Allara Lavellan laughed breathlessly, twirling her friend a little too fast and sending her spinning like a top in a whirlwind of rich gold skirts. Josephine eventually stopped spinning and took a moment to right herself, puffing out the crumpled ruffles of her Antivan-tailored dress sleeves with an exasperated, yet humored sigh. Maryden put down her lute and smiled, watching them.
"Do that at Halamshiral and the court will definitely be talking about the Inquisition," said Josephine, fixing the pleats of gold satin and heavy velvet that hung from her cinched waist.
"I thought that was the point," said Allara. She was still giggling, remembering the exact point when her booted leg tangled in Josephine's skirts, turning what would have been a graceful spin into a disaster.
"So it is, Inquisitor, but anyone who says that there's no such thing as bad publicity has clearly never stood toe to toe with Empress Celene in the midst of the Grand Game," Josephine eyed Allara from head to toe, brows furrowed, taking tiny dance steps in contemplation of a solution to her problem. "I think it is when you move in to the side, before the spin, you put your foot in such a way -"
"I'm sorry, Josephine. I'm not used to dealing with so many skirts. The Dalish have a more, um, relaxed dress code when we dance," said Allara, with an impish grin. Maryden blushed furiously, giggling, and Josephine quirked an eyebrow at her elven friend.
"Now that is something that would keep tongues wagging in the Winter Palace for the ages," said Maryden. She caught her breath from laughing, then looked at Josephine and her hysterics started all over again. Josephine looked at the bard and then back to Allara, her face demanding an explanation.
"Surely you've heard the stories, Josie! The Dalish heathens dancing naked in the moonlight? Stealing children and summoning demons with blood magic to drive away the shemlen intruders?" Allara could barely get the sentence out of her mouth before laughing herself. Josephine looked absolutely scandalized.
"You can't be - but I thought - but those are just stories!" gasped Josephine. Allara smiled inwardly before purposefully darkening her expression and turning on Josephine with a menacing look.
"Some of it's true," she said, waggling her eyebrows at the diplomat. Josephine's eyes widened as a look of terror spread over her face. "Relax, it's just the naked moonlight dancing part. Solstice ritual," she finished, shrugging her narrow shoulders in explanation. Josephine relaxed visibly, her expression mockingly admonishing.
"Good one, Inquisitor. I always seem forget what a wit you are," said Josephine. She smiled at her friend and gestured Maryden to pick up her lute and start at the top. "We really need to get back to work, there is only a month left before the peace talks and you - well, you still need some finishing." Maryden strummed a few chords, and Josephine stood in starting position with her hand stretched out expectantly, but Allara's expression dimmed.
"A month left?" she asked in a far away voice.
"Yes, why?" Josephine responded.
"What is the date today?" The Inquisitor stared off into the corner of the room as Josephine searched her brain quickly for the answer.
"The 8th of Pluitanis. Is something wrong, Inquisitor?" asked Josephine. The concern in her deep brown eyes warmed Allara's heart. She sighed wistfully.
"No, not really. It's just that tomorrow is ma'melana," she said. Josephine tilted her head to the side awaiting explanation. "You might call it my birthday. I'd almost forgotten in all the excitement," she said. Josephine's mouth closed with a little pop, her expression confused, right before the fires re-lit in her eyes.
"A party!" she exclaimed gleefully. Allara shook her head forcefully.
"No Josie, do not go to the trouble, we have too much to do!" Allara groaned.
"You can say that again! The cook will have my head for ordering a cake on such short notice," Josephine looked as if she were mentally checking off some invisible list.
"I'm sorry I mentioned it," Allara mumbled. Josie turned to her.
"Don't you see, Inquisitor? This is just what we need right now, not just for our morale, but to show Thedas just how the Inquisition celebrates its Herald," said Josephine, in an enthusiastic tone that suggested nothing in the world could make more sense. Allara felt her stomach drop to the floor.
