Author's Note: So recently I became obsessed and infatuated with Solavellan. It's killing me to wait for a resolution that will probably never come for them. As a result, fellow writer NeuroticBanana (who also happens to be one of my two sisters) encouraged me to self-soothe by writing some fluff. This is the result: a fluffy, sweet sex scene, as in character as I can make it. This may just be a one-shot, or I may add additional love scenes later, but my goal is basically to put the scenes Bioware left out. With little or no angst because all we can do right now with these two is remember when things were good.
This chapter has a specific post-quest setting: Din'an Hanin, in the Emerald Graves. I reference it several times as the lost history the Inquisitor uncovers there felt especially poignant to me, and I'm a sucker for tragedies.
Eleven Vocab:
Ar lath ma: I love you.
Vhenan: (my) heart
Da'len: Child, little one
Hahren: Respected elder
Fenedhis: Common Dalish curse, seems to mean "crap" but it's hard to miss the word "fen" for "wolf" in there so I think a better translation might be "wolf crap."
The ghostly green flash of fireflies against the darkness drew Ellana's eyes. They were almost the same color as the rifts and the ether of the Fade, making her tense despite their beauty. Every night for the last two weeks Ellana had seen the fireflies and fought not to think of the endless fighting that'd seized the gorgeous Emerald Graves. Every day she found her arms aching after firing countless arrows into equally endless enemies—Freemen of the Dales, demons of every conceivable size and description, and of course Venatori and red Templars. All of them wanted a piece of her or the Inquisition.
My Inquisition, technically, she thought, and it still left her dizzy considering it.
Tonight, though, Ellana's mind didn't stray to the rifts and her left hand didn't clench reflexively, always anticipating the pain of the mark. In fact the fireflies kept blurring as her thoughts turned inward, remembering the tomb they'd explored that afternoon: Din'an Hanin. The final resting place of the Dalish warriors who'd inadvertently instigated the fighting that'd prompted the Exalted March on the Dales, destroying the promise of an elven homeland. Just yesterday Ellana had believed the simpler, generalized history where the Dalish warriors struck out to defend themselves from humankind's encroaching religion and settlements. Though that inevitably had been part of the conflict, now she knew the truth was that the fight that'd sealed her people's fate had begun with a tragic misunderstanding.
And, somehow, it fell to her to decide who to share this newfound history with. Should she reach out to the human Chantry or return the text to what remained of her people, the Dalish? Words from the temple echoed in her mind:
Cry for the past—it shall claim us all.
For here rest our saviors newly slain. Others lie beyond our reach.
So we remember.
But they hadn't remembered. The details had been lost to time and the names forgotten. Maybe even the Fade had lost the memory, so even Solas wouldn't have uncovered it if not for Din'an Hanin where the story had been preserved in stone.
"Inquisitor!"
Ellana blinked and shot upright, twisting to look at the basecamp behind her. She'd moved to the edge of the encampment, sitting on the rocky outcrop just outside the crumbling elven ruins where they'd pitched their tents. Here she was out of the circle of firelight, letting her see the fireflies where they flickered about fifty feet down in the forest below.
An Inquisition soldier approached her, his walk stiff. "Missive for you, Worship."
Glad to have a distraction, Ellana stepped forward to meet with him. Her bare feet dug into the mossy loam, reminding her how odd this would look to one of her people—or one of the ancient Dalish who'd died fighting here. She, a Dalish elf marked for Mythal, barefoot and wearing the scout armor of her people, commanding a bunch of human soldiers who espoused Chantry rhetoric that looked down on elves and had encouraged their enslavement. Sometimes she wondered if the elven gods would spit on her in disdain, but what could she do? She alone had the mark. Fleeing wasn't an option with the Veil torn and the lands brimming with rifts that could spout demons like rain.
"What is it?" she asked the soldier when she was within earshot.
He saluted her by thumping his fist to his chest and giving a tight little bow. "A messenger just arrived with word from Skyhold." He extended his other hand after bowing, proffering the small scroll.
Ellana accepted it with a little dip of her own head. "Thank you. As you were."
