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It was Satinalia — Feastday. And at Skyhold, there had been a raucous celebration.
By now, long after midnight, nearly everyone in the Inner Circle had ventured back to their respective corners of Skyhold for bed, or else migrated to a quieter part of the fortress to cavort. Yet Solas remained, sitting in a wooden booth on the ground floor of the Herald’s Rest, nursing his third drink of the evening.
The hot beverage Cabot, the dwarven barkeep, had whipped up for the festivities contained at least two barrels of Chasind Sack Mead, given its strong taste, but it was cleverly enhanced by an admittedly delicious mixture of cider, honey, cinnamon, and clove. The flourishes on the night’s libations had been Elan’s idea, the bartender had begrudgingly divulged to Sera, when she had, earlier in the evening, asked him very loudly: “Why aren’t your drinks so bloody shite tonight?”
(Despite his lack of enthusiasm for craft drinks, Cabot’s pleasure at the elven apothecary’s presence that evening was evident. And Elan seemed scarcely less eager to sit across from where he poured and lean over the bar to whisper in his ear.)
On any other evening, even with the mulled mead (and accompanying romantic intrigue), Solas might have turned in much earlier. But there was something about this night in particular...
Outside a snowstorm was raging, just visible through the frosted windowpanes, yet the tavern was an ageless bastion against the cold, heated and handsomely lit by the roaring fireplace. Cedar, balsam fir, and pine branches, along with bright red berries, had been woven into elaborate chains and wreaths, and hung on all three floors, from every available surface. And while they did add a certain festiveness to the usually drab décor, the biggest boon, in Solas’ view, was that the sharp, fresh scent of the branches masked the usual musky and unpleasant odor that permeated the building (especially when it was crowded).
Additionally, several traveling musicians had assembled an impromptu band, with two sets of strings and a wooden flute to accompany the percussion (two large drums had mysteriously appeared in the tavern the previous day, and no one quite knew where they had come from). The merry crew played well together, and the Herald’s Rest had never been so full of dancing, or so many interesting people, of all races, nations, and origins. It appeared that many had made the pilgrimage to Skyhold specifically for the holiday.
It was a feast for the senses, and Solas found himself unable to resist the merrymaking… or, it seemed, the mulled mead.
Kept at perfect drinking temperature by the tiny fire rune Solas had drawn on the bottom of his mug, the spiced drink warmed his throat and stomach, relaxed his muscles, and soothed his racing mind, the chaos of his constant inner monologue becoming pleasantly muffled.
Truthfully, Solas was more relaxed than he’d been in millennia.
And in the spirit of honesty, he may as well have admitted to himself that the Inquisitor was the foremost reason he had lingered there so long…
From his cozy booth, Solas had a perfect view of Ellana all evening.
As she pet and held and cuddled the three baby nugs Leliana was trying to socialize, and swapped loud and incredibly graphic worst injury stories with Sera, and joined with the Chargers in their drinking song, Iron Bull laughing so hard he was unable to sing. The warrior was shocked and delighted that Lavellan had taken the time to learn it — she called the gesture his gift for Satinalia.
Blackwall and Sera pulled Ellana in for a drinking game that involved throwing coins at the table and trying to bounce them into a mug, a game that ended with no winner when Sera accidentally swallowed a coin, and the Inquisitor and Blackwall had to help her dislodge it.
There was also a rather spirited round of Wicked Grace, which even the Seeker joined, to Varric’s utter glee. (Solas avoided games like these with the Inner Circle, since in the thrill of competition, it would be too easy to forget himself, and reveal too much.) Ellana played with great skill, her face and body language never betraying her hand. However, the stoic façade quickly fell away when she won, and nearly flipped the table over with excitement.
And now, as the evening wound down, Lavellan was laughing and whispering with Josephine and Dorian at a table across the room, nursing her mead with a small, irresistible smile. Even with his exceptional hearing, it was impossible to make out what they were saying from where he sat, but if Solas had to guess, he’d say they were gossiping incessantly.
A bit later, Josephine left, and Ellana and Dorian meandered over to the bar for more mead.
