Sing the Song of the Birds, a dragon age fanfic

He remembers the first time he met her.

His heart is pounding, loud, loud, loud; he thinks it's going to rupture inside his chest.

It is dark outside, but he doesn't need light to see how beautiful she is. Her hair is pulled into a bun at the back of her head, a few tendrils hanging unevenly along her high cheekbones. Her lips have a smile on them.

It is dark, so he takes her in an alley. It is dark, but it is warm, and they plan to have dinner, but they don't have dinner.

He drops to his knees and makes her knees tremble. When she asks him of the possibility of reciprocation, he drops to his knees again and makes her knees tremble again and again and again.

It's only ten minutes after his reminiscence when he realizes he isn't thinking about his wife.

In the morning, he wakes to an empty bed. It's been that way for months.

Anora fixes coffee. She hands him a mug. "What are your plans for today?"

He takes a drink, scrunching his nose. "Meetings." He pours sugar into his coffee. Anora watches with a smirk. "What about you?"

"Meetings," Anora says, dropping sugar into her own cup. She is still smiling as she takes a sip.

In the bathroom, they get ready together; this is the only time Anora steps foot into the en suite. She's standing at her sink, applying eyeliner. He's at his sink, brushing his teeth. Expectedly, she finishes her morning routine first. When she passes him on her way out, her fingers catch on his arm, squeezing, patting, he can't exactly tell which. "I'll see you at dinner, then, Alistair."

"Yes," Alistair says to the mirror. His reflection has toothpaste on the corner of its mouth.

Anora checks her phone and leaves behind the sound of clicking heels and the smell of fresh peaches.

Alistair remembers the first time he met Anora.

Her makeup is caked on her pink face, still flushed from the grief of her husband's untimely death. Her eyes are red, and when Alistair goes to shake her hand, she covers her face and sobs and sobs, and Alistair stands there and watches her and doesn't know what to do.

Eventually, she apologizes and wipes her eyes with her knuckles, but then Alistair doesn't want to shake her hand anymore. He does anyway.

Six months later, they become husband and wife. It's a spring wedding. The ceremony is fantastic. Birds flutter around the reception, chirping and singing. Anora looks stunning. Alistair's face hurts from smiling.

That night, Anora kicks off her shoes and sets her earrings on the counter. "You looked… fake," she says. "Too much teeth."

Alistair undoes his tie. "I'll do better next time. Follow your example."

"Yes." Anora begins to take down her hair. "Are we to consummate our marriage?"

Alistair stares at her. She stares at him. "Only if you want to. Do you want to?"

Anora yawns. "Not particularly." She goes down the hallway. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

During dinner, Alistair pokes Anora's foot with his toe and asks, "Do you remember our wedding night?"

Anora has pasta sauce on her bottom lip. Alistair brushes it away with a flick of his thumb. She tilts her chin up to help him with this. "Our wedding night?" she goes on to inquire, brow furrowed. "Yes, I do remember our wedding night." She doesn't go into detail, favoring the food over conversation.

Alistair watches her, tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear. "I remember our wedding night, too."

Ellana is fresh out of nursing school when Solana meets her. Instead of running into her at a hospital, like expected, Solana meets her at a concert. She is on the shoulders of a woman whose name she doesn't know, thick white bandages wrapped around her forehead and a cup of cherry Kool-Aid in hand. When she sings along with the band, she bounces and dumps the drink everywhere, but nobody seems to mind; it is hot, and the drink is cold.

Solana is walking by her when she gets splashed by the Kool-Aid. It lands in her hair, staining the front of her shirt. Ellana throws a hand to her mouth and apologizes profusely, but doesn't do much else from her spot on the girl's shoulders. "I'm so sorry, love," she says, waving her hands dramatically and showering a boy to her left with the rest of the contents of her cup.

"It's okay," says Solana.

"Okay," says Ellana.

When it turns dark, the band plays a slower song. Solana doesn't know the words to it. She sits in the grass and sways, because she thinks it sounds nice, and then Ellana appears beside her, bandages and fresh drink and all. She is by herself, smiling and giggling as if she were in the company of friends. "Good song, yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah," says Solana.

"Yeah," agrees Ellana.

Ellana sings, and Solana sways. By the end of the song, Ellana is kissing Solana, and Solana is kissing Ellana. Ellana tastes artificially flavored, and Solana soon joins her.

By morning, Solana thinks she might be able to mimic Ellana's laugh. It's like bells, almost.

They leave together, Ellana too giddy for an early morning drive back home. "Did you drive here? I can drive you back," Ellana says, and Solana climbs into the car with her. "Are you hungover? I'm not, but I feel like I should be, even though I didn't drink. I normally drink when I go to a Bull's Chargers concert, but… I didn't…" Ellana, in the driver's side of her car, takes off the bandages around her forehead. "I remember," Ellana says, and promptly drops the bandages in her lap. "I didn't drink because of these." She points at the star tattoos along her temples. Solana smiles.

The second time Solana meets Ellana, it is at a more appropriate setting. Ellana is picking up a prescription. "Sore throat," she croaks. She has on a pair of pink scrubs, her hair pulled from her face in a loose braid, the stars on her temples covered by makeup.

"Do you think you got anybody sick?"

Ellana groans. She sounds like she's dying. "I hope not. I work in oncology, though. They can't get sicker, can they?" She laughs, but she sounds guilty. "I'm sorry."

Solana passes over Ellana's medicine. "It's okay."

Ellana sniffs. "I know."

And then, Solana meets Anders.

When it's time for them to go to bed, Anora and Alistair tell each other "goodnight" and go down the hallway; Alistair goes into their bedroom on the right, while Anora goes into the spare bedroom on the left. It's been that way for months.

As they are getting ready in the morning, Alistair turns to Anora and asks, "Why don't we sleep together?"

Anora is putting on lipstick. She applies it with leisure. "I take it you don't mean sex."

"No," Alistair says automatically.

"I thought as much with you." Anora grabs her eyeliner. "I had a cold. You kept waking up when I sneezed. So, I moved into the spare room. Don't you remember?"

Alistair does. "I thought I was quiet when I woke groaning and sighing."

Anora hums. "You weren't."

"Well, I know that now." Alistair wipes toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. Anora is watching him, pensive, her eyebrows raised in a form of disbelief. Alistair frowns at her. "What?"

She looks as if she isn't going to satisfy him with a reply, but she does. "Do you want us to sleep together?"

Alistair goes back to looking at his reflection, trying to flatten a cowlick with the pads of his fingers. "Only if you want to. Do you want to?"

Anora picks up her eyebrow pencil. "Depends on my mood when I come home."

Alistair finishes in the bathroom first. It's when he's buttoning his shirt he realizes Anora might not only be talking about sharing a bed tonight.

Alistair's stomach is mush. At five minute intervals, his eyes drift toward the clock on his desk. It's mocking him, the red numbers bleeding into the darkness of his office. He grabs at the dog tags around his neck, squeezing, his thumb feeling the imprint he had formed long ago.

Another five minutes pass. He calls his secretary. "Hold my calls," he tells them, and slumps into his chair, fingers squeezing and squeezing at the chain. The metal marks his skin an angry red color.

Five more minutes inch by. His stomach churns. He's going to be sick.

He's not going to be sick. He distracts himself. His computer is fast, and he uses that to his advantage. The distraction he favors is one he can't escape to in Anora's presence. Alistair doesn't think she would quite understand; she might even make fun of him. "You run one of the largest companies in the world," he can hear her say, "and you choose to spend your time playing this game."

[06:03 p.m.] witchofthewilds: Tsk, tsk, Alistair.

[06:04 p.m.] circlemageamell: Hello!

Alistair glares at his screen.

[06:05 p.m.] simba (to witchofthewilds): Shut up. Why am i friends with you again

[06:06 p.m.] simba (to circlemageamell): Hi i don't want to go home

It's routine. Alistair rubs his knuckles into his eyes and tries to make himself into something other than a nervous wreck. Most of the time, he is unsuccessful. He might not be today.

Today is no different. He vomits into the trash bin by his desk and has to discreetly throw it away on his way out. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

Ellana is the one to show Solana the game. "You have to play!" she says, wrapping her wet hair in a towel. "I was a beta tester. I suggested more dragons."

Solana decides to be a human mage, much to Ellana's disapproval. "You can be anybody you want!" But it doesn't stop her from sitting next to Solana, smelling of nail polish and lavender. She has out the nail wand, kept between index finger and thumb, but she isn't painting her nails. "Oh, yeah, go over there. There's some good loot there." Ellana drops purple nail polish onto her bed covers, although she doesn't mind. "It's a fun game, right?" she asks, painting the purple more onto her toes than the nails.

Anora is on the sofa when Alistair comes home, her hair down and wet from a shower. A loose nightgown is clinging to her figure, which instantly attracts Alistair's eye. He flushes and looks away. "I'm sick," he says. "And I apologize for not… calling to let you know I was working over."

Anora is watching television. She doesn't turn to face Alistair, only continues to channel surf. "It's okay."

Alistair feels uneasy. Before he erupts into a volcano of self-pity and a bundle of nerves, he ducks down the hall, disappearing into the en suite bathroom. Anora's clothes are on the floor. Alistair trips over her heels. "You okay in there?" Anora asks from the living room, having no doubt heard Alistair's fumble and string of curses.

"I'm fine," Alistair squeaks, as he sits on the toilet and rubs his thumbs into the arch of his foot, his own shoes lying abandoned next to him.

Anora stands in the doorway. Alistair doesn't notice. When he does, he jumps and nearly slides onto the floor. Anora blinks. "Have I given you a fright?"

"No," Alistair mumbles defiantly. "You are just lovely." His foot protests to the pressure of standing, but Alistair pushes himself toward the sink. He leans against the counter, knee bent, his foot practically screaming. It'll be over in a minute or an hour or two.