The soldier withdrew, returning to the fire. Ellana drew in a deep breath, enjoying the rich forest scent of this place and rooting her toes into the soil. She'd been a hunter for her people before the conclave and that love of quiet and solitude had never left her, though she couldn't enjoy it nearly as often now. She started walking back to camp, admiring the white arches and other signs of ancient habitation left behind by her people. She prayed the dead, remembered and forgotten alike, rested peacefully.
Rounding the pillars, she squinted as the firelight hit her night-adjusted eyes. Blinking the moisture from them, she continued forward as she heard Bull call out to her, "Hey, Boss!"
Following the sound of his voice, Ellana smirked as she saw him leaning against the enormous pale stone of the statue of Fen'Haral that stood watch over this place. Although their camps never came stocked with alcohol Bull always managed to procure something regardless of where they went. Now he held his enormous mug up to her in salute from across the camp. She waved back and then moved to squat beside the fire where Blackwall sat. The warden held a small clump of wood in one hand while he scratched at it with a small carving knife.
"My lady," he greeted her with a nod. "Are you all right? Those Venatori bastards fought hard today."
"But we fought harder," Ellana said, smiling. She ladled out some of the stew remaining from dinner. She hadn't eaten with the others, preferring to be alone after their discovery in the tomb. Plus, fighting undead had destroyed her appetite. How could she be hungry after the smell of those ancient guardian corpses? It was a wonder any of the others managed to eat at all.
Bull made a noise of satisfaction in his throat, something between a war cry and a laugh. "To killing Vints." He took a long, noisy slurp of his mug. "Ah," he said, letting out a breath. "Damn, that's some good stuff Fairbanks and his people worked up."
"If there's one thing Orlesians know best, it's brewing," Blackwall put in with a laugh. Yet, despite his cheer, Elanna noticed he wasn't drinking himself.
"I thought it was the Game," Ellana said. "And masks, of course." She loaded her first spoonful of rabbit stew into her mouth and swept the campsite with her gaze, wondering where Solas was—though she suspected she already knew. He'd be asleep, fording into the Fade. He didn't often linger awake at night and he'd complained of difficulty sleeping since they'd arrived in the Emerald Graves.
"That too," Blackwall conceded, a dark edge to his voice. "After the Winter Palace I think I've had more than enough of the Game."
"I couldn't have said it better myself," Ellana agreed. Sitting cross-legged, she rested her bowl of stew on her left knee and pulled out the message scroll from where she'd tucked it into her armor. Unrolling it, she read it by the flickering orange-yellow firelight, feeling both Blackwall and Bull's eyes on her.
The scroll was from Leliana of course, advising her that the Inquisition was ready to move on the Western Approach. Ellana smiled to herself, wondering how Bull would manage to acquire liquor out in the desert wastes. Maybe he'd finally have to drink water or tea like everyone else.
"News?" Blackwall asked.
She let the scroll curl up and tucked it back into her armor. "We'll be heading to the Western Approach soon, according to our spymaster."
Bull groaned. "Sand. Endless sand. You know that stuff gets everywhere and then it chafes."
"Do you think we have a strong enough position to leave the Graves yet?" Blackwall asked her.
She threw him a questioning look. "We can't afford to wait if what Stroud suspects about the Wardens is true. We have to save them."
"Of course," Blackwall said, nodding emphatically. "You're right, my lady. Forgive me, it's just…" He broke off, shaking his head. The orange firelight danced over his features as they warped into an expression of something akin to caution. "The explosion at the conclave was caused by an elven artifact and the Venatori are obviously still searching for more of whatever it was. We cannot afford to let them cause another explosion like the one that killed the Divine."
Now she understood his hesitance. He tiptoeing around the fact that, somehow, her people's ancient artifacts had brought on this disaster.
"I will ensure our forces stay in the area," she reassured Blackwall. "We'll stop the Venatori from finding anymore artifacts."
Blackwall nodded but didn't relax the way she'd expected he would. Maybe he still worried he'd managed to offend her? Blackwall had always been polite and chivalrous with her, and Ellana didn't miss the occasional gleam of attraction in his eyes. He'd been a good friend and steadfast ally, taking blows for her in countless battles and sopping up enemy fire by directing their attention to him. That way their enemies never saw the arrow fly that pierced their throats and ended their lives.