Solas watched some other patrons in the tavern for a few minutes, as they began a very loud and disorganized drinking competition. It had the look of something that would end in a physical confrontation.
Just as one of the competitors finished their mug before the others, cheered in victory, and then promptly toppled into a bystander, movement at the bar drew Solas' eye, and he noted Dorian heading to the back of the tavern, presumably towards where the Iron Bull was drinking with the Chargers.
Besides Solas and Ellana, Dorian and Iron Bull were now the only other members of the Inner Circle left in the tavern, with the exception of Sera (who slept in a room on the second floor) and Cole (who preferred to hang around a seldom-visited corner of the third).
As Solas’ gaze flicked back to the bar, Ellana turned to face him, and their eyes met.
The air snapped tight between them, a thread of tension he could practically see (and probably could have, before the Veil).
She moved towards him, never looking away.
He let out a huff of breath and his hands clenched where he held them under the table.
“My Dreamer,” She said quietly, by way of greeting. The Inquisitor slipped into his booth, on the opposite side, so that she faced him directly.
“My heart,” Solas answered with a smile, taking another sip of his drink.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Lavellan said after a moment’s pause, voice low, quirking her brow in a way that sent a rush of heat between his legs.
“The tavern has a certain draw to it tonight. And I fear I may not be able to pull myself away from this mead. Cabot has outdone himself,” he answered, tapping the rim of his mug with a finger.
“Do I have a certain draw, too?” She leaned forward, presumably so she could lower her voice further. “I’ve felt your eyes on me all evening… like a wolf. So predatory,” Ellana offered him a positively wicked grin.
And for once, Solas wasn’t alarmed that his mask had slipped. It was nice to let her see him. See his desire for her, without artifice, without agenda…
Solas leaned forward and extended his right hand out, under the table, slipping it up her thigh, pressing firmly into the slippery folds of her dress, so that she might feel every inch of his touch as he moved closer towards her hip.
“Do you—”
Before he could finish speaking, there was an earsplitting commotion by the tavern door. Cheers of goodbye, everlasting friendship, promises for more adventure tomorrow night, etc. The door had apparently been thrown open, as the din was accompanied by a blast of frigid air.
Solas retracted his hand as he and Ellana turned to face the ruckus, just as the Chargers poured out into the night, and Iron Bull and Dorian waved at their darkened corner of the tavern. Ellana waved back and raised her glass. Solas did neither, and Dorian rolled his eyes, grumbling about hedge mages raised by wolves as he and the Iron Bull followed after the Chargers.
“Thank the gods,” The Inquisitor breathed in relief, after the tavern door slammed shut, turning back to face Solas. “I thought we’d never be alone. Let me see if the band is too drunk to keep playing. If I can rouse them… will you dance with me, vhenan?”
“Your wish is my command,” he answered smoothly without even the slightest hesitation.
Her face slit into a radiant, luminous smile. It was the kind of look Solas immediately knew he would like to fresco and preserve for all time.
He downed the rest of his drink and slid out of the booth.
Ellana tugged off her heeled shoes and stuffed them under the table before following suit.
“Don’t tell Josephine,” She grumbled, and Solas snorted as he headed towards the center of the room, where a makeshift dancefloor had been established very early in the evening.
Ellana made for the musicians, where they hovered around the instruments, blearily brandishing their lukewarm drinks. She asked if they would be so kind as to play her one more song, and all five of them immediately perked up, as if they’d been shocked by lightning, their faces splitting into identical grins. Solas, who easily overheard Lavellan, noted their eagerness to fulfill the Inquisitor’s request.
“The Herald’s wish is their command too, it seems,” He murmured as she drew near.
“Quiet, you,” She said, pointing a finger at him and employing a glare that made his toes and fingers clench.
She took her place across from him.
The drums, low humming, and stomping began first, and Ellana began to move her hips in time. She raised her arms over her head, and slowly swayed them back and forth. Most of her hair had sprung free from her customary braid throughout the course of the night, the grey strands glowing when they caught the firelight and sticking to the damp skin on her neck, her cheeks. Her face was flushed with drink and joy, and her amber eyes glinted with mischief whenever they caught his. He swayed with her, moving closer, but not close enough to touch.
