Lady Morrigan glided past him without even sparing a glance. Just another elf in Orlais, and who had any time for them? Solas allowed himself an amused brow raise.
The mage obviously thought herself above others. The tone she had taken with Fen'lath earlier had raised his hackles, speaking down to her and appealing to her in turn. The dark-haired woman either had not noticed him shadowing them, close enough to hear the full conversation and drive off others who might listen in, or dismissed him off-hand as Fen's servant. The human mage didn't seem to recognize that anyone else could possibly possess unusual magical strength or a keen mind. Solas was certain she had met her match in Fen, who he considered his equal in most everything.
Turning back towards the balcony, he observed his vhenan for a moment. Even knowing she had won, that Celene was aware her throne was hers purely through the good graces of the elves, she looked worn and tired. Fen's little leaf-ears drooped, and her shoulders slumped under the weight of all the burdens she bore. Despite the exhaustion and the ridiculous pomaded Orlesian hairdo, she managed to radiate the powerful wildness of spirit he had come to love if one knew what to look for.
He stepped out into the cool night air, a welcome comfort after the stifling heat of the ballroom. The hat he wore, necessary to mark him out as a servant of the Inquisition and not one of the Orlesian elves, added to the discomfort. Even the satisfaction that a subtle jab at Orlais wearing a Drasca helm brought him didn't detract from the fact that it was holding so much heat in. The uniform he was required to wear was many layers of heavy fabric, and the press of many bodies and the garment had him just as eager for the air as the company.
Fen leaned into the balcony railing as he stepped up next to her. Tired, yet welcoming eyes turned up to meet his. She brushed a few trailing strands of ebony out of her face as she greeted him with a smile.
"I'm not surprised to find you out here," he murmured to her, settling in on the railing at her elbow, gently nudging her with his shoulder. "Thoughts?"
Straightening, Fen's smile shifted from warm to ironic. "I don't think this is over. I have a feeling this is only a temporary victory."
"There's much, much more trouble ahead," he agreed. She was wise to see that the peace she had bought with fire and blood would only last so long. "For now, focus on what's in front of you."
A startled laugh broke out of her and she inclined her head at the disaster in the courtyard below them. There were still marks from her fireballs on the masonry and walkways, and elven servants scurrying to and fro piling Venatori bodies up in a barrow for disposal. Some were on hands and knees scrubbing at the scorch marks, and trying to rinse blood from the grass.
He shook his head, a an answering chuckle breaking free. Perhaps it was a poor choice of metaphor, being where they were. Solas settled a supportive hand on her shoulder, sensitive ears picking up the final flourish of the song the court musicians were playing, and the delighted applause. The first notes of the next song drifted to them. Perhaps it was all the wine he'd been drinking before talking to the other elves to seem like he was a loose-lipped drunk dealing in the currency of servants' gossip, or the rush of being at court, any court.
Before he could stop himself, he requested, "Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me."
When Fen's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, he backed away and bowed in the courtly way of Elvhenan. Solas loved watching her as her cheeks darkened, then she folded her hands gracefully and tilted her head, just as he'd shown her high-born ladies of Arthalan would do in their shared dreams. With the moon behind her casting the marks on her cheeks in shadow, he could pretend for a moment they didn't exist, and that they truly were at a soiree in the ancient elvhen city.
"Excellent idea. I'd love to." Her little hand folded itself into his, and Solas swept her into his arms.
He started with a formal Orlesian waltz to reassure himself that she danced it just as well with him as with Dorian. It would be uncivil to admit it, but when she had been dancing with Dorian earlier in the evening, he had been unreasonably jealous. The Tevinter magister and his heart made an exceedingly handsome couple, with everything from their skin tone, height, and even the purples of Fen's gown and the peacock teals of Dorian's garb playing off each other to perfection. The natural ease between the two could not be discounted, nor the grace with which they danced when partnered together.
The next song was slower, allowing them to get closer and sort of shuffle to the music, although it was still graceful. Any dance that Fen performed was, thanks to her natural talents. Her head rested on his chest, a benefit from their differences in height. The rush of warmth that went through him had nothing to do with wine or heavily layered garments.
"I wish we could leave for Skyhold immediately." Her voice was soft, mournful.
"You do not wish to stay?" His own voice was just as soft.
Solas felt her shudder against his chest. "We have to hide what we are to each other here. I don't like that."
A surge of pride filled him. While the extra weeks they would spend in Orlais gave him time to communicate with his network, recruit, and spread their influence under Briala's nose, it certainly pleased him that her reason for not wanting to stay was because they could not be open with their affections and show that the most powerful woman yet breathing had given her heart to a man who, by all appearances, was an apostate mage. All of his agents knew that the first of his orders was to protect Fen'lath, with their life if necessary, and they were to operate alongside, never against, those who acted on behalf of the Inquisition.
"I can certainly make it up to you when we get back to Skyhold. " He curled a knuckle under her chin, tilting her face to his for a soft kiss. "And there, the elven serving man dared to be familiar with the Inquisitor in full view of the ballroom if anyone cared to look."
Her smile was a wine more heady than any the vineyards of Thedas had ever produced. "Do you think we dare to misbehave out here a little while longer?"
"For as long as it takes for Lady Montilyet to realize we are not present and hunt us down." Solas laughed at the long-suffering groan Fen let out. "The Empress has retired, and you, vhenan, are technically the highest-ranking person present. If I recall the etiquette lessons we were all required to attend, you may now retire whenever you like."
"Thank the Creators, Stone, and Lady of the Skies," Fen muttered under her breath as he chuckled. "I have been dying to get back to my room and take a bath."
She turned away, then looked back at him over her shoulder, sweeping her lashes down, then peering up at him through them. "Would you care to join me, ma vhenan?"
"I will leave you to your bath," he watched her face fall momentarily, "But I will be waiting for you after, ma'theneras. My waking dream."
Fen swept away, graceful as any human queen could hope to be. Solas waited a few minutes for propriety's sake before re-entering the ballroom. He was discreet, tilting his head only slightly to signal to his agents planted in the Winter Palace.
He would meet with Fen after her bath, but until then, he had his own Game to play.