But it wasn't Blackwall who made her heart beat faster and her throat tighten with excitement. It wasn't Blackwall she dreamed of at night, or who'd danced with her on the balcony at the Winter Palace. Long before she'd met Blackwall, Iron Bull, Dorian, Cole, Sera, and even the infuriating Vivienne, there'd been Solas. He'd saved her life even before she woke as Cassandra's prisoner, keeping the Anchor from killing her. He'd been the one to show her she had the power to seal the rifts, giving everyone hope they could turn disaster into triumph.
Her face felt hot, not from the fire but from the rush of blood to her cheeks at the thought of his passionate kisses. She brushed her hands against her thighs to wipe away the sweat accumulating on them and returned to eating. Iron Bull soon broke into a slurred tavern song, lightening the mood. Blackwall set aside his carving after several loud yawns and retired to his tent across the fire. Bull soon did the same, catching his horns on the flap and cursing in Qunlat as he went. Ellana smothered her laughter at his struggle, pretending to be absorbed with staring at the fire.
Soon it was just Ellana and the sentries scattered at the edges of their camp, keeping watch. The moon had risen above the trees overhead, its silver-white light beaming down on the pale stone of the elven pillars and the Dread Wolf watching over them. Ellana's tent was closest to the statue, though she regretted picking it now because over the last few nights since they'd made camp her dreams had been full of howling wolves. Fen'Haral was likely laughing at these interlopers—and her for leading them. She stared at the statue now, eyes squinted, her mind full of silent, bitter questions.
Why do you hate my people so? Where were you when the Exalted March destroyed us? Fen'Haral was the only free elven god, but he'd long since disappeared to the People. Did you even exist? Did any of you ever exist?
She touched her forehead, tracing the vallaslin that her Keeper had bestowed on her when she became an adult of the clan. She'd chosen Mythal, the Mother and Protector, knowing she would be happy to die for her clan. So far she'd not been called to make that sacrifice, but her Keeper had not responded to her latest letter, though Inquisition reports indicated Lavellan clan still roamed free and alive. Had they already forgotten her, or had they turned their backs on her when they'd learned she had been dubbed the Herald of Andraste?
At least the humans' deity had truly existed, even if she may have just been a mortal woman. As much as Ellana hated to admit it—the thought made her stomach clench—it sometimes seemed the People's gods had never been.
But then she thought of the tomb, of Din'an Hanin and its forgotten history. Yesterday she hadn't known the names or stories of any of those Dalish warriors—or their kin Elandrin and his human lover who they'd killed, betraying him. Perhaps the People's gods were the same, except that so much time had passed that even the stones holding their memories has been eroded away, leaving only echoes in the Fade that could be as much falsehood or dream as truth.
A rustling sound drew her out of her thoughts. She turned to the tent closest to her—Solas' tent—and smiled as the mage emerged looking bleary and leaning on his staff. He cast her a quick glance, seemingly startled by her presence. "Inquisitor," he greeted her, maintaining the professional distance he always did when they weren't alone. "I did not realize you were still awake."
"It's a pretty night," she replied, letting her voice drop into a quieter register. "I thought the Fade could wait awhile…though I had hoped to have some company whenever I do dream tonight." She didn't know exactly how she'd sought Solas out in her dreams previously, it just sometimes happened—often with erotic results. But never as often or as long as she'd like, and never on battlefield encampments like this one.
And as great as trysts in their Fade dreams were it was always a poor substitute for reality in Ellana's mind, even if Solas seemed infinitely more comfortable there. Not to mention it was chaste and for good reason: Solas said sex attracted demons. Ellana wasn't sure she wanted to know how he knew such a thing, but she believed him. Even if they could have sex in the Fade, Ellana wanted it in reality. Solas might think the Fade as real and valuable as the physical world, but Ellana couldn't escape the fact that they'd always wake up, always need to eat and drink and breathe. She had never neglected her physical body and despite his obsession with the Fade, she knew Solas stayed fit as well.