The strings picked up next, each player skillfully layering over the other in another set of complex polyrhythms, that one could not help but move to.
What few people were left in the tavern began to dance as well, some clapping along with the music.
Ellana suddenly spun, her arms twining above her head. And then she turned again, the skirts of her flowing grey dress flaring out further, exposing her bare feet.
Solas moved to take her hand, leading her through another series of spins across the floor. She laughed harder and smiled brighter with each rotation.
Her happiness — that naked, unrestrained joy — stole the air from his lungs and sent his heart thundering in his chest. It beckoned him and wrecked him. It stirred parts of him that Solas once thought had gone quiet forever, long silenced by the Veil.
The tempo increased slightly, and the flute joined the fray. Solas spun her closer, into his arms, until her back was flush with his front, and they swayed back and forth to the primal, driving beat.
And then she pressed her backside further into him, and his cock began to ache. Solas seized her hips instinctively, to maneuver her away, but couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. Instead, he somehow found himself doing the opposite. He pulled her closer and dipped his mouth to her ear, where he pressed his lips directly to the tender skin there.
“Inquisitor, if you are going to seduce me, it may be best to wait until we are alone,” Solas murmured. He got an indecent thrill from the way he felt her breathing hitch as he moved his mouth along her long, thin ear, planting a kiss at the tip.
“Your wish, my Dreamer,” She breathed back, with a smirk, and Ellana tugged out of his grip, but held onto his hand, pulling him to another section of the dancefloor. She led him through another series of quick and intimate moves that left them spinning and bending and striding as if they were one person, not two. He liked when she led, and she knew it.
And then, as they came chest to chest, panting from exertion, the band’s song ended, their final notes echoing loudly in the rafters above.
Solas and Ellana just stared at each other, sharing each other’s breath, the desire and longing flowing freely between their gazes in a way that made his chest ache and his skin burn.
(Void take him, but he wanted her, like he’d never wanted anyone before. And that did alarm him.)
“I need to see you in my quarters, immediately Solas,” whispered Ellana, breaking the tense silence between them. She stepped away, hurried back to his booth to collect her shoes, slipped them on, and charged into the night.
Pulled by what felt like a thousand carefully woven strings of fate, burning desire, admiration, curiosity, and — above all, he knew — love, Fen’Harel, without a moment’s pause, followed her out the door.
Large, wet flakes of snow fell soundlessly out of the sky and fluttered to the ground in ghostly, swirling clouds, buoyed by the bitterly cold breeze. It was a cold Ellana felt in her bones, and each flake of ice that struck her skin burned. After only a few steps, she felt the snow clinging to her eyelashes, knew it must have been building up on the top of her head, and Ellana cursed herself for not thinking to bring a cloak down from her quarters.
Despite the cold, it wasn’t all bad. The freshly fallen flakes on the ground glittered like silverite, and the snowfall was so thick it covered everything, even the muddy sparring ring. It also muffled her steps — muffled all sound, really, such that in this hushed, washed-out, Fade-like landscape, she and Solas could have been the only two people in the world.
Ellana paused in the middle of the courtyard, nearly to the first set of stairs leading up to the entrance into Skyhold, and spun to face Solas, her uneven breathing casting great plumes of mist in the air before her. Solas immediately took the few steps needed to catch up with her and swooped down to kiss her cheeks and nose at random — it was as if he were kissing renegade snowflakes on her skin as they landed.
“You’re freezing cold, vhenan,” He said with a tiny frown. His hands snaked around her waist and he tugged her close, swallowing her breathless gasp with another kiss, this time on her mouth, presumably to warm her up properly. This was the type of kiss that was dangerous to begin in public, because it so easily could have tipped into something more.
“Then we’d better hurry up,” she whispered, throat tight, as she tugged out of his embrace. It was like wrenching off a limb, breaking that kiss.
