ATTENTION!

Spoileryness ahead!

Relationship spoileryness, possible hints to main storyline quests, and outright spoiler around the middle of this fic regarding a main quest.

You have been warned.

Author's Note: This was inspired by the hilarious meme-like status of the pork that apparently tastes like despair in Orlais.

I love Solas as a character. And I always seem to fall for the romances that are so well written and kick-me-in-the-gut feels at the end. Ah, Solas. Ah, Fenris. So dysfunctional, but so very delicious.

It Tasted Of Despair

Solas was not surprised to see Inquisitor Lavellan sitting in the middle of the room, staring at the half done mural of the wall. She often came to have short conversation as she dashed through Skyhold on her various duties.

It was, however, a surprise to see the Orlesian mask in her hands. She was plucking at the lace tatting that had been fashioned to look like hair. When he stepped into the room she hadn't noticed, so he moved to break her line of sight to the painting of the party they'd only just returned from.

She focused on him and after a minute, smiled. She sat a little straighter when she saw what he carried. "Is that food?"

Solas looked down at the tray of bread and cheese, then back up at her. "I should hope so. Otherwise, we may have to have a word with the cook."

The inquisitor pushed a stack of papers aside to make room on the desk. "Do you mind sharing? I'm famished. I haven't had a chance to sit down, much less find something edible yet today."

"Of course, Vehnan. Why have you not eaten? It's already late afternoon. You'll take ill, if you don't look after yourself."

She smiled as she helped herself to the cheese. "Oh, you know how it goes."

They ate in silence for a while. Solas enjoyed the quiet times. It was rare that she had peace, and it pleased him when she did. It pleased him even more that he could help bring it to her in some small way.

Indeed, she seemed to be attempting to be in two places at once these days. The missives only kept coming and she was always being called back to the war table by one of her advisors. He looked up when a door opened, expecting to see a courier or an aide, but saw that it was Varric instead. The dwarf had a crooked smile that was aimed at the inquisitor from the moment he stepped inside.

"Inquisitor!" he boomed in the garrulous fashion he was known for. "Josie sent me to tell you that there is a curious shipment from Orlais. Apparently, you impressed somebody while you were out there. Here."

He handed over a parchment that overflowed with showy calligraphy. Inquisitor Lavellan took another bite of cheese while she scanned through the pretty, if hard to read script. After a moment, she almost choked on it. "You're jesting."

Varric cackled. "Nope. Not at all. There is a whole crate of depressed pork products in the kitchen."

Lavellan rubbed her temples. "Right. Varric. Give them to Bull, please. He'll probably appreciate it."

This suggestion sent Varric into another snit of chuckled. He let himself back out, calling over his shoulder, "For that, I'll tell everyone you're up on the battlements. Enjoy some time off."

The door shut with a thud that echoed through the room, leaving Solas to watch her quizzically. She returned the look evenly.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"You're not going to leave me in suspense, I hope."

"I'm tempted. You deserve it after that bit with kissing me in the Fade."

"Again, you began that. Not I."

"You continued it."

"Yes. And I have told you time and again it is not an advisable course of action."

She lapsed back into silence while he looked away. Solas sighed, a short huff of air through his nose. She was too well mannered to pry, for which he was grateful. So very grateful.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then decided to extend a peace offering. "What did Varric mean by depressed pork?"

She snorted, an unladylike sound that was all the more surprising as it came from such a petite woman. "You know that debacle we just got back from in Orlais? The queen, her lover, and the assassin?"

"Put that way, it sounds like one of Cassandra's romance novels. But yes, I was there, if you recall."

"You were down with the servants, Manservant Solas." She snickered again and he smiled. "Well, I had to dance with people. One of them was a noble from some place I can't pronounce, and he kept going on and on about his hams."

This elicited a raised eyebrow, which she responded by pitching her voice into a nasally whine with a badly acted Orlesian accent. "Oh, my dear Inquisitor! You simply must sample the ham tonight. It comes from my lands specifically, and it tastes of delicious despair." She fluttered the hand not currently engaged in holding her food to the side, to complete the rendition of the Orlesian gentry. Back in her normal voice, she said, "I told him I would be delighted, and as soon as I said that he started babbling about gifts and tributes and support and supply lines to soldiers – honestly, I was out of my depth. Luckily, I saw Josephine and switched partners with her."