"I've figured you out," Anora says, and moves toward Alistair. She looks at herself in the mirror, trying to smooth a frizzy curl on her temple. Alistair has always liked her hair curly like this.

"Figured me out?" His voice is weak.

"Yes. When you work overtime, you come home sick as a dog. I know you love your job, but perhaps you could go a bit easier? We can't have you keeling over when you're forty."

Alistair's heart has been racing in his chest, terrified at Anora ridiculing him, but this new revelation makes Alistair laugh and snort and become increasingly insensitive to the genuine worry behind Anora's eyes. "Seriously?" he chortles. "I'm fine, Anora."

Anora's eyes are wet, her face pink. "I guess I'm a fool for fretting over the possible premature death of another husband and business partner." And she leaves, taking all warmth in the room with her. It dons on Alistair Anora hadn't smelled of her usual fragrance of peaches. She is clean, her skin and hair a bouquet of mild soap and mint shampoo. As Alistair stands there, it occurs to him Anora has always smelled like this when he comes home late, as if she has figured her habitual perfume might be a contributing factor to Alistair's frequent illness.

Alistair yanks on his tie, tossing it onto the floor once it unravels. His foot still hurts.

Solana meets him as she is taking down a dragon Ellana personally suggests. Their characters are bloody, their weapons dull, and their bags bursting to the maximum capacity.

He is a stranger who Solana encounters trying to take down a dragon by himself.

[07:12 p.m.] circlemageamell: I hope you didn't mind me helping.

[07:13 p.m.] simba: Not at all. It was one of my friend's, well not really a Friend, but it was her mom

[07:14 p.m.] circlemageamell: Your friend's mom is a dragon?

[07:15 p.m.] simba: Well no but i like to pretend

He makes her laugh.

It's after she meets him for the first time she finds out who he actually is.

Solana is having lunch with Marian and Garrett when she brings him up. Marian's eyes nearly pop from her skull, and Garrett chokes on their burger.

"Is there something wrong?" Solana nervously mumbles.

Garrett swallows down their drink. Marian has her mouth covered with her hand. "Are you sure it's actually him, Solana?"

Solana doesn't understand why her cousins are acting this way. She looks down at her salad. "Why wouldn't it be him?"

"It just doesn't seem likely," Marian says, leaning in and setting her hand on Solana's wrist. "It could be someone else trying to be him."

Garrett, having recovered, shakes their head, tutting.

Clearly, Solana is out of the loop here. "Who am I talking to?" she asks.

Garrett laughs. "Well—"

Marian glares at Garrett before turning to Solana. "From what you've told us, it sounds like you're talking to Alistair—"

"I am talking to Alistair," Solana cuts in.

Marian holds up a finger. "You are talking to an Alistair. It might not be the Alistair we're thinking of, because the Alistair we're thinking of is a head of a large corporation. He's a businessman, and it doesn't make sense for him to have all this free time to play this game."

"Plus, he's married," Garrett supplies, chomping into their burger. Marian shakes her head at them.

Solana's wrist feels hot under Marian's hand. She gently pulls it away. "But I've already met him," she whispers, more to herself than anything. "He, he has golden hair and… the kindest eyes…"

Garrett has their phone out by then. They lean in, showing a picture of an important-looking man and an important-looking woman to Solana. "He looks like this?"

Solana doesn't say anything. Her silence speaks volumes. Marian smiles sadly at her. Garrett can't stop laughing. "Oh, hell, Solana. You're talking to Alistair Theirin. Alistair Theirin," Garrett muses, "married that woman in the picture when her previous husband—his half-brother—suddenly died. Don't know what happened. He wasn't old or anything, which was odd." Garrett sticks a fry in their mouth. "He inherited that business he's in charge of now. Maybe he has more time on his hands than we realized." Among their words, Garrett can't contain himself long enough to stop laughing. They have to guzzle down their drink to prevent choking.

Marian and Solana are the only ones who don't find this funny. "I always thought he was a good guy," Marian says, grabbing her water bottle and twisting the cap back on and off. "He wouldn't do this."

"Did you fuck him?" Garrett asks.

Solana's face turns red. Marian's hand flies to her mouth again, and Garrett laughs again. "Solana!" They clap a hand on her shoulder.

"No!" she says, waving her hands around. "It, it wasn't like that! We didn't—I mean, I didn't—oh, we were supposed to have dinner, but we didn't have dinner. He just took me in an alley and—"

Garrett is completely amused. They continue to softly chuckle to themself.

Solana continues despite them. "He took me in an alley, and, and it was just oral! It wasn't… oh, God, he wouldn't even let me touch him. Is it because he's married?"

"That didn't stop him from putting his mouth on you, Solana," Garrett remarks.

Marian is still shocked, quietly watching Solana. Marian has always been the mother hen. Seeing Solana like this must be tearing her to pieces. "Do you want me to talk to him? I can talk to him for you."

"She means kick his ass," Garrett clarifies. "I'll help."

Solana hides her face behind her hands.

Anora isn't in their room. Alistair goes to sleep alone, again, tonight.

It is summer. It is hot. Solana has her hair pulled back in a bun. Ellana is tying her own up in a braid. "How have you been faring?" Ellana glances at Solana from the corner of her eye. "Anders, uh, told me some things."

"Anders knows a lot of things," Solana says, picking at her fingernail. "What things are you referring to?"

Ellana gives her a look, a look Solana can't return. Her stomach does flips. She can't raise her head. Ellana finishes with her hair. "You don't have to tell me," she says quietly. "You know how I was when I found out about Solas."

Nodding, Solana hums softly. "Yes."

"Speaking of which, I need to pick him up from the library. Will you be here when I come back?" Ellana grabs her keys, the hair near the end of her braid already coming undone.

Solana likes Solas just fine. Frankly, she doesn't think she can handle his intellectual prowess right now. "No, I have plans."

Ellana raises her eyebrows and purses her lips, oohing. Solana frowns. Ellana laughs, all in good nature. "I know you have important stuff to do, Solana. I'm only teasing."

Solana knows that. She pulls out her own set of keys. "Tell Solas I'm happy for him… and everything. He's in remission, right?"

Even with her hair messy and skin shiny with perspiration, Ellana takes on the appearance of an angel. Her eyes brighten, and she seems to glow at the mere mention of Solas' improving condition. "Yes, I'm so proud of him. Now, the next thing he needs to do is grow back his fucking hair."

"I think he would look strange with hair."

"Hell if I know. He won't show me any pictures of him before we met. I might ask Dorian for some." Ellana's phone rings. A glow spreads across her face again, much faster this time. "It's Solas," she sings, wasting no time in answering the call. "Well, hello there, my itty bitty wolf cub." A pause, and then she's silently giggling, shaking her head. "He hates that," she mouths, pulling her phone from her ear a moment later in order to mimic Solas. "'Please, don't call me that.' Whatever you say, dear."

It is summer. It is hot. Alistair and Anora are actually spending time together. Their windows are open, the sounds of bees buzzing and the occasional birdsong sliding through the curtains. Anora's hair is brushed behind her ears, allowing Alistair to admire the pearl earrings neatly set in the small lobes. He catches himself touching them often, having to ask for his forgiveness every time he does so. Anora plays along. She doesn't get annoyed, only smiles and touches Alistair's hand and tells him it's all right.

After some thought, Alistair begins to believe this is the closest they have been since they were forced to kiss on their wedding day. They have grown distant incredibly fast in only the course of a year; they hadn't even celebrated their anniversary, apart from giving each other a lingering look when it came to getting ready in the morning and eating dinner that night. Strangely, Alistair had not taken overtime that day, so at least some part of his subconscious was aware of the significance of the day.

They're sitting on the couch, turned toward each other as if they are in deep conversation. They aren't talking, though. Alistair's arm is across the back of the sofa, his head tilted and using his bicep as a pillow. Anora has her arm propped along the back of the sofa, as well, but her head is upraised, her fingers caught in the loose waves of her hair. She is reeking of confidence, her red lips in a smile. Alistair wonders if they taste like cherries or another food that is red.

"Red velvet," he says after a moment.

Anora blinks. "Is this your way of asking if I would like a red velvet cake? You know how much I love your cooking." Her laughter reaches her eyes this time.

Alistair, with his head still on his arm, asks, "No, this is my way of asking if I can kiss you."

Before Alistair can breathe, Anora is kissing him. At first, it's soft, gentle, but then it's rough, needy. Alistair is grabbing Anora's hips, and Anora is holding both sides of Alistair's face. Her fingernails are comforting as they scratch a certain spot behind Alistair's ears. Along with comfort, it's a tad embarrassing to resemble a dog in this area, but embarrassment doesn't travel far. Anora is shoving Alistair onto his back, climbing on top of him. Her lips are wet, and they definitely do not taste like red velvet. Alistair doesn't know what they taste like—skin?—and he doesn't care. His arms loop around Anora's waist, holding her close, pinning her to his chest, and then he's—his phone is vibrating in his pocket. "Damn," he curses, while Anora shuts her eyes and enjoys the vibration against her thigh no matter how brief. "I need to, to check," Alistair mumbles, squirming underneath Anora, his hand shoving between their bodies to try to grope at the phone in his pocket. Anora is warm on top of him. She is a distraction Alistair is trying to ignore.

And ignore he does. After successfully removing his phone and reading the message, his mouth turns dry, and he loses the ability to speak. Anora peppers her lips along his neck.

A text from Work Associate S.A., otherwise known as Solana Amell. Hey, can we talk? reads the message, and no, they can't talk, this is a very bad time indeed.

Anora squeezes her way between Alistair and his phone, finding his lips and kissing him again. "Who is that?" she asks, but she doesn't sound interested.

"Work," he says, opening his eyes and glaring at the screen.

"Can it wait?" Anora undoes the button on his jeans.