Ellana dashed through the rest of the courtyard and up both sets of stairs without looking back, somehow managing not to slip on the ice that had formed under the layers of fluffy new snow.
She picked up her pace once a sleepy guard let her into the front hall of the fortress, hoping that Solas would take her haste as an invitation to give chase. She tore through the utterly empty hall, rushing by freshly wiped down tables, decorative plates and goblets, and stone bowls filled with cheery, crackling fire, reaching the door to her quarters in a matter of seconds.
But Solas had made good time after her, Ellana saw with utter shock as she glanced over her shoulder. He was nearly right behind her, though he hadn’t made a sound. Solas employed a Fade-step to make up the difference, crashing into her just as she flung open the door. They tumbled through together, and Ellana swore, dissolving into laughter that she tried desperately to muffle.
“Cheating bastard,” She snapped, slapping his arm as she tugged them both to their feet.
“Bastard I may be but cheater I am not, my heart. You never specified I could not use magic,” answered Solas, clicking his tongue and sweeping her into his arms. She yelped in surprise, and his face split into a roguish smile that sent her heart pounding in her chest and a rush of heat between her thighs.
Solas shut the door to her quarters with his heel and whisked Ellana down the hall that linked her quarters to the rest of Skyhold.
“I like Satinalia Solas,” She said as he ascended the stairs into her room. Solas hummed in response, and from the tone, she could tell he was prodding her to elaborate.
“Well, he’s a bit of a scoundrel, isn’t he,” Ellana continued as he walked quickly to the side of her bed.
Solas laughed softly, pausing before he laid her down, perhaps remembering her finery, and the three sets of hands it had taken to get her into it. He set her down beside him, and began to fiddle with the ties on her back.
For someone who didn’t bother with any frills in their wardrobe, Solas was making miraculously good time — it just wasn’t fast enough. Not when Ellana had spent the whole evening marking the desire and longing in his gaze…
“Rip it,” She urged, after a few more torturous moments of waiting for him to finish, her hands resting in fists on her hips. “Just tear the gods damned thing off, vhenan.”
“With pleasure,” Solas grit out, after a moment’s pause.
And then, like her command had unleashed a floodgate, a torrent of desire, he was upon her, ripping the bodice of her dress, tugging it down, lowering himself as he went, and planting kisses all along her belly. Soon the dress was a shimmering heap of fabric at her feet, and Solas was on his knees before her. She smirked and felt another rush of heat between her thighs at the sight. His gaze darkened further, sensing her heightened desire.
Solas gripped her hips and began to slowly remove her smalls, making sure to take as much time as possible, kissing her bare skin as it was revealed. Using his tongue, when the fancy struck him.
Her entire body tensed at his touch, and Ellana bit her bottom lip and clenched her fists, breathing faster and faster the longer he worked.
“So easily wound up, tonight, Ellana,” Solas noted with evident satisfaction, leaning forward to tease her heat with his tongue.
Ellana gasped and gripped his shoulders, groaning softly, her knees nearly buckling under her. He teased her with his tongue once more and then pulled away, smirking, her desire shining on his lips.
“And what about you, Solas?” She managed after another moment, crouching down to his level, her left hand reaching out to tug on the tie of his leggings. He almost jerked away, and then seemed to think better of it, tensing in anticipation for what she would do next.
“What about me, vhenan?” He asked quietly.
“Are you wound up?” Lavellan palmed his cock through his clothes, chuckling darkly as he let out of whoosh of breath, his legs shaking as she felt his hardness through the fabric, taking her sweet time to confirm her suspicions.
She quickly and skillfully undid his laces and then motioned for him to stand up. Solas obliged and she tugged down his bottoms, including his smallclothes (she noted, with deep satisfaction, that based on the state of these, he seemed to have been longing for this quite a bit).
Ellana went very still as she beheld his cock, his desire evident, glistening on the tip. She looked up from where she knelt before him and gave the smallest, most predatory of smiles.
“No, not at all, as I suspected. I better redouble my efforts,” said Lavellan, her tone grave, wrapping her hand around his shaft and stroking it from base to tip, twice.