He smiled at her, the upturn of his lips subtle and soft as always, but made no reply to her comment as he moved to sit beside her. Somehow his body heat seemed more intense than the warmth emanating from the orange coals in the campfire. Resting his staff against his left shoulder, Solas reached for the stick they'd used to stoke the fire and prodded the embers, enticing them back into flame.
"Cold?" she asked.
He withdrew the poker and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Not physically."
"What's wrong?" Ellana reached for his hand with a gentle touch, hoping he wouldn't withdraw. Her heart sped up when he gripped it tightly. Though she suspected most of her observant companions and advisors had already caught wind of their budding relationship Solas seemed intent on keeping it low profile. She'd have thought he was ashamed of it or reserved in his feelings for her if not for those passionate kisses she'd shared with him and the way she caught him watching her whenever he thought she or the others weren't paying attention. Was he merely shy in front of the others? Regardless of what it was, Ellana had made up her mind to be gentle and careful with him. He'd spent most of his life in the Fade after all, how many real lovers had he had?
"The Fade is full of old pain in this area," Solas explained. "It resists my efforts to shape or search it. I find myself watching the same spirits clashing in the same bloody battles repeatedly." He shook his head. "It is trying and makes for poor dreams."
"My dreams have been less than pleasant since we came here," she agreed quietly and then, smiling again, she added, "All the more reason I'd hoped for company."
Now the smile returned to his lips, broader than before. His gray-blue eyes glimmered, reflecting the orange firelight. "Nothing dulls your optimism, vhenan," he murmured.
Vhenan. The term of endearment made her heart pound its way into her throat and something throbbed in her chest—a hunger, a longing for him. She swallowed, struggling to find her voice and maintain her composure when what she wanted to do was close the few inches between them and kiss him. But she could hear Bull snoring from his tent and knew there were Inquisition soldiers and scouts scattered nearby. She doubted Solas would be receptive.
As if he'd read her mind, Solas' gaze drifted from her face to the other side of camp. Ellana turned her head, following his stare to the Dread Wolf. She wanted to sigh, guessing Solas was likely seeking distraction to defuse the sexual tension between them. But the way his expression hardened made her dismiss the thought. Whatever Solas was thinking about, it wasn't some trivial thing he'd latched onto as an excuse to throw her off.
"You don't believe in the gods," she said, not meaning it as a question. He'd told her as much before.
"Not as gods, no," he answered, still staring at the Dread Wolf. "Perhaps as distant and forgotten history, much like the story of Elandrin we uncovered today." He blinked, seeming to come out of his reverie. "Speaking of which, have you decided what you will do with this new information?"
"I'm going to give the text to the clan we found in the Exalted Plains."
He arched an eyebrow. "Why not your own clan?"
Her gaze dropped into her lap at their still joined hands, suddenly feeling awkward. Trying to smile, she said, "My Keeper has not replied to my latest letter. I fear they have turned their backs to me because the humans have elevated me."
"And equated you with Andraste," Solas added with a nod. His voice was soft and gentle, holding no disapproval and when she met his gaze she found his expression somber with something akin to sympathy. He squeezed her hand. "You know you have little control over how history will remember you. None do. Your clan should not find fault in you for things beyond your ability to change or control."
Ellana sighed, her head and shoulders sagging. "And yet they do."
"And yet you persevere, do you not?" Solas said, again squeezing her hand. "You proclaimed to Cassandra and the Chantry and all who would listen that you are merely mortal. And then, in spite of being a lone Dalish woman amongst hostile humans, you have taken the weight of the world onto yourself and tried to set things right by fighting Corypheus. You have much to be proud of, so it is perhaps no wonder they believe you divinely touched regardless of what you say."
The ache in her chest seemed to swell. "Flatterer," she said, barely breathing the word.
"Hardly," he answered, smiling as his soft, bright eyes roved over her face, dropping often to her lips. "I cannot help that the truth is naturally so flattering."
Had he inched closer to her, or had she leaned nearer to him? Ellana couldn't tell, but she knew she could feel his warm, moist breath wafting on her face. The hunger coiling inside her had nothing to do with food.
