At first it was nothing more than a one-night dalliance. A tumble in the leaves, when the night enveloped the aged trees of the forest and the Dalish clan in the distance slowly succumbed to the sleep and rest.
But as days passed, he grew more curious about these elves. He resented their primitive ways and their botched traditions which seemed to have more elements wrong than right. He wondered just how far his people had fallen since his last Uthenera and so he reluctantly forced himself to seek them out and share in their knowledge.
It was then that his fleeting encounter with one of the Dalish became a bit more. He had often found himself wandering through the Fade and his mind conjured images of her cinnamon curls which loosely fell over the soft and pale skin on her back. Her eyes, the color of the moss and leaves in the late summer taunted him, but most prominent of all, and that was something Solas bitterly fought against, was his fascination with her Vallaslin.
At first as with all the other things he resented the idea and the utterly butchered implications the Dalish concluded from the old legends. The very thought that they had willingly marked their faces with the slave markings which was a custom he so fervently fought against, just made his blood boil. But as with everything the time cooled down his head. He was now settled in a cold resentment and after meeting his nightly companion this too changed into a curiosity.
Back in Arlathan he would never approach the elven girls or women who bore the slave markings be they still on their faces or removed. It did not feel right, he would feel cheap and dirty for doing so. But now she was here, marked willingly and proud of the marks and that gave him a chance to see the ancient symbols and lines in a different perspective.
It was just the irony of the fate that she chose to bare Mythal's marks, but he had to admit that there was something very erotic in the curving lines of the tree branches which lined her face in a deep, green color, like her eyes. It beautifully accentuated the already perfect curve of her cheek bones and jaw and continued along her neck only to disappear under her clothing.
Solas smirked as her ran his long fingers over the naked shoulder of his lover who was deeply asleep among the wolf pelts in the makeshift camp, he had made at one of the meadows deep in the forest. He traced the Vallaslin line down her neck and along the shoulder only to stop short of the rising peaks of her chest. He did not wish to wake her, after all this was their last night together as tomorrow, he would set out south to explore Ferelden and learn more of the conflict which erupted between the Templars and the Mages.
She shifted next to him and he gently pressed a fleeting kiss on top her shoulder and pulled the warm furs closer around her. He then slipped out of the makeshift bed and gathered few of his belongings in an almost total silence. It would be better to leave now then wait for the morning and listen to the heartfelt goodbyes. After all, this was nothing more than a fleeting entertainment, barely a distraction from his plans. When the sun rose above the horizon and shone through the green leaves of the trees, Solas was long gone and could not hear the heartbroken cries of his name resonating through the forest.
A few months later Solas found himself in a rather peculiar predicament. The skies were torn apart by a large gaping rift which threatened to tear down the Veil and violently bring chaos into the world. He was without his orb and most of his power but that was not the worst of it. He had found himself locked in a damp cell under the human settlement of Haven and starring in disbelief at the familiar Vallaslin half obscured by the cinnamon colored hair.
Angry green light pulsed at the center of her left palm and she spasmed in pain, her face covered in cold sweat and pained moans softly echoed from the walls. This could not be happening, that she out of all the possible people would end up with the Anchor he so needed on her own hand. It must have been the cruelest joke the Fate had played on him yet. But he sat there, poured his magic into her hand in a desperate attempt to calm the forces which threatened to tear her apart and at the same time hoped for but also dreaded the moment she might wake up. Even though he tried to recall his reasoning behind leaving so abruptly all those months ago, the satisfaction his body and ego their brief encountered brought him, he was unable to do so. Seeing her again in pain which was his doing, there was no way around it, it stirred something in his heart, feelings he had long thought forgotten or nonexistent.
He brushed her hair aside and gently wiped the sweat from her forehead. He leaned closer to her ear. „You must wake up, Vhennan." Solas whispered urgently. He paused slightly at the involuntary use of the endearment but then shook his head. It was true, even though he had not said it before, when they shared the silent nights in the forest together, he was honest about his feelings this time, and a little bit terrified what they might imply for the future.