Solas’ whole body tensed and he let out something between a grunt and a groan.
Without pausing, Ellana dropped her hand and slipped her mouth around his length. She took him inside her nearly to the hilt, and drew back – once, twice. And as she drew back, she paid careful attention with her tongue to a spot right where the shaft met the tip, on the underside of his cock.
His hips bucked with each pass of her lips, and Solas let out a long string of elven curses, his voice strained.
She took him inside her one more time, and he whimpered her name.
Another wave of desire washed over her, settling right between her thighs — she loved to watch him come undone.
Ellana straightened to her full height and reached up to pull him in for a kiss, her hand slipping around his neck, which was already damp with perspiration, and flushed with heat. He responded eagerly, urgently, leaving her lips, her whole body, burning in a matter of seconds. His tongue between her thighs was nothing short of divine, but his kisses were the next best thing, so heady they quickly left her dizzy, breathless, and shaking…
He slipped his hands around her face and stepped out of his leggings, kissing her for another moment before pushing her down onto the bed.
“You’re a wicked woman, Ellana, for teasing me so,” Solas murmured, tugging the last of her smallclothes off her upper half and wrenching off his tunic, before turning his full attention back to her.
Ellana’s back arched, and she bit her bottom lip as he ran his hands over her bared breasts, the plains of her stomach, the sweep of her hips. Everywhere he touched burned. He stared at her, and she him, and the world narrowed to this single thing, the flame between them, their love for each other — it was too much and far too little, all at once.
“How will you retaliate?” She managed, breathless.
He lowered himself between her legs.
“Swiftly and without mercy,” responded Solas as he beheld her dripping wet heat, his voice dark and molten like the most decadent honey. “Though I am not sure how much longer you can hold out,” He mused, slipping his tongue over the core of her, deepening his rhythm and honing in on her clit with lethal precision.
“Don’t be so sure of—” Her sentence tipped into a yelp when he caught her tender, aching flesh between his tongue and teeth.
She came, and Solas laughed through his nose as his tongue worked her through the waves of pleasure.
It took a moment for Ellana’s spirit to return to her body, but after a few heaving breaths she managed to sit up and slip off the bed. Solas reached for her, as if on instinct, but she danced out of his reach as she hurried towards her desk. Her legs still felt a bit weak from his wicked tongue and her recent climax, but she managed to hold herself up.
“Will you take me here, Solas?” Lavellan asked sweetly, running her pointer finger against the freshly polished wood of the desk as she moved around the front of it, to stand next to the chair.
“Any particular reason?” Solas managed evenly, though she could see his fists clenching at his sides as he stalked towards her. She smirked as her eyes darted to his hardened length. She swore it got bigger every time she looked at it.
“I wanted you to do this earlier. At the feast…” She trailed off, looking down. Ellana felt her cheeks flush. “Or at least, I thought about what it would be like,” She shrugged, still unable to meet his gaze.
Solas rushed to close the distance between them and tipped her chin up for a kiss, his other hand snaking in her hair.
“It would be my honor to fulfill this fantasy of yours, my heart,” said Solas, his lips skating along her own as he spoke.
“I only hope to do it justice,” He continued as he pulled away and swept off the contents of the right half of the desk onto the floor in front of it.
“Scandalous,” Ellana gasped as he pulled her into his arms, kissing her again, before laying her stomach down against the surface of the desk.
“And in front of all these well-heeled Feastday guests, too,” Solas said, clicking his tongue and positioning himself behind her. “What—” He broke off as he buried himself inside her in one stroke, clutching one shaking arm around her middle as he bent over her own trembling form.
Ellana moaned as he entered her, her hands fumbling for the edges of the desk, searching for something, anything to keep her steady.
“What will your advisors say?” He muttered, pushing himself a bit further, to the hilt.
“I think—” She broke off as Solas pulled out and thrust again, even deeper this time. “I think I don’t care what anyone says.” She paused again to groan as he halted, fully sheathed inside her, and lay a smattering of kisses on her shoulders, ran a hand along her stomach, and toyed with her clit. “I just want the world to know I love you.”
