Chapter One

He was not the loudest one, nor the biggest one, nor the most traditionally handsome in Skyhold. His talents lie elsewhere, in those of the Fade, histories, and magic. Where would they be without him? The Inquisition would be chasing its tale, still unsure of itself as it tried to rectify southern Thedas from the holes in the sky spewing demons and darkspawn magisters. Without him, they would be nothing more than Chantry pariahs.

She was able to admire him from the desk. The surface was littered with books, loose pieces of parchment paper with sketches and snatches of elegant script. Some of her own reports and intelligence were amongst the mess – spy reports, reports on alliances and nobility, as well as the needs of the Inquisition soldiers. She tried not to muddy the already messy desk; Solas didn't appreciate her adding to his mess.

The two worked in silent harmony. The ruffling of papers and the soft brushstrokes on the wall made its own gentle music with subtle beats and a delicate rhythm. Sometimes the elven apostate hummed pieces of hymns and melodies from times long ago that he was able to learn in the Fade. A veilfire torch washed the painted wall with a crisp, blue light. Athelanna put down her report on Lady Beverly's recent affair with Duke Antoine to watch the elf make his careful brushstrokes on the fresco detailing their recent victory at the Orlesian palace of Halamshiral.

Josephine and Leliana had diligently prepared her in the Game. By the end of the evening, dozens of nobles of varying ranks were eating out of her hand. Briala and Celene were once again reunited, Gaspard's head to be taken, and the Duchess was being shoved into a box to be shipped to Skyhold. Apparently that made for an excellent masquerade.

Athelanna had a newfound appreciation for the Game after leaving the palace. There was something exhilarating proving to nobles that a Dalish elf could play it better than they. She could hear the whispers behind elegant hands, unpleasant whispers about her ears and the vallaslin on her face. Solas had received those ugly whispers, but if he heard them he never revealed his hurt. While Athelanna had the rank of Inquisitor to lessen the poison in their darts, Solas had no such cushion. He was a stranger with knife-ears and magic in his veins.

The Game, however, was not her favorite part of the evening. Her heart sang when Solas bowed and held out his hand, entreating a dance from her. He told her, he didn't want to dance in front of the dozens of nobles. Athelanna would have danced with him on the ballroom floor. The Game had been won and the matter of her birth, her form, or her ears did not seem an issue. As the strings filtered out onto the balcony, lovely notes singing victory to them, they danced. He held a hand at her waist, the other in the air, embraced with one of her own. The only dancing she had ever done was during celebrations of her people. To dance in the Winter Palace, with gilded balustrades and intricate pillars, was a dream.

She loved being so close to him in the thrum of victory. Solas came alive in the Winter Palace, his eyes bright and earnest. Their feet moved across the floor to the beat of the music, their bodies pressed up against each other. She had tempted the first kiss. Then he returned with something deep and gently passionate. He whispered to her in his mother tongue, voice a decibel louder than the band. In between shy smiles and whispered secrets, they kissed; long and slow. A mischievous hand left her waist, traveling to her read end…

Athelanna felt her cheeks redden. Her eyes refocused on Solas and she realized she had been staring during her daydream. The Dalish grabbed the nearest book – The Way of the Rift Mage – and pretended to read it. As a hunter for her clan, Athelanna's understanding of magic was very base. She understood daggers, bows, and killing animals. She still didn't quite understand how she was so adept at closing rifts. Solas tried to explain the magic behind it, but her attention often drifted elsewhere. Much like it was now as she pretended to understand the words but her attention was fixated on the quiet elven man crouched on the platform, studying a sketch as to where the balcony was to be placed. Athelanna hoped she would not have to pose later.

Gray eyes hovered over the top of The Way of the Rift Mage to continue watching him in secret. Every time his head turned a little her way, she quickly pulled the book up above her eyes. Even after their lovely evening at Halamshiral, Athelanna was determined to not flaunt her ardor to his face. She instead channeled all of those unspoken feelings to Dorian a floor above. While she trusted the Tevinter with her deepest of secrets, she still worried Dorian would accidentally let a snippet slip to Solas on their long travels. She began to raise her eyes above the book, inch by inch, to see if Solas was occupied with the fresco again.

But he was gone. Athelanna scanned the platform to be sure but yes; Solas was not anywhere near or on it. "How long have you been watching me, Vhenan? You are not so secretive as you might think," he whispered to her right. The Dalish clutched the edges of the book to prevent any frightened squeaks from surfacing. He was wiping an array of paint from his fingers with a dirty rag, a grin pulling at his lips. He always grinned like that when he caught her red-handed.

"I wasn't watching you. As you can clearly see, I've been catching up on some reports," Athelanna fibbed, and poorly. She noticed his eyes on the book. Athelanna reached immediately for an actual report. Solas raised an eyebrow. She cleared her throat. "Honestly, do you think I would waste my precious, important time – I am the Inquisitor, in case you've forgotten – watching you? Oh Solas, I wasn't aware you were so vain to think I would behave like a dithering schoolgirl," Athelanna snapped the book shut, forcing a chuckle. She proceeded to gather up her reports. When she looked up at Solas, he was still grinning that infuriatingly handsome grin.

"Of course. I apologize if I've offended you. Clearly you've been working very hard, Inquisitor," Solas said, bowing his head ever so slightly in feigned deference.

Athelanna tucked a white-blonde braid back behind her pointed ear. She pulled the mess of reports closer to her chest. "Thank you. I accept your apology, Solas," she said stiffly. The lithe Inquisitor attempted to sidestep the apostate, but was caught between him and his high-backed chair. Solas reached out. Athelanna's breath caught in her throat. He pulled the reports from her arms and proceeded to straighten them. He then gently handed them back, neatly stacked.