Alistair sits up suddenly, Anora having to catch herself before she falls to the floor. "I, I, I don't think this can wait. It's quite urgent." And he leaves, lipstick on his mouth, on his neck. His thumbs fly across his screen, his vision a bit blurry. He rubs his face on his shoulder, kicking the bathroom door shut as he locks himself inside.

You've caught me in an awkward situation

It isn't totally untrue. Alistair slides down the door, stopping once he is on the floor. His phone vibrates in his hand.

Are you married?

Alistair swallows down vomit. "Yuck."

I think that would be a topic we need to talk about in person

Yes I think so too

Ok when?

Anora lightly knocks on the door. "Alistair?" Her voice is delicate. "Are you okay?"

Alistair is watching his phone, watching Solana type, stop typing, type, stop typing. "I'm fine, Anora."

Quiet. Nothing happens. And then, everything at once.

"I'm going to call a doctor. Make you an appointment. I don't know what else to do."

Sometime today? Preferably

"No, don't, Anora. I'm fine."

No i can't

Anora has already walked away, though, and Solana reads his message and never replies.

Solana sits with Ellana and Solas one night, hopelessly feeling like a third wheel despite being the one Ellana is directly her voice toward. They're standing around in the kitchen, Ellana and Solana on a counter, and Solas on his feet, turning the knobs on the stove. He isn't wearing socks nor a hat, which Ellana sees as a great accomplishment. She's currently chatting about nothing in particular, trying her best to keep Solana's mind off Alistair. Though, Ellana's best only goes so far, and Solana has to excuse herself before she ends up diving straight inside the open stove.

She leans against the bathroom sink, phone in hand, her thumb hovering above the H key, ready to initiate a conversation with Alistair. Sensing that Solana is about to do something foolish, Ellana wiggles the doorknob and says, "Don't you even think about it! If he cared, he would text you first!"

So, Solana pockets her phone and rejoins them in the kitchen. Solas has his thumb in his mouth, sucking. "Burned myself," he says, not meeting anyone's eye. The dark skin is already beginning to blister. Ellana disappears into the bathroom, fussing very loudly. Solana looks at Solas, who shrugs. "Cookies are still good. They might be burnt, but they're still good."

Solana watches the melted chocolate chips bubble. Solas can't even look at them without shaking his head in mild amazement.

Solana doesn't talk to Alistair.

Anora sits in the passenger seat while Alistair drives. Alistair is trying not to look at her, but her eyes are burning holes into the side of his head, and he ends up snapping. "What?" His skin feels hot, sticky almost. There is no doubt in his mind that it isn't a pink color. It's been pink ever since they had sat in the doctor's office, never ceasing, not even as they are driving home.

Anora, for the first time that day, turns her head to look away from him. Alistair can breathe again. "I thought it was something serious," she says quietly, arms over her chest. "I thought you were dying."

Alistair wipes sweat from his brow. "Well, that must be a huge relief for you. Looks like you'll have to put up with me for, what, another forty or so years?"

"Yes," Anora says, and riffles through the papers they had received. "Such a relief. I'm so glad I won't have to worry about your health now that you will be on"—she holds up a single sheet of paper, reading—"Xanax."

"That's me," Alistair hums, "clean bill of health."

Anora shoves the paper back to her lap and returns her arms back over her chest. "Yes."

Alistair takes in a slow breath. "Yes."

Alistair doesn't talk to Solana.

Cullen runs on the treadmill, his feet almost akin to an elephant horde. His shirt is off, his dog tags bouncing against his chest, so Alistair doesn't feel guilty when he punches a hole into Cullen's water bottle lid and squirts it at him. "Torrential downpour!" Alistair exclaims, but Cullen doesn't find it very funny. He narrows his eyes and hops from the treadmill. Alistair shrugs and gives the half-empty bottle to Cullen.

Cullen takes it, looking at the contents. Alistair swaps his bottle with Cullen's, which Cullen takes proudly. "Oh, you shouldn't have."

"Whatever." Alistair feels inferior standing next to him. It's as if Alistair's looking in a mirror at what he could have looked like if he continued with his military training. However, Cullen continuing hadn't done him any good—a general discharge and a heavy drug addiction would both be things Alistair would have liked to avoid. He can't bring himself to be happy at this outcome.

Alistair presses his thumb into his own set of dog tags. "You and Evelyn still together?"

Cullen nods. "Oh, yeah, yeah. She's letting me get a dog soon."

Alistair raises an eyebrow. "'Letting'?"

"It means 'allow'."

"I know what the word means, Cullen." Alistair squeezes his water and squirts more of it out, getting it in Cullen's eyes. Once again, he doesn't seem bothered. Alistair is defeated. "Why were you not allowed to get a dog before?"

"She was worried I would be paying more attention to the dog than her, which is, frankly, insulting. I know how to, to… devote my time to… something that isn't a dog."

"Right."

They head into the back rooms, Alistair following behind Cullen. "Has Anora told you?"

"Told me what? That you over-exhausted yourself to the point of not even being able to satisfy your wife sexually? Nah, she hasn't told me anything." Cullen disappears into the showers. Alistair sits on the bench and stares angrily at the wall. Despite the running water, Cullen still insists on carrying a discussion. "Remember when we—"

"Stop talking," Alistair says. Cullen does, after laughing of course. He starts talking again once he's finished washing. He's dressed when Alistair sees him again, running a towel through his hair.

"No, but I have heard, you know. I wouldn't trust myself taking the sort of stuff you're taking."

"I know. Let's hope I don't end up like you," Alistair says. He's smirking, and Cullen is giving him a blank expression.

"Yes, you might end up hooking up with your best friend."

Alistair loses his smirk. Cullen steals it. He laughs again.

Cullen drives Alistair to the pharmacy. "Hurry up," Cullen says, leaning back in the seat and turning up the AC to the max. "I don't like to be kept waiting." His phone is in his hand, already tapping onto a game, so Alistair gets the impression Cullen actually doesn't mind having to wait.

Regardless, Alistair exits the car and enters the building.

There's a long line. Alistair entertains himself with his own phone. He wonders if Cullen is the type of person to text if it's been a long time waiting.

He loses the game of Solitaire he is playing, but he isn't discouraged. He had been awful at cards from the start. Anora must have downloaded it to his phone. Yes, that makes sense. Does it? He doesn't linger long in his head, for he's next in line, ready to tell the woman behind the counter his name and—

"Oh."

Solana is there, her fingers posed above the keyboard to the computer set in front of her. She is not making eye contact with him, but she knows, and he knows, and Alistair feels utterly doltish for not realizing this is the pharmacy Solana works. She's told him before she works in a pharmacy, but did it have to be this one? Alistair feels sick all over again. This medication is supposed to fix that. Though, he needs to get his hands on it first. It seems highly unlikely at the rate he's going right now. For a split second, he wishes Anora was here. She likes to lead, likes to have Alistair following her. However, Anora is at home, and her seeing Solana would only make matters worse—despite her not knowing about Solana. What would Anora have done if Alistair had stood speechless beside her? Would she have passed it off as simple nerves, or would she have guessed the deeper meaning? She has always been clever.

"Name?" Solana's voice is timid.

"Alistair Theirin." Alistair's own voice is timid, as well. They're acting like they're in the presence of their middle-school crushes.

Solana disappears behind a shelf. She emerges with a bag, setting it on the counter. Her trembling fingers poke at the keyboard. "Is this why you haven't been talking to me?" She's quiet, trying to not bring attention from the others around them. A man is behind Solana, while Alistair is the first of three other people in line.

This should be good.

Alistair clears his throat. "Sure, yes."

Solana is silent again. She continues poking at the keys. "Would you like to meet up after this? So we can… talk?"

"I'm gross. I just came from the gym." Alistair neglects to tell her he never actually worked out at the gym.

"Oh, right." Solana looks at him as if she's only noticed he's there. With a shake of her head, she looks back down, scanning the bag's barcode. "I get off at nine anyway," she says. "Selfish of me to ask for your company at such a late hour."

Alistair frowns. "I think something can be arranged."

Solana slides over Alistair's prescription. "I doubt it, but I won't put it past you to surprise me."

Alistair practically lunges into Cullen's car as soon as Cullen unlocks it. Alistair is panting, his face pale, his lips white. His hands are clutching his anxiety medication to his chest, afraid to let go in fear of something happening. Cullen stares at him as if they both have seen a ghost. "Are you okay…?" Cullen asks, although he sounds as if he hadn't wanted to ask initially.

Alistair swipes his tongue over his lips. "I need to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Okay?"

Cullen looks wary. He treads carefully. "I suppose there's no harm in that."

An eternity passes before Alistair is able to speak again. "I've been cheating on Anora."

Cullen covers his face with his hands. Alistair tries to explain himself. He does a horrible job. Cullen stops him before he rambles for an hour. "So, let me get this straight: you met her on the Game, and you two hit it off, and, what, she's everything Anora isn't?"

The bag wrinkles between Alistair's arms and chest. "That sounds very rude. I love Anora."

Cullen begins driving Alistair home. "You haven't even fucked her."

"I don't have to fuck Anora to love her."

"But you've fucked this other girl."

"Not… all the way."

"You've fucked her, Alistair."

Alistair shuts his eyes. "I didn't know what I was thinking. I still don't know what I'm thinking."

Cullen offers him no assurance.

Well, Cullen does.

"You have to tell Anora."

Alistair pretends not to hear him over the slamming car door.

Anora has already locked herself in the spare bedroom by the time Alistair returns. He can hear her snore as he stands next to the door, debating on knocking, on waking her and crawling under the blankets with her and sleeping with her.

For a moment, he seriously considers it; he has his fist raised, ready to knock.

But then he doesn't.