"Okay, no. Really Josie, I mean it. Forget I said anything. I'm serious!" the Inquisitor tried to inflect as much force as she could behind her words, but she lost momentum as soon as she saw Josephine's face.
"But Inquisitor," said Josephine, purring the last syllable of her title in disappointed protest. Allara sighed heavily.
"Oh Josie, it's not that I want to spoil your fun, but I'm used to my birthday being - a bit more personal than what you're suggesting," Allara tried to be as diplomatic as she could for both their sakes. Josephine looked absolutely mortified.
"Inquisitor, my goodness, how rude of me! I didn't even ask! What are Dalish birthday traditions?" she asked. Allara's head bobbled, deciding how much she should tell her friend. "Inquisitor" was still a relatively new title for her, and she was just getting used to being a very public figure. People in towns she'd never visited knew her name and stories of her deeds. That had taken getting used to. She could put up with rumors circling about her, even in Skyhold, but for some reason the thought of her upcoming melana being the talk of Thedas just struck her as wrong.
It wasn't Josephine's or anyone else's fault that they were unfamiliar with Dalish custom, for that was the very nature of Dalish custom. Allara had a vague knowledge of the shemlen birthday tradition. She remembered the last time Josephine surprised a delighted Leliana with a small get together in the main hall for hers. Somehow Leliana had avoided the pageantry that Josephine had threatened her with, but then Leliana was not the Inquisitor, Allara was. What Josie would call her birthday was the anniversary of receiving her vallaslin, and it was a deeply personal clan affair. It involved self-reflection and ritual, exactly the things she had found less and less time for in the wake of the always bustling Inquisition. How could she explain that to Josephine without hurting her feelings?
"I guess I'm just feeling a little homesick right now, Josie. It will pass," said Allara. She looked at Maryden on her stool, still holding her lute, her face vaguely sad. "Maybe it's best we continue this later. I appreciate all your help Josie, and thank you for being here Maryden. I'm sure they are missing you at the tavern." Maryden bowed her head to Allara.
"Always a pleasure, Inquisitor," said Maryden, as she packed up and left the empty hall. Allara noted with humor that she left through the kitchen, and she could just see the bard deftly sneaking a pastry from under the cook's nose on her way back to the tavern.
"I will respect your wishes if you insist, Inquisitor, but I hope you know that I am genuinely curious. We do not talk enough of your people. Please know that I am always available for you," said Josephine. The corner of Allara's mouth quirked into a half smile.
"I know you are, Josie. I just need some air. It feels unnatural to be somewhere without windows for so long," said Allara with an animated shudder. She followed Josephine up the long narrow stairway and through the door to her office. "If anyone needs me, I'll be on a walk. I'll be back for dinner." Josephine gave a small curtsy to her friend.
"Until then, Inquisitor," she said, a secret smile on her lips. Allara felt a vague sense of dread at that, but she trusted her friend. She collected her deerskin coat from the back of a chair in the office and shrugged into it.
Allara relished the feel of the frost covered forest floor under her bare feet. She ran simply to run, enjoying the rush of blood and breath that the exercise gave her. It got her mind away from the depressing thought that her melana would be just another cultural casualty of the Inquisition. Allara was never one to hate the shemlen. In fact, much to her clan's dismay, she found them fascinating. It didn't help that her elders protested so violently to her interest in things beyond the Dalish, their reactions only stoked her curiosity. It was, after all, that curiosity that made her Clan Lavellan's first nominee to attend the conclave. Whether that curiosity was more of a blessing or a curse, she was still questioning.
Despite having a healthy curiosity about the larger world, Allara was still Dalish through and through. She was doing her best to adapt to the human dominated society in which she found herself out of necessity and respect, but there were just so many things she found arbitrary or ridiculous. Shoes, for one. Why anyone should care if she wore the confining footwear or not confused her to no end. They made her feet hot and she couldn't feel for the best footing grips on rocky mountain paths. Josephine had done her best to explain that, to shemlen, Dalish dress made her seem even more off putting than she already was as Inquisitor. It was her diplomatic way of telling her dial back the elf-iness. Eventually, she had arrived at a compromise with Harritt, who had agreed to sole her boots with thin halla leather, rather than the cured hide he usually used.