"Sister Nightingale would not take kindly to her reports looking like Sera went through them," Solas said. Athelanna screamed on the inside but smiled despite her rage.

"Thank you. I'll be off now. I have many things that demand my attention," Athelanna stiffened her back and marched towards the main hall.

"Inquisitor? Athelanna? Do you have many duties to attend to tonight? I was hoping you could spare a few hours from your many reports and meetings to journey into the Fade with me. I have some places that you may find interesting. If you have time from your busy schedule, that is," Solas' grin had yet to leave his face. Athelanna knew that he knew everything. He was toying with her like a fat housecat plays with a mouse. But there she was, a quivering mouse waiting on bated breath, waiting to see if he pounced or let her run to safety.

Athelanna glanced over her shoulder. His claws were already in her. "I-I should be free later in the evening. If you'd like to stop by my quarters later, you are more than welcome to," Athelanna grimaced, knowing how that sounded. "So we can journey into the Fade," the Dalish added quickly. She wasn't willing to appear overeager. She was definitely not a dithering schoolgirl. No, she was Inquisitor Lavellan – the leader of an army that would save the world from rifts and demons - a Dalish hunter of no ill repute. So why did this elf make her feel like a dithering schoolgirl?

"Excellent. I'll see you after nightfall then, Vhenan," Solas said with a smile.

Athelanna scurried out of room and into the main hall. She walked passed Varric caught up in reciting a story to a group of noblewomen (fans of his work, she presumed) and passed a countless amount of merchants, noblemen and women from all over Thedas bowing their heads to her. She went straight to her chambers. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Ah, I was thinking you'd forgotten me. I was correct, apparently," Dorian was lounging on her grand Orlesian bed, a platter of peeled grapes and fine Dalish cheeses next to him. "Playing cat and mouse with our dear Solas again, Inquisitor? Tsk, tsk. What will people say? Especially since the Inquisitor cannot remember her dinner engagements," the Tevinter smirked and popped a grape into his mouth.

Athelanna ignored him and went to put her papers down on the desk. "People might gossip about us, Dorian. What would the Iron Bull think if he was to learn you were lying on my bed with grapes and cheeses, waiting for me to return? Are you a switch hitter, my dear Dorian?" Athelanna replied. It only made the Tevinter smirk even more.

"I think Bull would wonder when you were going to join us and not this silly jealousy thing you speak of," Dorian answered coyly. It was probably true, Athelanna realized. She remembered Bull asking Varric if Bianca was willing to join in.

There was no winning with Dorian. She sighed and sprawled out on the bed. "Did you at least bring wine?" she murmured into the sheets.

Dorian barked a laugh. "Did I bring wine? You must not know me at all," the Tevinter was still chuckling as he got up to fetch the wine.

The Inquisitor sat up as Dorian offered her a glass. She took several large gulps and held the glass out for another refill. Maybe the wine would help with her heart thundering in her chest. "All right. Tell Dorian all of your troubles," Dorian poured her another glass.

"He wants to go into the Fade, Dorian." Athelanna sighed and sipped at the wine.

"And?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, shit, I don't know... I mean, we went into the Fade before... but the last time..." Athelanna groaned in frustration. She was having a hard time vocalizing what she wanted to say. "The last time - I told you what happened." She looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would understand where she was going. Dorian was much more eloquent than she. Perhaps he could say what she needed to get off her chest.

Dorian chuckled quite sensibly. "Are you worried that our master Solas might try to put the moves on you? I don't know if he knows what is underneath a woman's clothes. Do you know what's underneath a man's clothes? I never took you for a virgin, my dear Athelanna, but perhaps that explains why you are so flustered." He selected a piece of cheese and nibbled on the edge.

A bark of a laugh ripped from her throat and she nearly choked on her wine. "Me? A virgin? Dorian don't be daft. No, I used to dance and make love with many elves under the full moon while the rest of my clan watched on." She rolled her eyes when Dorian looked shocked. "I was joking. Don't take me seriously."

"That would be quite the tale if it were true. Sounds a little messy, however. Anyways - what were we talking about? - ah yes. Sexy time with Solas. If you're not sure how to attract an intelligent man like Solas, perhaps I could give you some ideas? Or perhaps Bull - he is very adventurous. He would show you how to turn Solas from the Fade and to your pretty little self." Dorian was smirking from behind his wine glass. She knew he was having fun teasing her. The Tevinter had a barbed tongue. If she was not so well acquainted with him, Athelanna might think Dorian didn't like her. But Dorian did not share fine wine and cheese with just anyone.

"If you or Bull gave me tips, I'm sure Solas would leave me to the spiders," Athelanna replied. "I'll just have to figure this one out when it comes. Who knows? Maybe he'll find an interesting part of the Fade and he won't even think about sex," she said with a shrug.

"I can show you a dance that will turn his attention from the Fade. It involves a few dozen silk scarves…" Dorian said, a smirk playing at his lips.

"No."

"Bull seems to – "

"Absolutely not."

"Humph. Well, do you want to make this interesting? A few Royals on if you do the do?" Dorian refreshed both of their glasses.

Athelanna giggled. "Do the do? And you were trying to give me sexual advice? I ought to ask Sera on the art of seduction."

"That would be a disaster. Are you in on the bet or not? I could use some easy money." Dorian's dark eyes danced with amusement.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? I love to wipe the confidence off of your face." Athelanna found her purse on the desk and tossed a few coins at Dorian's head.