He texts Solana instead. What's your address? We need to talk

Solana doesn't wait. She sends him her address and an additional reminder. I get off at 9

With a lingering look at the spare bedroom door, his mind already set, Alistair types a response. I'll be there

At nine, Alistair leaves. Thirty minutes later, he is sitting on Solana's couch. From his house to her house, he spent most of his time in his car, in her driveway, his hand on the handle, his muscles ready to push open the door and step out, but his mind not quite processing the data. When he gets the courage to get out, he begins to pace from the front door to his car. This carries on for several minutes before he knocks, and she invites him inside.

Her house is cozy, very tidy, a tad monochrome. Solana's pajamas are the only things that offer color into this place. They're pink. Judging by her clothing, Solana doesn't expect this meeting to last very long.

Alistair twists his wedding ring around and around his finger. She watches him. "So, you're married."

"Yes," Alistair says.

"My cousins tried to tell me you weren't real. They said the Alistair they knew wouldn't do such a thing. The Alistair they knew," Solana continues, her voice low and dangerous, "was a businessman who had no free time to waste on a silly computer game. He was married, too. They said Alistair the businessman, married Alistair, wouldn't do this."

"You told them we met, though?"

"Oh, yes," Solana says, starting to glare now. "I told them you had the kindest eyes."

Alistair stops fiddling with his ring, going to the set of dog tags around his neck. "That's… very sweet of you."

Silence, then, Solana drops her face between her hands and lets out a cry, "You're married, Alistair."

The ring on his finger burns him. "Yes, I am. I married Anora after my half-brother, her husband, passed away. I got his job, his wife… everything."

"Kids?" Solana doesn't raise her head.

"No kids." Alistair wonders if he should tell her him and Anora haven't even been intimate enough to make a child, never mind Anora being barren, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Solana breathes, her shoulders shaking as she lets out a small sigh of relief. "I suppose that's… better."

"Yes, kids would be messy."

Snorting and shaking her head, Solana stands. "Messy. Right. Please leave. I don't want to see you again."

The sofa cushions are comfortable. His muscles protest as he stands. "I shouldn't overstay my welcome. You're right."

Solana stares at him, her face bare of makeup, her hair down and tickling her jaw line. Her expression is unreadable. Alistair feels as if he's under scrutiny, and it only takes a moment before he realizes he is. Solana is surveying him, doing who-knows-how-many calculations in her head. Alistair isn't nervous, though; his medication has kicked in, and he could care less about being self-conscious. However, his heart does speed up when she tells him, "Maybe I want to see you again. Maybe I want to see you a lot more. Maybe I'm scared of what comes after."

She sits back down. Alistair takes this as an invitation to sit back down, as well. "Are you scared of what could possibly come in the next twenty minutes?" he asks.

Solana stares at him again. She slowly blinks. "No."

Alistair is light-headed. "Me neither."

Solana doesn't have Ellana's guidance at the moment. She had said for Solana not to talk to Alistair again, to let him text her first if he truly cared. And Alistair has. Solana still feels rotten. She wants to call Ellana, but Ellana is off somewhere with Solas. "We'll be back soon," Ellana had told her, but Ellana and Solas are playing a game of hide-and-never-go-seek, and Solana thinks they might not come back.

Without Ellana's second opinion on the matter, Solana needs to do this on her own. She needs to politely tell Alistair to leave and never return.

Somehow, they end up in her bedroom. He's kissing her, and she's kissing him, their hands touching anything and everything they possibly can. His hands are firm, steady, while hers are clumsy, unable to get a confident grip. Alistair knows what he's doing, or at least, he acts like he does.

Alistair is pulling her t-shirt over her head. "You've been quiet." He says this as if he hadn't been keeping her lips preoccupied.

"I get that a lot." Solana works on undoing his belt. She drops to her knees.

"You don't have to do that," Alistair says.

Solana does anyway.

"Oh, you really don't have to do that," Alistair says, but Solana pushes him onto the bed and holds down his hips and feels his knees tremble against her sides. She doesn't want to stop, and Alistair doesn't want her to stop, but she stops, and Alistair groans. "Lemme…" he mumbles, catching his breath, and she climbs on top of him, and he undresses her and kisses her and teases her and opens her.

They—mostly Alistair—make a lot of sounds. At first, he can't keep a rhythm to save his life. He's nervous, fingers catching on bed sheets and her hair, constantly pressing his lips to her shoulder and neck and asking, "Is this okay? Are you okay? Tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

And obviously, Solana thinks he's doing everything wrong, so she rolls them over and shows him how to do it right, but he doesn't want to roll back over. "You lead," he tells her, breathless, eyes closed and back arching off the bed. She's happy to do so—anything to make the only noises he bears soft whimpers and high-pitched squeals only dogs can hear.

He finishes before her; Solana chops this to inexperience. Alistair is a gentle lover, though. Before Solana can move from his personal space, he flips them over and travels down her body and makes her knees tremble again and again and again as if this were the first time they met.

And then, he leaves as quickly as he came. Solana stands by the front door, and Alistair stands with her. They're staring at their feet, because they have no idea what to even say.

Solana's fingers run along her neck, feeling traces of skin Alistair had bitten, and she wonders if Alistair's back burns from where her fingernails had made home in his skin.

"I'll talk to you later," says Alistair.

"Yes," says Solana.

"Okay," says Alistair.

"Right," says Solana.

"Yes," says Alistair.

"Goodbye, Alistair," says Solana.

"Goodbye, Solana," says Alistair.

Solana goes inside and sits on her couch. She doesn't know what she's doing.

The spare bedroom is unlocked when Alistair comes home. The quiet hum of a television has replaced Anora's snores. Alistair enters the room.

Anora is dozing, her arm beneath her head, her hair in her face. She wakes at the sound of the door closing. "Alistair?" she asks, confusion and disbelief clouding her voice. "Did something happen to the other bed? Or the sofa perhaps?"

Alistair kicks off his shoes, his trousers. A sock comes off in the process, while the other stays intact. He keeps it on. "I did something really bad, Anora," he whispers.

She tosses the blankets from one side of the bed, scooting over to give Alistair adequate room. "I'm sure. It's late, Alistair. Did you have a nightmare? Want to snuggle up with mother?"

Alistair pulls off his shirt and curls underneath the bed covers. "Yes."

Anora reaches over and gives his arm a pat, a squeeze. "It'll be okay, baby, go to sleep."

Alistair does.

Sometime during the night, Alistair wakes to Anora's hands on his arms. He doesn't question it, lets her mold him this way and that way until he's lying on his back with a knee bent toward the ceiling. His lips don't form a coherent question. Anora climbs on top of him, a strap of her nightgown slipping down her shoulder. He fixes it.

She mumbles, "I need, I need, I need," with heavy-lidded eyes and pink skin.

And he mumbles, "Yes, yes, yes," and Anora moves his remaining clothing out of her way, pulls her nightgown over her hips, and takes him until she's a shivering mess.

She's already loose, wet, ready for him, but she doesn't move a lot—her face is made of puzzle pieces that form the epitome of astonishment. She runs her hands along his chest as if he isn't real, as if this is a dream. Her fingernails pinch at his skin, forcing little red welts to appear. "Ow, ow," he says, deadpan, when she does this.

She looks like she wants to apologize, but no words come out. He sits up, bed creaking, and sets a hand behind him to balance them. Another hand creeps into her hair, gripping onto the thick blonde strands as her mouth falls open into a symphony of moans and whimpers. "Yes," she says, and he moves his hips, and "yes," she says, and she bounces with him, and "yes, yes, Alistair, yes," she says.

They don't kiss during it. When he finishes, she has already visited her personal heaven and come back twice. She can hardly move without her muscles spasming, so he molds her this way and that way until she is on her stomach, him next to her and getting the tangles from her hair. The bed covers have been kicked away during this, and he can see her curl her toes every now and then, as if she is experiencing her climax again and again.

He fixes the hem of her nightgown. She speaks up, "I felt scratches on your back." Before he can make up an excuse, she is snoring, and it isn't long before he joins her.

In the morning, Alistair walks into the en suite bathroom to the sight of Anora, bed head and sleep in her eyes, swallowing a little white pill with water. Alistair stands next to her and pretends he hadn't noticed. She picks up her brush. "Yes, it was," she says, either becoming a mind reader or knowing the question from his predictable face. "I'm not on birth control. We didn't use a condom. You came inside me."

"Well, I thought you were…" Alistair can't say it. He looks away.

Anora glances at him. "Barren? Most people do." She continues to brush her hair. "That's why Cailan and I never had kids, they said. It was my fault, but they didn't know I went and had myself tested to see if it was my fault. They also didn't know about Cailan's other women and the lack of bastards that came from that."

Alistair blinks. "So… Cailan—"

"Yes," Anora interrupts, overjoyed. "Cailan was shooting blanks."

Seeing Anora smear her dead husband's, and his half-brother's, name puts Alistair in a good mood. He begins to laugh, and it doesn't take that much time at all for Anora, too, to burst into a fit of giggles.

Alistair's good mood can't possibly last forever. He's riding on it for as long as possible, though, no doubt in his mind that something could go wrong today—

until dinner time, of course.

They're eating pasta again. Anora is slurping up noodles when Alistair says, "You weren't the one to leave those scratches on my back."

It's silent, except for Anora's slurping. "I never implied it was me who had done so."

She's trying to be clever. She's playing this game Alistair knows he's going to lose. He can already feel himself slipping away. "If not you, then who?"

Anora shrugs, tearing apart her garlic bread. "You tell me."

Alistair doesn't feel so good anymore. "Uh."

"It wasn't Cullen, was it?"

"What? No, I—"

"Because I know you two had that thing when you were going through training—"

"—no, we—"

"—and I thought you were getting back into it, with you acting suspicious—"

"—no, Anora—"

"—and staying late at the office, and then you're spending more time with him—"

"—he's my friend—"

"—you could have just told me if you still felt this way about him, Alistair—"

"—Anora, I'm not fucking Cullen."

Anora sticks garlic bread in her mouth, shrugging. "Okay, not Cullen."