Forget the others and the sentries, she thought and closed the gap between them—but Solas was already there.
His lips were warm and soft, his mouth tasting minty as, like her, he often sought out the wild plant and chewed it. She opened her lips to him and his tongue explored her mouth immediately and without hesitation, with all the eagerness he'd shown while they were alone or dreaming together. She sighed against his lips as the knot in her chest sank lower, warming her in a way the fire never could.
Solas broke the kiss then, staring into her eyes for a moment. Gazing back at him, Ellana felt as if her skin had caught fire at the sight of the tenderness in his eyes. "Vhenan," he whispered. "I—"
She kissed him before he could say more, pulling him closer and shifting to partway face him. Solas responded with hunger of his own, one hand at her waist while the other cupped her cheek and jawline. She had halfway crawled into his lap without breaking their passionate kiss when her right hand thumped against the staff still resting against his left shoulder. Surprised, Ellana withdrew, an apology leaping to her lips, but Solas ducked his mouth close to her ear instead and whispered, "Perhaps we might take this somewhere private."
Mythal protect me, she thought and had to stop herself from laughing. This must be a dream.
"Am I dreaming?" she asked, also whispering into his ear. He shivered as she breathed on him.
He chuckled, the sound soft and feathery, but also husky. "We are awake," he answered, stroking his fingers through her hair and down her neck in a slow caress. "And I believe you said you wanted some company tonight—and I am naught but a loyal elven servant of the Herald, so how could I refuse?"
He'd used the same description of himself at the Winter Palace and the memory, combined with the current sensual undertone made her quietly laugh against his skin. "Naught but my elven servant?" she repeated, pulling back to grin at him.
"Merely Solas," he confirmed, but though his eyes gleamed with tenderness—and want—Ellana noticed his smile seemed to hold back with melancholy. Yet his fingers kept teasing the exposed skin of her throat and jaw, making her mind swim and her body ache with desire.
Sighing at his touch, she pressed her lips to his again, sucking at his lower lip and then his tongue. Then, her mind already long since made up, she broke the kiss and purred, "Good, because Solas is all I want tonight."
His smile became an almost wolfish grin and he dipped his head slightly. "By your leave then, Inquisitor."
Ellana's stomach flip-flopped and her legs felt weak and rubbery as she got to her feet and crept to Solas' nearby tent. She heard him move after her, swift and graceful like a cat. She pushed past the tent flap into the orange-tinted dimness and scooted to the back, watching with her blood hissing in her ears as Solas crawled in after her, setting his staff aside to the right. She moved to embrace him, breathing in the woody musk he always carried with him. Her hands roved over his back and then his chest, feeling the lean, sinewy muscle beneath.
Solas nuzzled her ear and then her neck, sending shivery tendrils down her spine. She let out a little noise of appreciation and her hands drifted below his waist. Solas' breath hitched in his throat and one of his hands clasped hers as he whispered into her ear, "Let us take our time, vhenan."
As she drew back to meet his gaze Solas lifted one of her hands and placed it on his chest, over his heart above the blackened wolf jawbone necklace he wore. "Ar lath ma, vhenan, and I would do this right."
"Ar lath ma, Solas," she whispered back to him, her heart still pounding. "But I didn't know there was a right way to do this." She grinned up at him, teasing. "Is there some ancient art of pleasure you learned wandering the Fade?"
"Ah da'len," he whispered, low and husky. "It is far simpler than that." He edged closer, his hands caressing her arms, drawing his blunt fingernails gently over her skin. Ellana shivered as he whispered in her ear, "Only the very young or foolish rush to devour a long-awaited meal instead of enjoying each bite." He nibbled at her ear. "And I am neither."
"Am I to be the meal or the student?" Ellana asked, smirking.
"Such narrow thinking, da'len," he said, teasing her ear again and eliciting a gasp from her. "You will be both, should you wish it."
Her bones seemed to have turned to mush. She pressed close to him, feeling over him again as her own body burned with delicious want. "Show me then, hahren."
"Gladly," he said and kissed her again, long and deep and hungry. She arched into him, barely noticing as his long-fingered hands found the buckles at her waist and unlatched them, then moved to the clasps under the gray fur at her shoulders. Then his fingertips snaked under the light chainmail she wore beneath, teasing her skin into gooseflesh.