She finished speaking and he pulled out and drove inside her again, emitting a loud moan as he shuddered.
“Say it again,” He grit out, his voice very close to her ear, and she knew which words he meant.
“Ar lath ma.”
“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” He answered, his voice breaking as he buried himself in her again, and again, his breathing coming in hard, heavy pants across the flushed skin of her burning back. “Ara u’vun—” a pause for a throaty moan and another thrust “—ara nehn.” He was close.
She also felt another peak approaching, and Solas could sense it.
He lifted her up off the desk with one arm and reached down between her thighs with the other, casting a rune, a brilliant iridescent glow that quickly vanished beneath her skin. He gently returned her to her original position and picked up the rhythm of his thrusts. The pressure of his cock moving in and out of her and the white-hot waves of pleasure emanating from the rune were enough to make her yell his name as they came together, Solas groaning into her back as he spilled himself inside her and she clenched around his length.
When it was over, they lay there — trembling, panting, sweating — for a few moments, both needing a moment to reel themselves back into their bodies.
“I… that was… you…” Ellana stopped and started, her voice catching, the sound muffled since her forehead was resting against her arm, which was splayed out on the desk. She shut her eyes, willing her breathing to slow.
Solas hummed in agreement, laying a dozen lazy kisses across her shoulders and neck before pulling out of her. He slipped one arm around her legs, the other around her side, hoisted her up against his chest, and carried her to the bed. Which was rather helpful, for she wasn’t sure she could walk, or even stand. He dropped her among the fancy sheets and pillows and retreated into the storage room off to the right side of the bed.
“Solas, can you—”
Her case of smoking elfroot came sailing out of the closet, landing well within arm’s reach on the bed next to her.
“Thank you, my love,” Ellana said with a pleased smile, reaching for the small wooden box that had been carefully painted with tiny star-shaped purple flowers. She threw back the lid and inhaled deeply, the scent of elfroot, rose hips, lavender, mint, and chamomile washing over her (she liked to mix various herbs with her feladara, depending on her mood).
Solas returned a moment later with a damp rag to clean them up with. He went to work wiping up the evidence of their lovemaking while Ellana packed her tiny wooden pipe with elfroot, rose hips, and chamomile. By the time she was finished, Solas had as well and he tossed the rag aside, onto a side table.
As Ellana put the pipe to her lips, Solas, without prompting, raised his pinkie and summoned a bit of flame. She cupped a hand around his as he lit the herbs, and she began to slowly inhale through her mouth.
“This is extremely dangerous,” Solas said disapprovingly, even as he participated in the act (as he always did).
Ellana chuckled darkly, exhaled a fragrant plume of smoke, and passed the pipe to him, its contents still burning. He brought it to his lips and sucked as well, the herbs crackling as they burned. Solas smirked at Ellana and leaned forward. He beckoned her closer with his pointer finger. She matched his movement, inching her upper half slowly towards him, though she could hardly believe what she was seeing.
He pressed his lips to hers and opened them to her. She did the same and he exhaled the smoke into her mouth, sealing the transfer with a tiny kiss, that would have been rather chaste, were it not for the way his tongue flicked out and caught her lip between his teeth as he pulled away.
Ellana let out a whoosh of air as she exhaled, sinking back into the pillows, a bit dizzy, though it had nothing to do with the herbs. Solas set the pipe on the bedside table next to the wooden smoking case.
“Satinalia Solas,” mused Ellana, almost too quiet to hear, shaking her head with a breathy laugh. “Who knew?”
Solas leaned back beside her, their shoulders brushing, one hand reaching for hers as he tugged the blankets up over them with the other. She was glad for it — without the heat and passion of their lovemaking, it was starting to get rather chilly. The storm was still raging outside, frigid gusts of wind rattling the stained glass and making the wooden beams creak.
“It makes me happy, to see you happy,” Ellana continued, her eyes slipping shut. She felt Solas shudder beside her, and wondered for the umpteenth time what might have happened to him, in that village to the north, to make him react so. Lavellan rolled onto her side and scooted back against him, and he instantly turned to accommodate her, settling his chest against Ellana’s back and slipping an arm under her head.