Alistair sits there, takes in a deep breath. "Her—"

"—ooh."

Alistair blinks. "Her name is Solana. I don't think you know her."

Anora chews for a bit. "Last name?"

"Amell."

Anora eats some more garlic bread. "Is she related to the Hawkes, by any chance?"

"I don't know her family history, Anora."

She smiles and picks up her fork. "Is she pretty?"

"Who?"

"Solana." The name sounds oddly pleasant when it comes from Anora's vocal chords. "Is she pretty?"

Alistair thinks he needs to tread lightly. This could be a trap, if it hadn't been one from the beginning. Anora doesn't seem jealous, though—she appears to be actually curious about Solana's physical appearance.

Still, carefully, "Yes, I think she's pretty."

Anora nods, humming to herself. "Remember to eat, Alistair. You don't want your food getting cold."

Alistair's stomach hurts. He eats his pasta and wonders where this conversation had left the state of his and Anora's, and possibly his and Solana's, relationship.

They have sex again that night. Alistair doesn't know who had initiated it. It might have been Anora. She had wrapped a condom around Alistair's cock before sitting on it this time. "You'll be able to fuck me even better," she says, and he does, and she can barely move the morning after.

Solana sees Ellana a week after she has returned from her trip. And obviously, Solas is with her. He isn't baking this time, though. He's sitting on the floor of Ellana's kitchen, paint bottles and newspaper set around him as he colors a black canvas white. Solana wants to ask why he didn't just buy a white canvas, but she knows she won't get a simple answer.

Ellana is settled on the sofa, not at all concerned about her boyfriend in the room over. "I should ask Solas to move in," she says. "He's here enough."

Solana attempts to be casual. It goes rather badly. "I fucked Alistair."

Ellana wants details. Her face turns blue from holding in her laughter. "You can't be serious. No, wait, you wouldn't tell me if you weren't. Wow." Ellana shakes her head, giggling some more. "How does it feel to experience someone's sexual debut?"

Solana rolls her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this."

Ellana leans back, propping a foot on the coffee table. "You brought it up. And… if it's any consolation, I'm about… seventy-two percent sure I was the catalyst for Solas' sexual awakening. He won't keep his hands off me now."

Solas drops a bottle of paint. Ellana and Solana freeze, only continuing their conversation after Solas lets them know he hadn't spilled anything with a "oh, do not mind me". Ellana scoots closer to Solana so as to not let Solas be distracted, or to let it become easier for him to eavesdrop. "Are you still talking to Alistair? Have you two met up after… y'know?"

Solana sheepishly looks down. "No, we haven't."

Solas enters the room, then, to the dislike of Solana. He has a streak of white paint along the side of his nose, giving him the appearance of the canvas he is painting in the kitchen—white again dark skin. "I scratched my nose, and I am no doubt certain there is now paint somewhere on my face."

Ellana gives Solas a look over. "No, you're fine, honey."

Solas doesn't look convinced. "Yes?"

"Yes." Ellana smiles.

Solas leaves. Ellana turns blue again to hide her fits of laughter. "So, Alistair," she says, once she has a normal skin color again, "what are you going to do about him? Does his wife still not know?"

Knots twist in Solana's stomach. She scrubs at her eyes. "I don't think she does. She's going to hate me when she does find out. I'll have to, to go into hiding." Ellana places a hand on her back, trying to offer comfort, but only giving Solana more anxiety. "She's going to kill me."

Anora sits on Alistair's lap as he is typing an email. He hardly notices she's there, with her being as light as a feather, until her head gets in the way of his computer screen. "Something you need, my dear?" he asks, shifting in his seat and moving his arms around her to continue working.

After doing her own shifting, Anora holds out her phone for Alistair to examine the screen. It takes a moment to adjust from the dim, unattractive one of his desktop to the small clear image of Anora's smartphone. Alistair blinks once, a mild headache forming behind his eyes. "Yes…?"

"Is this her?" asks Anora, turning the phone around to look at it herself. Alistair rubs his eyes. "Solana Amell. I can't really go through her profile unless I'm friends with her." Her thumb taps on the screen. Her nail is a pale pink color. It calms Alistair before he is blinded by the phone screen again. "Is this her?" She has clicked on a picture of Solana. She is standing next to a blonde girl with stars on her temples.

Alistair wiggles Anora's phone from her grip and swipes the brightness considerably down. "Yes, that is her. She isn't the one inked up—the girl beside her." He holds the phone for Anora to take, but she tips onto her side, pressing her cheek against Alistair's shoulder. Alistair blinks, and then hesitantly wraps an arm around her waist.

"I figured she wasn't the one with the tattoos. Her profile says she's a pharmacist."

"A pharmacist can have tattoos."

"On her face?"

"She can cover them up for work."

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Alistair." Anora is completely serious. Alistair wonders if he's dreaming. She sits up properly, getting up from Alistair's lap and taking her phone. "She is pretty. Did you meet on Facebook? A random friend request?"

Alistair grows pale. "No."

Anora locks her phone. "How did you two meet?"

It might be because something has changed between he and Anora, or it could be Alistair does not care anymore, but he tells her. He tells her, and he can feel the color return to his face. "Well, there's this game…"

The night may not be young, but that doesn't stop Anora from dragging Alistair to buy a new computer. "You deserve something stronger," she says, "faster, better."

And so, Anora and Alistair's night turns into one of staying up until day break and playing the game Alistair was so sure Anora would make fun of him for. She is currently creating her own character, after Alistair had shown her how. "Your overtime was spent on this?" She gives Alistair a look from the corner of her eye, a small grin on her face. "I don't see what the big deal is."

But after she has created her character and done a few quests, three hours have passed, and she doesn't want to quit, not even when her eyes begin to burn and water.

She lies on her back, an arm stretched over her face. "It's just… so much fun, Alistair."

It's Alistair's turn to play. Once he logs in, he accepts a friend request from Anora—nala. They had laughed at Anora's username choice for several minutes, but ultimately, they determined it made the most sense.

The bedspring creaks when Anora rolls onto her stomach, her forehead turned toward Alistair's hip to rest upon. "Shall I add Solana?" she asks quietly.

Alistair clicks on the mouse a few times. "If you would like to."

Anora grows quiet. "I think I might."

Alistair rubs the thumb imprint on his dog tags.

They haven't talked since Alistair had been to her house. He automatically fears the worst.

You're not pregnant are you?

He receives a reply fairly quickly.

No, we used a condom and I got my period

You can be pregnant and still get your period

I took a test too Alistair, it was negative

The test could be wrong

Solana reads this message and decides calling Alistair would be the best course of action. "Alistair," she says, once he puts the phone to his ear, "I am not pregnant. I haven't… talked to you… because…"

"Me, too," he mumbles.

She laughs softly, and he smiles.

Later that day, they meet up and have dinner. This time, they actually have dinner; they don't sneak off into an alley and turn Alistair's knees blue, no, they sit and eat and have a proper dinner.

Though, before they leave first, Alistair gives Solana a rose. Since then, she has been smiling, her skin a faint pink and her eyes bright like lights have been flipped on behind them.

But now, they are walking, dark out and hot and a little breezy. Solana's hair is pulled back in a bun, reminiscent of the first time they met. However, Alistair knows this meeting will not have the same ending as the others.

Solana breaks the silence. "Was this a date?"

Alistair stares at the thorn pricks on his fingertips. "I was under the impression it was."

"Oh, I was, as well. I only wanted to…"

"Be sure?"

"Yes," whispers Solana, "I wanted to be sure."

When they walk under a streetlight, Solana speaks up again, "I'm assuming your wife already knows."

Alistair glances at Solana. "Yeah, she does." He hangs his head low.

"And does your wife know you're out tonight with me?"

Alistair shrugs. "I hope. I left a note: Be back soon, don't wait up. She's clever. She knows what it means."

They've stopped walking once they had reached that streetlight. The lighting above makes them look like skeletons, like old men, but neither of them is sharing a laugh over this.

"So, she's okay with you still being with me?" Solana asks cautiously, her brow already furrowed. "I find that hard to believe, Alistair."

Alistair narrows his eyes. "Well, I'm here, and Anora doesn't control my life." This is the first time either of them has referred to Alistair's wife by name. Solana visibly cringes, and Alistair shuts his eyes. "My bad," he says unapologetically.

"No, no, it's fine." Solana shakes her head.

"You don't look fine," Alistair presses quietly.

"Very observant."

Alistair kisses her, a firm hand to the back of her head, and she kisses him right back, hands to his chest, fingers curling against the material of his shirt.

She breaks it off after nibbling his bottom lip raw. "It's late," she says, as he gingerly prods his lip with forefinger and thumb. "Take me home?"

She doesn't mean sex, which he has already guessed by the time her house comes into view. "How's your back?" she asks with a smile on her face, and he begins to think her marking him is a show of dominance, a warning to Anora. Alistair doesn't like that at all.

"It's quite all right," he says, smiling his own cheeky grin. "Anora thought she had put them there." A complete lie, but if Solana wants to play this game, then Alistair is ready to dive in headfirst.

Solana stares at Alistair, and Alistair stares at Solana.

"Goodnight," says Solana.

"Goodnight," says Alistair.

She goes inside, and Alistair drives back home.

Solana sits on her couch, feeling quite ridiculous indeed. When she gets out her phone, she receives a notification from Facebook—Ellana is married.

The pictures below this update are posted by someone named Dorian Pavus. Ellana is tagged in them. In the first one, her eyes are shut as she laughs, Solas' arms wrapped around her petite frame as he lifts her in a hug. Solana would have never guessed this would be a wedding. The most shocking thing from this picture is the fact Solas has hair. Solana doesn't know where they are, but it looks as if they didn't have a big ceremony. Maybe this Dorian married them?

Solana flips to the next picture—happy Ellana and happy Solas—and the next picture—happy Ellana and happy Solas—and the next picture and the next one and the one after that—happy Ellanas and happy Solases.

