Fen'lath slumped down next to Solas in their tent. The Emerald Graves were beautiful, and they broke her heart while angering her at the same time. She buried her face in Solas's shoulder, shuddering and trying not to weep.
"Ma'theneras?"
"The tomb. Din'an Hanin. Lost and forgotten, and then occupied by them." She spat the word. "And now I know the truth of Red Crossing, how the war in the Dales started. I don't want to think about it anymore, and what it means, but I can't make my mind stop."
Solas shifted and brought his hand up to her face. "If you would allow me?"
"Just sleep, or my dreams as well?" They had reached the point where they didn't need to ask full questions to understand what the other was saying. Fen fiddled with his jawbone amulet, then whispered, "I don't want to see terrible things in my dreams, vhenan. Show me something beautiful, something you love and that I will love as well."
"Ah, then we must dream of of you, it seems." He chucked as she smacked his chest.
"You know what I mean."
"I do, ma'theneras." His long, slim fingers traced the arches of her brows then ran down her nose. Fen felt the soothing tendrils of his magic curling around her, pulling her down into sleep and across the Veil into the Fade.
Bits of memories, bazaars and markets, celebrations and songs from his wanderings and his own life wove together in the Fade. Exotic spices filled the air with their perfume, baked in the sun. It was warm, as it was in the Free Marches. His heart didn't complain like Dorian did, but he knew that she was cold most of the time as well. Solas could tell from the way she would burrow against him in her sleep, putting frosty toes on his calves or shins and a cold nose into his neck to warm herself.
Smiling to himself, Solas pulled more of the Fade around his body. Fen would get to see some of how he looked in his younger days. His hair grew and twisted into the locks he'd favored in his youth, though shaved at the sides, and held at the back of his head in a bronze clasp. The tan his wandering had bronzed his skin with deepened his skin, the freckles his heart adored spread further. Simple wraps and dark forest green leggings encased his legs, and his favorite tan leather vest was the only cover for his upper body. The only other adornment he wore was his jawbone amulet.
He gently pulled Fen's dream-self in, keeping her asleep so he could shape things around her. A hammock cradled her while an awning protected her from the sun overhead and fluttered in the perfumed breeze. Her lovely hair, dark as a raven's wing, twisted back in loose tendrils to a silver clasp at the back of her head. The garments he made were simple, a short-sleeved top the Dalish around Rivain favored that simply tied on at the neck and under the bust in the back, a rich emerald that matched her leggings and simple wraps. Around her waist, an embroidered belt decorated with rings made from shed halla antler.
As a last touch, he added the people. Elves from Arlathan and Elvhenan, conglomerates of memory and fact. The musicians he added played melodies not heard since before the humans' second Exalted March. Solas laid a gentle hand on Fen's face. He hoped to see her dance, to have her dance with him and lighten some of what laid heavy on her heart.
The strains of music 'woke' Fen'lath, and she stretched, giving a contented smile to Solas. In the dreams he created for her, there were no sore muscles, no worries, just plenty of time to relax with her beloved.
"You look even more beautiful than normal, ma'vhenan." She took his offered hand and climbed off of the hammock. She ran her fingers through the strands of copper at the base of his neck, and traced a fingertip over the freckles on one bare arm. Stepping closer, Fen pulled his head down and gently brushed her nose against his. "And you still smell like forests and magic."
He chuckled, "And you still have elfroot and embrium scenting your hair."
Fen took Solas's hand, and pulled him out into the sunlight. "I want to find the musicians, vhenan. It's been too long since I danced for my own enjoyment."
He followed along, watching the play of muscles in her shoulders through the window made by her top, alternately hidden and shown by the fall of her hair swishing across her back. The rings of halla antler clattered with the roll of her hips, and Solas smiled to himself when he realized that she had started walking in time to the rhythm of the music unconsciously.
The market square was moderately filled with other dancers, and Fen dropped his hand, bouncing on the balls of her feet with her eyes closed for a few beats to catch the count of the music. Her arms swept overhead, her chest lifting and dropping gracefully to the beat as she rocked forward and backward on the balls of her feet. Head canting to the side, she turned in the movement, and seeing him just standing in the mass of moving bodies, she said, "Dance, vhenan. I'm not the only one who should enjoy this."
He threw his head back and laughed, then took up the same movement while opposite her. Fen's eyes widened, surprised he knew what she thought was Dalish dancing, then let out a delighted, breathless exclamation when he dropped his arms, lifted them, then dropped one to spin. He lead her around and around, combining moves, layering them, wanting to see just how much of their dance she actually knew. Even when the music moved to a slower song, and the movements became longer, more drawn out and elegant, his heart, his dream was right there with him. In one turn, again he was able to admire the graceful lines that she had earned with what he now knew were years of dedication to dancing. The muscles in her shoulders and arms sculpted not only by her staff, but the precise roll and hold of tension before the dramatic sweep of arms in a turn. The tone and grace of her legs honed by this craft she delighted in.
The music slowed, winding down to stop, and Solas cued Fen to turn back to back in a sweeping spin that took them around each other, and ended with them facing, palm to palm as the last notes drifted away into the Fadescape, as did the other dancers.
Alone in the middle of the market square, heady exotic spices perfuming the air around them, Solas dug his fingers into the midnight fall of Fen'lath's hair, and growled, "In all my dreams, I could never craft such perfection as you."
Whatever she had to say was lost as their mouths crashed together.