Lavellan knew that once she was asleep, Solas would retrieve his arm, and settle into a more comfortable position, but the nights they were together, he always let her fall asleep like this… and that simple kindness never failed to make her heart ache.
“Sleep well, Ellana, ar lath ma,” Solas whispered, and she heard him extinguish the candles with a gust of wind summoned from thin air.
“Ar lath ma,” breathed Lavellan, barely awake. Solas slipped his free hand under the covers and ran it along her side in long, soothing strokes.
And that was the last thing she remembered before succumbing to sleep.
Solas stayed up for some time, stroking Ellana’s warm skin, listening to her steady, deep breathing.
With the mead long since worn off, his racing thoughts returned in full force.
He did not deserve her.
He should not have followed her to her quarters.
He should tell her the truth or leave her.
But he could not find the strength to do either… yet.
Finally, as the storm broke and the sky lightened with dawn, Solas slipped his arm out from under Lavellan’s head, rolled over, and fell asleep.
When Solas woke, later that day, he turned from blinking blearily up at the ceiling to see Ellana was already awake, kneeling on the bed beside him, wearing nothing but his tunic, and holding a lumpy brown parcel in her lap.
“Morning, Dreamer,” Ellana said with a smile. The way the afternoon light struck her face was magical — it looked like her skin was glowing. He tore his eyes away from the sight and assessed the item in her lap.
A gift?
He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, smacking his parched lips.
Ellana tossed aside the parcel and crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching for the water she had retrieved at some point in the day, and handed it to him. He drank deeply, and set the empty cup aside. Lavellan wasted no time, immediately reaching for the gift again and pushing it towards him across the bed once he’d finished.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to give this to you yesterday, with the feast and everything, it was so chaotic… but, anyway, here it is. Your Satinalia gift,” Ellana said, her words coming out in a rush. She sounded nervous.
(Yesterday, Solas had given Ellana a rare volume of stories about the Emerald Knights, that he had painstakingly tracked down over several months, even using some of the contacts in his spy network to do so. When he’d handed it to her — unwrapped, no frills — she had frowned at the worn leather cover for some time, running her hand back and forth across the binding, before suddenly looking up, her eyes shining with tears. Lavellan had then thrown her arms around him and pulled him into a nearly crushing embrace.
Solas hadn’t expected anything in return, and was unsurprised when their interlude was cut short by Josephine, who had whisked Ellana away to dress for the feast. He was motivated purely by the joy he suspected such a thing would inspire in Lavellan — and that was more than enough for him, more than he deserved, even.)
“Ellana…” Solas trailed off, unsure of what to say as he untied the rough spun twine holding the parcel together, and the contents spilled into his lap.
It was armor. In the elven style, which would not require him to wear boots. Robes of the finest lamb’s wool he’d seen in literal ages, plated with interlocking pieces of everite, and accented by touches of stormheart at the arms, legs, and shoulders. From the way it pulsed with quiet power, he immediately knew the armor was Fade-touched.
“Ellana,” Solas breathed, running his hands over the fine, soft lamb’s wool and cool, humming metal.
“Do you like it?” She asked softly, and he looked up to see her face was set in eager anticipation, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“Like it? Vhenan, it’s… exquisite,” Solas’ voice caught and he looked back at the armor. “I cannot remember the last time someone gave me a gift,” He added quietly, after a moment’s pause.
It was something he hadn’t really considered until he was looking at a present, addressed to him, in his hands. And to be sure, almost anything he might have received before the Veil, in Arlathan, had come with strings attached, or a debt to pay… this was something different entirely.
This was… something freely given.
Out of a desire to protect.
Out of love.
Ellana reached for Solas, cupping his cheeks in her palms and pulling him in for a soft, slow kiss that made his toes curl.
“Get used to it, mage,” She said firmly against his lips, all command. She nuzzled his nose with her own.
His cock stirred, and Solas pushed her down into the sheets, muffling her shocked laughter with a kiss.
They did not surface until dinner.