When she shuddered and sighed he broke the kiss and chuckled, as smooth as velvet, his eyes black in the dimness. "Now I'll take a turn, vhenan." He traced her jawline with one hand while the other clasped one of her hands and guided it to his belt.
Ellana unlatched his belt, letting it fall away. With it removed she wormed her fingers up from his hips past his leggings until she found naked skin. Bunching up his tunic, she pushed higher, trailing her nails on his skin just hard enough to vary the sensation. His breath caught for the second time and Ellana felt gooseflesh as her hands climbed higher. He'd closed his eyes, breathing deeply at her touch even as his own hands stayed on her, moving along every gap he could find in her chainmail.
"How am I doing, hahren?" she purred, grinning.
"You have always been a quick learner, vhenan. Of that there is no doubt." He let out a low, quiet laugh. "But the lesson is far from over."
He leaned his forehead against hers, his skin warm and dry and smooth. Nothing like the brutish, hairy human men who'd surrounded her ever since she'd left her clan. Her stomach clenched and the coiled ache inside her tightened with the certainty that this was where she belonged now—here, with Solas.
He found the clasps on her chainmail as if he'd been wearing it himself, opening it and letting her shrug out of it, jangling as she pushed it away with one foot. Now she wore only a breast band and silken undergarments around her navel and thighs—a measure of protection against chafing mail or leather armor. Solas' eyes drank her in with appreciation, but his gaze returned constantly to her face. He removed his tunic and set it aside, unhurried despite the impressive lump of his arousal now plainly visible with the tunic gone. And she'd have to be blind to miss the glint of desire in his dark eyes.
As he embraced her again, kissing and caressing her and gradually working his hands under her breast band, Ellana fought the impatient craving inside, the heat building deep within at his every touch. It was impossible not to compare this with her first time, though they were about as alike as night and day. Her first lover had been her clan's Second to the Keeper, a youth about her same age, and at sixteen when they'd joined together for the first time everything had been fumbling and awkward. It was over almost as soon as he was inside her, leaving Ellana less than thrilled with the experience. Her first lover had improved over time, but their meetings had always been quick and to the point, sometimes not even fully shedding their clothes. The Keeper had hoped they'd become bond partners, committing to one another for life to encourage children. But Ellana had resisted, feeling too young to make such a commitment, and shortly afterward her lover had left her, spurned by her hesitation. Ellana had kept to herself after that.
It was probably Ellana's own detachment, with no bond partner and no children within the clan, that'd made her Keeper select her for spying at the conclave in the first place. And that had brought her the mark—and Solas with it. Now, in his arms, she found herself resembling her first lover, aching for more while Solas was content to linger in the moment. Funny how things worked out.
Solas obliterated her thoughts when his dexterous fingers finally slid her undergarments off. His touch between her legs made her gasp and groan deep in her throat. He chuckled against her skin, still nuzzling her neck. Ellana's legs trembled at the knees. As if taking that as his cue, Solas guided her to his bedroll. Ellana laid on her back, naked now, and wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the hard bulge of his arousal against her—only to realize drunkenly that somehow she hadn't noticed that he still wore his leggings.
She tugged on those leggings, saying his name like a plea. "Solas…?"
"Yes, vhenan?" He smiled down at her; almost idly caressing her bare thigh with one hand while the other inched back to its spot between her legs.
She wanted to say something like, I don't know how they do things in the Fade but here these leggings need to go. But such a long sentence became impossible as his fingers went to work on her. She arched her back, pressing herself against him, biting back the groan of pleasure rising inside her.
When he stopped Ellana was breathing hard and heavy, her body awash in sweat and her blood roaring for more. She was on the precipice, unable to think and ready to fall. As he shifted, inching back from her, Ellana let out a protesting cry, her fuzzy mind filled with curses in both common and elven.
Mythal have mercy, what is he doing now?
She started to sit up and reach for him but Solas was already too far away, shimmying out of his leggings at long last. She rolled onto her side and sat up, moving to help him, but Solas caught one of her hands and grinned, clucking his tongue at her. "So impatient, da'len."