Shemlen attitudes about where their food came from was a whole other matter all together. They would eat the game she found in the forest no problem, but start gutting a rabbit in front of someone in the "wrong place" and she'd swear they were rabbits themselves. The Dalish considered it respect for the animal they consumed to butcher it and use every part of the creature. The shemlen had no use for deer blood or bone, and balked at the thought that they could be valuable crafting materials. Allara eventually found that the alchemists treasured most of what the kitchen would readily throw away, and what they didn't need, she made use of.
She crouched still as a statue in the middle of a stream, poised to strike at the next unsuspecting fish that swam past her submerged feet. Her hand twitched at movement in the corner of her eye, but on closer inspection, it was not a fish - it was a reflection. Solas walked around to meet her face, the shadow of an extremely smug grin on his mouth.
"A hunter of the Elvhen, caught unawares by an intruder," said Solas, clucking his tongue softly at Allara. A corner of her mouth turned up at him despite her desire not to smile. She moved out of the cold water and buried her toes in the long moss at its banks. "Are your thoughts so loud that you did not hear me approach?"
"I did not think when I came out here that I would be the one being stalked," she said, a twist of humor in her tone. She strode to an elevated tree root and sat down, inviting Solas to join her with a glance, and he did.
"Our dear ambassador tells me that tomorrow is your - what did she call it? Your birthday?" said Solas, chuckling slightly. Allara's eyebrows shot to the top of her head.
"That was fast," she said, cursing Josie up and down in her mind.
"She asked me about Dalish customs surrounding such a tradition. I informed her that I did not know, but would do my best to find out," he said. Allara smiled ruefully, shaking away the friendly concern she saw in his eyes.
"It's not a big deal, well, I mean it is -", she started. She took a deep breath and began again. "Tomorrow is ma'melana. The 12th year since I've had my vallaslin. Clan Lavellan celebrates melana with a feast. If I were at home, I'd hunt all day tomorrow to bring home game for dinner. I'd spend that time reflecting on my year and making goals for the year to come. Upon my return, I would share what I have pondered with the Keeper and we would eat and drink. There is always lots of wine at a melana feast," she said, smiling fondly at old memories. Solas was looking at her with rapt interest, so much so that it made her blush. He quickly looked away when he realized effect of his gaze.
"What makes you think you can't have that at Skyhold?" he asked, clearing his throat slightly.
"Everything is a compromise at Skyhold, Solas. The shemlen touch everything, and while I don't really mind that most times, for this, it's just different."
"I understand," he said softly. She looked up at him again.
"You do?" Solas brushed his naked foot against hers playfully.
"Tell me more about the melana feast," he said. She smiled reluctantly at him, her eyes traveling from his gaze, to his lips, and then down to their touching feet. She told him of her personal traditions: hiking to the highest ridge near wherever the Lavellan camp was at the time to catch the sunrise before she began her hunt, the way she would pluck the fowl and skin the mammals with the hahren to prep the feast, the children of the clan gathering around her fire for stories as dusk turned to nightfall.
She described the unique flavor intricacies of Lavellan wine, an ancient recipe handed down through the ages. She told him of wild parties and stories of what happened long after the children were put to bed. She spoke and he listened. They both knew it was what she needed. At long last, she sighed wistfully and put her head on his shoulder. Solas hesitated a moment before wrapping his arm around her. She turned her face into his neck and breathed in his scent, it was warm and earthy in her nose.
She didn't have to ask to know what was in his thoughts. The memory of their kiss shared in the fade had stayed with her ever since that night. The vividness of her time spent with him there was unlike any dream she'd ever had, and the hunger that she'd felt in his kiss was unlike anything she had ever felt. They had not talked about their interaction beyond the morning after she woke up, when he explained that he needed time to think about what had happened. Solas resisted the impulse to act on the attraction between them in the physical world, and she respected his space as she respected him. Allara was nothing if not patient, and she was hunter enough to know that in this case, she would have to wait for her quarry to come to her.