Solana shoves her phone to the floor and hides her face in her knees.

Anora is sitting on the sofa. Alistair drops his keys on the coffee table, her eyes on him as she picks apart the apple slices she's eating. "Saw your note," she says.

"Yes. You waited up." Alistair sits next to her.

Anora stands up. "I didn't know you would still be seeing her."

"I am."

Anora pops a small slice in her mouth. "Oh."

"Yes."

The spare bedroom shuts as quietly as a mouse.

Anora emerges as Alistair is sleeping in the bedroom. He's groggy. She shakes him, her hair neat and kept in braids. "Alistair," she sings. "Ali, wake up."

He does. He immediately turns his head away from her. "What?"

"What's Solana's phone number, sweetheart?"

"It's in my phone," he says, waving a hand to shoo her. "Hidden. Something like… work associate and her initials."

It's quiet. Alistair is already back asleep when Anora gives his shoulder a kiss.

It's as Anora is dialing the number and grabbing his car keys Alistair begins to realize the repercussions of what he has just done.

Solana wakes to her phone ringing on the night stand. Her fingers grope at the charger to pull the device toward her. It's very clumsy. She drops it more than once, catching it by the cord each time and watching it disconnect from the cord the third time this happens. Her phone is still ringing when she picks it up from the floor. She doesn't recognize the number, but she answers it regardless. "Hello?"

"Is this Solana?"

Unable to recognize the feminine voice, Solana rubs her eye and yawns. "Yes? Who is this?"

"This is Anora."

Solana drops her phone back to the floor, hanging up in the process. The impulse to hide under her bed gnaws at her insides, but her phone begins to ring again, and she decides to answer once more.

"H-hello?"

"Hi, Solana! I think I lost you there. How are you?"

"Great."

"That's great."

Solana can hear the gentle hum of a car in the background. Her suspicions are proven correct by Anora's next words.

"Do you think we could meet up? I couldn't sleep without thinking about Alistair's lip falling off. I'm sure you understand the feeling."

Anora is very passive aggressive. Solana thinks back on the last few weeks, not remembering a night had gone by when she was up tossing and turning over the situation with Alistair. It was careless to go on sleeping soundly while Alistair's wife had to be the one to lose.

"You can come over," Solana says. "I can give you my address."

She can hear the smile in Anora's voice. "That would be perfect."

Not even ten minutes have passed before Anora is knocking on the front door. Solana wonders if she should have thrown on a pair of jeans or something more suitable for company than her pajamas, but Anora is only wearing a loose nightgown. Anora looks like she has stepped from the clouds in the sky. She is standing in front of Solana, hands holding a set of keys and her phone, a real person, not a figment of the imagination, not a photograph—but a real person. She isn't even wearing shoes. "May I come in?"

If anything, Solana feels overdressed next to Anora. They sit on the sofa, Solana a bit stiffly, and Anora comfortably with one leg over the other. Her legs are pale, the hem of her nightgown barely reaching the middle of her thigh while she sits like this. Solana guiltily looks away.

"So," Anora begins. "What do you see in Alistair? Because all I saw, when I met him, was my dead husband."

"He makes me laugh," Solana says, her voice quiet and not one bit strong.

"He makes you laugh? You should see him get ready in the mornings. You wouldn't be able to stop laughing."

Solana smiles before she can catch herself. Smiling at a time like this would be bad. "I can imagine."

"No, but seriously," Anora tries again. "What do you see in him? He told me how you two met—oh, by the way, you haven't accepted my friend request yet—and I've played this game. I don't understand how he could stand out while others didn't."

"I haven't been on." It isn't a lie. Solana hasn't felt up to par when it comes to the game. Maybe she has been avoiding Alistair more than she thought. She wets her lips. "If you don't see how Alistair is special, then maybe you shouldn't have married him."

Solana expects it to burn, that's why she turns her head to gauge Anora's reaction, but Anora is smiling. She laughs, too. "Honestly? You're going to pull that on me? I married him, because he was my dead husband's half-brother. It was a business arrangement, one that did a hell of a lot of good, if you ask me."

Solana lowers her head.

Anora continues, "Cailan had his women. No children—thank the Maker—but he had his women. I had hoped I wouldn't have to find out about another husband's women for, at least, another marriage or two." It's a joke, but neither of them laughs. "I suppose I was a fool to believe Alistair would be different from his half-brother."

Solana's posture has grown relaxed as Anora talks. She is leaned back, eyes level with Anora's blue, her legs pulled onto the couch cushion with her. Her heart is pounding in her chest, empathy pouring into her veins with every pump. Solana doesn't know what to say; she thinks an apology would be untimely right now, but it is very overdue. "I'm sorry," Solana says, and Anora runs her fingers along the goosebumps on her arms.

"It's okay. I blame him, mostly, for not telling you upfront what you were getting into." Anora sets her keys and phone on the arm of the sofa, turning her back to them and her body to Solana. "So, tell me," she whispers, "what do you see in Alistair?"

It's the same question Anora has asked before, but it isn't the same question. Solana hears the same words come from Anora's mouth, but they aren't really the same. Her heart is consistently pounding in her chest, pouring more than just empathy in her veins right now. "What do you mean?" Solana asks, because she knows it isn't the same question Anora had asked before.

Anora's gaze falls. A crinkle forms along her forehead. "We never had sex," she mumbles. "We have been married a little over a year, and only until recently, we haven't had sex."

Solana picks apart Anora's words and puts them together again. "You found the scratches I left on his back."

"Yes, I did."

"And I'm going to make more of them."

Anora falters at this. She blinks three times before tilting her head and smiling too politely for the current situation. "Excuse me?"

Solana doesn't feel weak anymore. "I'm going to make more scratches on him. I like Alistair. He likes me. I'm not going anywhere."

Silence fills the room. Anora has her eyes on Solana, watching her every move. Though, that isn't a lot. Solana is at a standstill, as well, trapped in the middle of fight or flight. Her nerves are telling her to run, but her muscles are stiff, refusing herself to leave. Anora is much different; she's all fight, and Solana tries not to back down.

"Oh," Anora says, trying to be surprised, but not actually surprised at all. "Is that so?"

Solana's reply features no hesitation. "Yes."

More silence. Anora blinks again. "Yes." Then, she stands, hands grabbing her keys and her phone. She refuses to meet Solana's eye. Solana doesn't know what that means, but she can tell Anora's fingers are trembling, like she has a bad case of shivers. "Tell me, Solana," Anora says, her voice as bad as her shaking fingertips. "Would it have been different if you knew about me upfront?"

Solana nods. "Yes."

Anora scoffs, shaking her head. "Okay, how would it have been different?"

"I would have gone to you first."

Speechless and pink in the face, Anora grips her keys in a tight fist and leaves Solana with the smell of fresh peaches.

It is still dark out when Anora returns. Alistair is disheveled and groggy, cowlicks heavy and spit on the corner of his mouth and the sofa cushion. "Where, where have you been?" he asks, acting as though Anora has been gone all night. "You were… You went to talk to her, didn't you?"

"Yes," says Anora.

"Okay," says Alistair.

They stare at each other, Anora standing, Alistair sitting.

Then, Alistair, impatient, "Well, what happened?"

Then, Anora, wet eyes and parted lips, turns down the hallway and locks herself in the spare bedroom.

Alistair slowly lies back on the couch, head against some pillows, and shuts his eyes.

Alistair wakes with a crick in his neck. Anora has already left for work. The house is strangely cold.

Solana has an audience as she is talking to Ellana. And, as expected, as it always is, Solas is the audience. However, Solas has every right to be here; he and Ellana are living together, because they're married, and apparently newlyweds are unable to separate for the first few months they are married. Solana thinks it's okay, though, seeing as they aren't climbing on top of each other.

Solas is on the couch, earphones in and laptop set in front of him. His legs are stretched out, toward the floor, toward Ellana, who is painting his toenails a turquoise color. She seems more concentrated on Solas' nails than Solana, but she provides Solana with a reply every time the conversation warrants one. When Solana had arrived, Solas was already on the couch, but Ellana had assured Solana he wouldn't be a bother.

So far, Solas hasn't even acknowledged anybody in the room. He hadn't even batted an eye to Ellana unscrewing the nail polish and taking a seat next to his feet.

"I don't know what I would do," Ellana says, "in your situation. It sounds like you pissed her off."

"I just don't think it's fair. I didn't know Alistair was married in the first place. It's not my fault."

"And is it hers?" Ellana turns her head. "The only person I see at fault here is Alistair."

"Who hasn't texted me… at all." Solana has her phone in hand, tapping the screen and getting disappointed at the sight of no new messages.

"You said he was on medication." Ellana bends back over, sliding her tongue over her lips as she works on Solas' big toenails. "Maybe that's why he hasn't confronted you. He could be busy, running that large company and all."

"Maybe." Solana looks down at her phone, squeezing the buttons on the side until the screen lights up.

Ellana stands, twisting the cap back on the nail polish. "I'll be back," she says, more to Solana than Solas, still unaware of his surroundings. Ellana runs her fingers through the short hair at the top of his head as she passes, her face brightening. The smile is infectious, and Solana smiles, as well, only stopping to jump out of her skin at Solas' voice.

"What?" she asks, eyes wide and swallowing down her fright.

Solas stares at her, the earphones out and his head leaning against the sofa's back. "I said, 'he's most likely stopped taking his medication'."

Still with wide eyes and a quizzical expression, Solana repeats herself. "What?"

She knows just by looking at Solas he is fighting the strong impulse to roll his eyes. She wonders how he can be a professor. "Would you like for me to be redundant? You said he was on medication, and I said he might have stopped taking it. Either that, or he has increased his intake."

Solana glances at her phone, at her no new messages. "And why would he do that?"