"I can't help it," she admitted and barely recognized the huskiness of her own voice. "Fenedhis, I'm never leaving this tent again."
Solas laughed. "Then I have apparently doomed all of Thedas."
Ellana laughed too, but only for a moment before she kissed him, still craving him with a frenzied, shameless need. Ditching his leggings somehow without breaking the kiss for more than a few moments, Solas moved with her to the bedroll. He covered her, absorbing her full attention with each breathy kiss. When he sat back as if to withdraw again Ellana scrambled to sit up, grabbing for him.
"Not this time," she murmured as she wrapped her legs around him. She took him inside her at the same time she kissed him. Solas gasped and groaned. His arms snaked around her waist to support her, his fingers tracking up and down her spine.
"I wasn't—" He broke off, clenching his jaw as she worked her hips over him. "—finished with our lesson." He breathed fast against her neck, letting out a quiet moan.
She ducked her head to trace his ear with her tongue before whispering, "I'm finishing it for you."
He moaned again, louder this time, his breath fanning against her neck, and uttered something in elven Ellana had never heard before—not that she had the presence of mind to ask about it. Solas' hand dropped to her hips, grinding as he guided her. The precipice neared again as the pleasure spiraled higher inside her with each thrust of her hips. And then, panting and sweating, she felt it burst as she climaxed. She gripped his shoulders with both hands, hard enough she was sure she'd leave bruises but kept the cries of pleasure as soundless as possible.
Solas' muscles went rigid under her hands and he strained, throbbing inside her as he found release as well. The only sounds he made were a few throaty grunts, holding back as she had to avoid alerting the whole camp. And then he collapsed backward in the tent, resting on his back. Ellana fell with him, laying on his chest and hearing his pounding heart as slowly they caught their breath and savored the last lingering waves of euphoria.
Solas stroked her hair with one hand and her back with the other. Ellana sighed her contentment and then touched his cheek, drawing him into another kiss. She could die kissing him, she thought, and still be happy. When the sloppy kiss ended she closed her eyes, her skin still tingling where Solas caressed up and down her spine.
She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until Solas moved beneath her and she gasped, sitting up. He smiled up at her through the orange semi-darkness, his eyes soft with tenderness. "We should sleep, vhenan."
Nodding, she crawled away from him toward where she'd left her clothes, but Solas blocked her with an arm. "Stay."
"Stay?" she asked, her voice quiet and throaty, her head still thick from pleasure and sleep.
He sat up, curling an arm around her and resting his forehead to her temple. "There is no sense pretending around the others any longer." He chuckled. "I doubt they would believe us if we tried."
Heat leapt into her face, as intense as anything thrown out by the campfire outside. "Were we really that loud?"
"There are bored sentries who will have kept an ear out for any distraction, dangerous and entertaining alike." He nuzzled the crook of her neck with his nose and lips. "And anyway, I would appreciate the company. Perhaps together we can change the Fade here into something pleasant and forget the betrayal of the past—at Din'an Hanin."
"Worth a try," she agreed, grinning. "I'll stay."
They slept together intertwined under a great bear pelt—the same gray furred beast that'd hassled their first campsite in the Emerald Graves to the south. If Ellana dreamed she didn't remember it. The early morning light woke her, finding her warm with Solas curled against her back and his arm draped over her. Outside she heard Blackwall's voice murmuring and smelled the rich scent of cooking meat. The scent immediately had her salivating.
She rolled over in Solas' arms and found him still asleep, his breathing deep and calm. Smiling, she touched his cheek, finding it smooth and warm, but he showed no sign of stirring. He was usually the last to rise in the morning, a fact that typically had their other companions sniggering over his obsession with the Fade.
His brow furrowed slightly, as if his dreams were troubled. Ellana wondered what he dreamt of and wished she could chase it away. The feeling rising inside her chest was frightening in its intensity—love, devotion, and joy. Rawer than anything she'd ever felt for her first lover. The thought came again that she was right where she belonged.
Pushing aside her hunger, she closed her eyes again, cherishing this moment just a little longer.