. He rubbed her back in gentle circles before she stepped closer and rested her head on his shoulder. His arms encircled her, protecting her from the demands of the world, while his hands caressed her hair in soothing strokes.
They remained there, faces kissed by the Frostback’s biting breeze, until her sobs subsided and their heartbeats sang as one. No words were spoken, but for sentiments shared through touch. They basked in each other’s warmth and found strength in the silence.