"Like you and Ellana were discussing: it's his fault. Perhaps he knows this, and is punishing himself." Solas puts back in an earphone. "Or perhaps he's lost his phone or forgot the use of his thumbs." He returns the other earphone and goes back to his laptop.

Solana's phone goes dim, then goes dark completely. "Thanks, Solas."

Ellana walks into the room. "What was that? Did he say something?" She drinks from a water bottle.

Solana shakes her head. Ellana glances at Solas, at Solana, but she doesn't prod. She sits back down and grabs the nail polish again, plucking at the hair on Solas' ankles every now and then.

The next time Solana hangs out with Ellana, they have an audience again. It isn't Solas, since he is currently napping in the bedroom. Ellana's computer is on the coffee table, a video call with a man Solana has only met once on the screen.

"Hi, Anders."

Anders, a young cat on his shoulder, seems happy, which, after they disconnect, Ellana informs Solana that that phenomenon is very rare.

Before this, they are talking about Solana and Alistair—a topic many find pleasure in lately.

"No, he hasn't texted me back," Solana says.

Ellana's mouth pops open. "You texted him?"

"I had to! I was worried out of my mind, and I only asked if he was doing okay. He read the message, but no luck."

Anders frowns. Ellana frowns. Solas snores from the bedroom.

"He's probably fine," Anders says.

"Busy, too." Ellana touches Solana's forearm.

Solana weakly smiles.

Alistair vomits again. His teeth hurt. The toilet lid is cool. He rests against it, groans rather loudly.

Anora stands in front of the sink, hair brush in hand. "Three times now," she says. "I'm starting to think it's a stomach bug."

"'s not," Alistair says, which makes Anora smile.

"Sure." She sets her brush back on the counter, walking the short distance to the linen closet. Washcloth in hand, she wets it and drops to her knees. Alistair welcomes the damp fabric along his feverish skin. Anora frowns, fingers tight around the washcloth, squeezing the water from it. Beads roll down Alistair's cheek, his neck. "I know it's not a stomach bug."

Alistair doesn't have the strength to raise his head. He lies there, his eyes half closed and his lips parted. "Ya do?"

Anora wets the washcloth again. She squeezes more of it out, onto Alistair's cheeks, his chin. His tongue pokes out to try to catch some of the droplets. "Yes, I do."

"Clever girl," Alistair whispers.

Anora softly grins, her eyes sad. "Yes, I am."

For many nights, Alistair has dreams about running up ceilings and spinning down hallways. Solana is there, floating, fingers outstretched for him. Her nails are bloody, Alistair's skin trapped underneath them. She shreds him until he's nothing but blood and bone.

And Anora is there, fallen, hair frizzy and eyes wet, her voice cracking as she sings for Alistair.

"Alistair," he sees her lips form. "Alistair, Alistair." Her lips fall off. Her teeth click together. "Alistair, Alistair, Ali."

That's when he wakes, soaked and uncomfortable. Anora sits next to him, like she does when he wakes from dreams such as this. She has a washcloth again, but she has her hand pulled back, her expression that of fear. Alistair's head is heavy against the pillow. "What is it?" he asks, reaching out to touch Anora, but Anora recoils from his hand, shaking her head with no indication of an explanation.

Within minutes, Anora is back by his side, the washcloth pressed to his forehead. Alistair's throat is dry. He goes back to sleep, but doesn't remember when nor how.

"You were seizing," Anora says the next morning, helping him drink from a cup of lukewarm tea. "I was terrified. I shook you and shook you, but you didn't stop." Anora's nose is running. "You didn't stop."

"You were talking, too," Anora says that night, helping him get into bed. "You said… you said…" She is pale, her fingers wrapped around his limp wrist. "You said you wanted to die."

Alistair shakes one night, and is unable to stop for several minutes. Anora cries and gets a glass of water and pries his mouth open, and she gives him a drink and his medication, and then he's calm, and she cries some more, and they go back to sleep.

Solana texts Alistair again. This time, he doesn't read the message straight away. He doesn't read it at all.

Anora does. She picks up Alistair's phone from the living room floor, carelessly tossed after getting sick the first time last week. The battery has almost run down, and he has many missed texts and calls from work and friends. While Anora had handled the business side of Alistair's life while he was ill, she hadn't dared to disturb the other messages he needs to tend to.

However, she can't help but be curious after seeing Work Associate S.A. on his screen.

Alistair is still in bed when Anora walks in, his phone in hand and an eyebrow already raised. "How's Solana?" she asks, the name forcing Alistair to shove his head under a pillow. "Oh, come on, Alistair, you weren't sleeping. I saw your eyes open."

He mumbles, "Sleeping with eyes open," before letting out a loud fake snore.

Anora laughs, climbing into bed with him. "Stop that." She plucks the pillow from his head, moving it to the other side of the bed, out of Alistair's reach. Rightfully so, for Alistair immediately goes to grab at it again. Anora makes him grab her hand instead. His skin is clammy. "Feeling better?"

"Mm, yeah," he says, his eyes open but looking at a spot on the wall. "I shouldn't have gone cold turkey."

"Little at a time," says Anora.

Alistair shuts his eyes. "Solana texted me?"

"Yes." Anora goes through Alistair's messages. "She asked if you were okay… again. Does she know something I don't?"

Alistair seriously considers Anora's words for a moment, his eyes narrowed in deep thought. "No…? I mean, no, she doesn't." He blinks. "Although, I can't be entirely sure about that."

Anora changes Solana's contact details. She erases "Work Associate S.A." and puts "Solana Amell" instead. Much better, Anora decides.

Alistair's fingers squeeze around Anora's hand. She squeezes back. "Talk to her," Alistair says. "Tell her…" He drifts off.

Anora lies down, wrapping her arms around him. He sets his head on her chest. "I know," Anora whispers. Alistair snores for real this time.

Ellana and Solas are gone for the weekend.

"Anders is going to a party," she tells Solana the night before. "He's invited us along. It should be fun."

Solana knows "us" means Ellana and Solas. They're a package deal now. Solas doesn't look too thrilled about going, though. Every time Ellana mentions the party, and if he isn't in her line of sight, he wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes and manages to recover in time to smile at Ellana.

Obviously, Ellana can read Solas as if he were the tattered picture book on the bottom shelf. "Solas, stop it."

Ellana and Solas are gone for the weekend.

Like last time, Solana gets a visitor. Unlike last time, it isn't Alistair.

"Anora."

Anora threads her fingers together. "Hello, Solana."

Solana invites Anora inside. "You could have texted me."

"You texted Alistair." Anora crosses her legs, one thigh over the other. She is wearing more clothes than their previous encounter. Solana can't stare at her thighs today. "Quite a lot, might I add."

"I wanted to know if he was okay."

Anora's eyes drift to the rose Alistair had given to Solana. It looks pretty on the small dining table, its petals dead and lying in a pile around the vase she had found in a closet.

"Is he okay?" Solana asks.

"Sick as a dog most days." Anora tilts her head. "Sicker during the nights."

Solana's heart stops. It restarts at Anora's voice.

"He said he wanted to die. You should have heard him. He was shaking, soaked with sweat and cold to the touch, and he couldn't open his eyes. He wouldn't open his eyes. I don't even know if he knew where he was, but he said he wanted to die. 'Please, please, please,' he begged, and he shook and cried." Anora frowns. "So, yes, he's okay."

Solana glances at her feet, unable to bring herself to look anywhere but there. Slowly, she shuts her eyes. "Why are you here, Anora? You could have texted me… You could have called me." She drops her head in her hands, stays still.

Anora's hand touches her back, her fingers curling to scratch at a spot Solana would never be able to scratch herself. "When you said you would have gone to me first, if things had been different, what did you mean?"

With the hand on her back, Solana allows a moment of quiet relief. Anora doesn't prod her for an immediate answer, only continues to ease the tension from Solana with every scrape of her fingernails.

It's a while until Solana can remove her hands from her eyes. When she does, Anora's fingers have stopped, her pupils larger than normal. Solana feels hot. "You know what I meant."

Anora's lips are plush as they skim along her cheek, the curve of her ear. "I don't know what to do," Anora whispers, her fingers now curled into Solana's shirt. "Alistair…"

Solana turns toward Anora, their foreheads touching. She is still holding onto Solana's shirt. "Alistair—"

"Loves you." Anora makes a small noise in the back of her throat. "He loves you, Solana." She tilts her chin up, their noses bumping against each other. "He loves you, he loves you, he loves you."

Solana kisses Anora, hard and gentle and caring and hateful all at once. And Anora kisses Solana back, her nails like claws as she digs them into the skin underneath her shirt. Payback, Solana thinks, and payback is good.

They collapse on the floor, next to the sofa. They are out of breath and holding onto each other with damp cheeks and parted lips and words on the tips of their tongues they can't say.

"Alistair loves you," Anora quietly chants. Her eyes are closed. "Alistair loves you, Alistair loves you."

"And Alistair loves you," Solana says, although she doesn't know if that is true. "Alistair loves you, Anora. And you love Alistair."

"You love Alistair." Anora stands, her knees weak. "And I love Alistair." She rubs her eyes, gathering herself together. "I love Alistair. I love Alistair."

Anora leaves. Solana wets her lips.

At home, Alistair's appetite has returned. He's in the kitchen, licking applesauce from a spoon. With the spoon in his mouth, he has an arm free. It wraps around Anora's shoulders. "Ya okay?" he asks. "I'm okay. Took my medicine."

"Keep taking it. Small amounts." Anora rubs her cheek along Alistair's chest. "I talked to Solana."

Alistair sticks the spoon back in his mouth. "Oh?"

"She loves you." Anora looks at the floor. "And you love her."

Alistair sets his head on top of Anora's, sliding out the spoon with minimal spit. "Yes."

"And you love me. And I love you."

"Yes," Alistair mumbles.

Solana finally accepts Anora's friend request. Solas is her only friend online, so she logs off.