Solas smiled, pressing his lips together. "A wise move."

She swallowed, then dusted her hands off and braced them against her hips as she leaned forward in her chair. "Solas." She said, as serious as she could manage. "How in the name of the Dread Wolf can ham taste of despair? Ham can be salty, or savory, or even sweet. But despair isn't a taste. It's a description. Of sadness."

Solas did laugh this time.

"I mean it!" she said, not able to keep the smile from her voice. "I'd think that if anyone would know, it would be you, my bookworm."

Solas leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Well…" he looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

She made a rolling motion with her fingers, indicating that he'd best get on with his thoughts.

He looked around. Over the course of their visit, the candles had burned down and left the room in a dim light that did little to illuminate anything. He stood, holding out his hand. "Come. Sometimes it is easier to show by example, rather than simple talk."

She took his hand, watching him guardedly. "I'm not eating the ham."

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting it."

"You aren't going to put me back in the fade."

"Not without your permission. Now come with me."

She'd come to like the view from the balcony, even though it brought a chill breeze with it. He stood next to her, leaning against the railing, face to the mountains. He stood like that for a moment with his eyes closed, then opened them and regarded her with a warmth that made her forget the snow. One of his hands closed around hers, and he drew he near.

"The first step to understanding silly things like the taste of despair, you must allow yourself to qualify taste as something more than a physical sensation. And despair as something to be measured."

"I'm sure that makes supreme sense in the fade," she grumbled.

"Think about it. A twist of sugar candy tastes sweet, yes? And a pickled beet is sour, or bitter."

"I'm with you so far."

"Good. Now, consider this: if you witness a mother and child share an embrace, could that not be described as sweet?"

"Okay. I can agree to that."

"And a man who is cuckolded by his wife could be said to become bitter, if circumstances bring him to that end."

Lavellan nodded. Then she raised a brow. "So you've proven that bitter and sweet can be used for both food and metaphor. I still fail to see how despair can be tasted."

Solas smiled, then moved a little closer. Almost unconsciously, she tilted her head up. "It all comes from one's state of mind, dear heart. Someone who is despairing will have an easier time of understanding than someone who is not."

He kissed her then, and like all the times he had done so in the past, it was a kiss of passionate urgency. It left her breathless and wanting more. She could feel his smile against her lips before he drew away. She pulled him back to her once more, hand on the back of his neck. She took control of the kiss this time, turning it into a languid, leisurely activity that still left them both gasping at the end.

She glanced over her shoulder at the bed, a bit wistfully, but leaned her forehead against his without attempting to pull him to it. They just weren't ready for that step yet, and even though his interest was evident, she knew better than to push.

He pressed his lips against hers once more. Then he watched her with eyes the color of glacial runoff. In a husky voice, he whispered, "Just now, there was the taste of passion. Desire. Excitement."

She smiled up at him. "Greed." That made him chuckle. She blinked, then in a voice almost a whisper, "Love."

And he froze.

A moment passed. A moment that felt like years. Then, he kissed her, pulling her close. Where there had been simple passion, there was now something else. Like passion, but more.

It was like falling from a height so high she couldn't see the ground. Like how it felt to fight the avalanche that almost killed her. Like waking up from a long, deep sleep, only to find out everything she'd known had changed.

"My heart," she heard him whisper. Feather light fingertips trailed over her cheek, and then she heard the footsteps as he walked away.

Opening her eyes, the inquisitor realize there were tears on her cheeks, but they hadn't been shed by her.

Solas stopped outside the inquisitor's door. He blinked several times until the moisture went away from his eyes. Then trailed his fingertips over his lips, considering that final kiss.

It tasted of despair.

Please review and tell me what you think! Remember, not everyone has played through the game and keep spoilery reviews to a minimum. (I've finished it. It was awesome.

Also, for anyone who is waiting on me to update The Danger of Touch, I plan on doing so soon. I hope. Please be patient with me.

-Ambrel