The evening bells rang in the tower as Allara stripped off her muddy leather breeches, searching her clothes chest for suitable dinner attire. She was brushing out the tangles in her thick auburn hair when she heard the door to her chamber open and shut.
"Inquisitor?" Solas called from her doorway. Allara cocked an eyebrow curiously and hopped down from the loft above her bed to greet him.
"Miss me already?" she asked. He smiled at her, distracted.
"Inquisitor, I was - do you have a moment?" he asked, walking out to the balcony. She followed. "What were you like, before the anchor? Has it changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your spirit?"
"This is what you came to talk about?" she asked, amused. He stood staring at her, his expression oddly intense. "If it had, do you really think I'd have noticed?"
"No, that's an excellent point." He sounded almost delighted, as if it were something he should have thought of himself. "After our talk today, the past few weeks really, I've thought - You show a wisdom I've not seen since - since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the fade. You are not what I expected." Allara blinked at him, unsure how to respond.
"Sorry to disappoint," she said simply. It was his turn to blink in surprise.
"It's not disappointing, it's -" he rolled his eyes, searching for the words. He seemed so inspired with whatever it was he came to say, Allara couldn't help but smile. "Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?" Allara took a moment. Was he asking this? Solas had taken every opportunity to explain to her how the Dalish were wrong, how they only knew half-truths based on his experiences in the fade. At times, his revelations annoyed her, and at times she found them fascinating. They had always been the subject of the mostly friendly rivalry they bantered about on their journeys across Thedas in the name of the Inquisition. Had she truly done something that had turned his eye favorably upon her people? On the other hand, she didn't truly know what he was asking her.
"The Dalish didn't make me like this, the decisions were mine," she said slowly, reading his face as she spoke. His eyes lit up at her answer.
"Yes! You are wise to give yourself that due. Although the Dalish, in their fashion, may have guided you. Perhaps that is it." He nodded to himself, coming to some unspoken conclusion. "It must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world, but not you." Allara looked questioningly into his eyes, searching for what he was getting at. Floors below, the dinner bell rang out into Skyhold's courtyard.
"What does this mean, Solas?" she asked. His smile was small, and uncharacteristically shy.
"It means I have not forgotten about the kiss," he said. He took her hands in his, staring at them, running his thumb over the backs of her long fingers. Allara felt a rush of joy. Adrenaline burned in her veins and her heartbeat thudded in her ears so loudly she was sure Solas heard it. She swallowed hard, determined to keep her cool. She closed the distance between them, moving her hands up the length of his chest, feeling the coarse weave of his shirt brushing against her fingers.
"Good," she said simply, gazing up at him, all but daring him to kiss her again, this time in the physical world. He leaned toward her, eyes closed, his lips so close she could feel his warmth, before he opened his eyes again, and looked longingly into her face. He shook his head so minutely that if Allara weren't so in tuned with his emotions, she would have missed it. He moved to turn away. Allara knew her quarry was hers if she would take him. Solas stopped at the gentle touch at his elbow. "Don't go," she breathed. He sighed deeply.
"It would be kinder in the long run, but losing you would -" he tuned back to her, his eyes searching hers as if for a sign to stop. Allara looked at him, her lips slightly parted, searching for something to say. Before she found her voice, his mouth was on hers, his tongue hungrily searching out the words they'd both left unspoken. She staggered under the force of his kiss until her back met the balcony railing. Solas wrapped a hand around her, drawing her closer to him, but still reveling in the danger of their proximity to the edge of the balcony. His breath was hot and fast on her face and neck. He calmed himself, breathing her scent deeply. She smelled of a forest after a storm, and he closed his eyes, his face buried in her neck, savoring her. At length, he drew himself away.
"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he said, his voice hoarse. He turned and left, Allara watching his feet as he went. She had begun to wonder who was the predator and who was the prey.