Ellana can't stop laughing. She doesn't try to muffle it—it comes out in loud waves that sound like bells splintering. Solas even wakes from his nap in the bedroom, his eyes narrowed with sleep and drool on the side of his lips. Solana stands by the door, ready to leave, but unable to; Ellana's laughter is like an anchor.

"Solana!" Ellana screeches, crying, her face flushed and her legs pulled to her chest. "What did you get yourself into?"

"I, I, I don't know." Solana stares at Solas, who is gazing at her as if he is figuring out something. She doesn't know what. Ellana continues to laugh. Solas walks over, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at her face. She shuts up for a moment, but then she's right back to giggling. It's concealed now, though, as she keeps the pillow to her face.

Solas blinks. "I won't laugh at you."

"Thanks, Solas."

"However, I will be very shocked and befuddled."

Solana rolls her eyes. "Figured that."

Solas doesn't hear her. "I do find it very odd how events have unfolded. If it were I in your shoes, I would never have seen myself getting entangled with a married man—and with his wife, as well. I would find it remarkable if it wasn't utterly foolish."

Solana frowns. "I know, Solas."

He raises his head. They look at each other. "I don't understand why you're still here. You are in a position many won't have the mere possibility of having."

She doesn't want to play games with Solas. "And that is…?"

Solas' brows knit together in bewilderment. "The chance to escape monogamy, of course."

Free from the tight reigns of laughter, Ellana sits up, hugging the pillow. "Do we need to talk, Solas?"

"Don't be preposterous, Ellana." Solas tips Ellana onto her side. She clings to the pillow and begins to giggle again, twisting onto her back and kicking the air.

Solana watches them. "Maybe." Solas grabs Ellana's feet and squeezes her toes.

Anora's legs wrap around Alistair's hips, the sheets gluing to her skin when her back arches. Words fall from her lips—words Alistair can't hear as he presses his face into her neck and knots the hair his fingers are nestled in.

The bed shifts, the headboard knocking against the wall when Alistair reaches his climax. He sticks wet kisses along Anora's shoulders. Anora pants, still fuzzy from the orgasm she had encountered minutes prior. Alistair nips at whatever he can get his mouth on. Right now, slumped between Anora's open thighs, Alistair runs his tongue along the curve of her breast, biting when he comes to her areola. Quiet sighs whisper from Anora's lips at every drag of Alistair's teeth.

Because Alistair is clumsy, and because he can never be serious in the bedroom, after giving the underside of Anora's left breast a kiss, he slides under the covers and smacks a raspberry on Anora's stomach. Anora laughs. She tightens her thighs around Alistair's body, holding him as she rolls around on the bed. She squirms, he pins her down, and it isn't long before he goes lower under the covers to stroke another orgasm from her soft folds.

Anora is loud. Alistair gathers her into his arms until she comes down. He kisses her face, the taste of salt and foundation on his lips. "I'm going to bake you a red velvet cake."

"Solana," Anora whispers.

"The cake will be big enough for her, too."

He kisses Anora's bottom lip, sucking for a brief moment. Eyes fluttering shut, Anora speaks warily. "Will the cake always be big enough for her?"

Alistair kisses Anora again and again. "Only if you save some for her."

The bed moves some more, blankets rustling when Anora shifts. "Only if you… cook enough for the three… of us." She ends up shaking her head, eyes rolling. "I do not care for these metaphors, Alistair. I sound like you when you try to be clever."

Alistair snorts, hand ducking between Anora's legs. "Take that back. I'm always clever."

"Alistair, lying wouldn't be proper."

Two of his fingers easily slide inside her. He curves them with no hesitation. "Take it back." He pulls a puppy face.

Anora shuts her eyes. "Shush. You're busy."

He kisses her.

In the morning, as Anora is drying her hair from a shower, Alistair is sitting on the counter between the two sinks. He has his phone between his hands, lit up and ready to do anything he tells it to. His face has color again; he looks well. "Shall I ask her, or do you?" Alistair shrugs. "You were always good at… talking."

Anora hands Alistair the damp towel. He folds it. "I thought it might be appropriate if we both talked to her. It would make the most sense, no?"

Alistair blinks, then shakes his head. "Obviously," he huffs.

Anora smiles and squeezes Alistair's knee. "Yes."

Solana welcomes Anora and Alistair into her home. They sit on the sofa, looking as important as the picture Garrett had shown her. It's odd to see them like this, almost like a photograph—the model couple; Anora is even holding onto the crook of Alistair's elbow. Solana is uneasy. "What is it?"

This is the first time Solana has been in the same room as Anora and Alistair. She doesn't know who she should sit next to. Ultimately, she decides to stand in front of them—the better to talk and to look at each of them.

Alistair glances at Anora before he speaks. "I was perhaps wondering if you… if you…" He drifts off and doesn't continue with his question.

Anora takes over. "What Alistair is trying to say is—"

"Is if, if, if you…" Alistair's eyes are pointed straight ahead, not even fixed on Solana or anything in particular. Solana looks behind her to check, then focuses on Anora, who is staring at Solana with the most patient look on her face. She is a saint.

"In your own time," Solana urges.

"Yes." Anora curls her fingers around Alistair's arm.

"Okay." Alistair raises his head to stare at Solana properly now. "You know how I feel about you, right? That you make me all squishy and mushy?" Nervousness replaces the blood in his veins. Solana begins to wonder, based on what this is leading up to, if Alistair ever had to ask out someone he was romantically interested in. Anora had been presented to him, still wrecked from grief and no doubt wary of being rushed to marry her dead husband's half-brother. Did Alistair care for Anora, then? Does he now? Why is Alistair here, asking Solana this, when Anora is next him, holding onto his arm and smiling as tenderly as a wife could?

"You make me feel the same way, Alistair, just not… as pathetically." Solana smiles.

Alistair presses his fingertips together. "Thank you. Sometimes I mistake these feelings for my anxiety, but I'm taking medication now, and I… am rambling. I'm not here to do that. I'm here, with my lovely Anora, to ask you, my lovely Solana, if you would be interested in…" And Alistair stops. It looks as if he has more words on the tip of his tongue, but something is keeping him from saying it.

Ever patient Anora, she covers Alistair's wrist with her free hand. She tries again, "What Alistair is trying to say is—"

"Is if you, Solana, would like to be my girlfriend?" When Alistair finally gets it out, he appears to be greatly relieved. He's smiling now. Anora is, too.

Solana blinks.

"Before you answer that," Anora says, removing her hands from Alistair's arm and placing them in her lap. "I wish to ask you the same question: Solana, would you like to be my girlfriend, as well?"

Solana blinks again. "Uh."

"I do believe I can speak for the both of us when we say we would completely understand if you are opposed to this idea," Anora says. She looks at Alistair, who nods.

"Oh, yeah."

Anora continues, "I know this offer is rather… strange, as only until recently I have developed romantic feelings for you, but I hope you will be open to this idea."

Solana sinks in the sofa cushion beside Anora. "You actually like me?"

"You're pretty. And if I remember correctly, you were the one to kiss me first. Did I mistake your attraction as purely sexual?" Anora frowns.

Solana shakes her head, unable to say anything right now. Her head swirls, her eyes shut tight as she listens to nothing but silence. Finally, she opens her eyes. Anora's eyes are on hers, waiting.

As careful as she can be, Solana kisses Anora. Anora kisses her back, a tad eagerly at that. Alistair notices. He grows red, clearing his throat and ending up coughing as a result. "Embarrassing," he remarks. "Might we move the conversation along? I assume it's a yes?"

Solana blushes. She is almost as red as Alistair. "Yes."

Anora, meanwhile, is unscathed. "That's fantastic news."

Solana kisses Alistair when they get up to leave. His lips are much different from Anora's. Solana doesn't know which ones she likes more; she realizes she doesn't have to choose.

Ellana is supportive. She doesn't laugh.

Solas, however, stares at Solana as if she is a puzzle he thought he had figured out. "Congratulations," he says, and proceeds to burn another batch of cookies.

"I'm not allowing you in the kitchen ever again," Ellana scowls.

Cullen is confused. "I would have never expected you scurrying back to my car after that run in the pharmacy would end in this."

Alistair smiles. "Funny how that works out."

"Yes." Cullen tilts his head to the side in thought. "Have I ever told you I had a crush on her? It was before you met, of course. I never asked her out. Too nervous… or awkward—same difference really."

Anora and Alistair stand in front of their respective mirrors, Anora fixing her makeup and Alistair trying to remember how to tie a tie.

"Solana plans to take me out tonight," Anora says, "after work. Would that be okay?"

"You don't have to ask."

"I prefer to ask." Anora steps close to Alistair, fixing his tie for him. "I am unsure how the evening will unfold. Knock before entering the bedroom if necessary."

Alistair snorts. "Aye."

Anora pinches his arm.

The bedroom door is not closed. Despite this, Alistair enters with caution. He hears giggling.

Anora and Solana are at the desk, on Alistair's computer. They are playing the Game.

"Having fun?" Alistair asks. He kicks off his shoes.

"Oh, hush," Anora says, pounding on the keyboard.

"She's about to take down this dragon!" Solana cheers.

Alistair quickly joins Solana in watching.

Anora takes down the dragon.

Some nights, Anora sleeps next to Alistair. Other nights, Solana is with them, and Alistair has to fight Anora in order to use Solana as a pillow. But most nights, it's just Anora and Alistair. It's quiet as they get ready for bed on nights like this. Anora washes her face, and Alistair brushes his teeth.

"You have toothpaste," mumbles Anora, a finger raised and pointing at Alistair's reflection. "Right there."

Alistair goes to wipe it away, but Anora catches it first, using the pad of her thumb. "There"—she smiles—"much better."

And on nights like this, Alistair falls asleep with his nose in Anora's armpit, his arms securely wrapped around her waist, and a hand up her nightgown.

When they wake from nights like this, they hear birds singing.