She doesn't want kids.

"I was a sickly child," she says, undoing and redoing her braid. "And you…" She drifts off, lips pressed together.

He's quiet, sitting at a small table, in a wobbly chair, with his knees pulled to his chest. There is a finger painting of a horse a child had done while they were waiting for their chemotherapy session to finish. He had sat with them, his own fingertips a blue color. "For the sky," the child had said, front teeth missing and freckles all over their face.

He grabs another sheet of paper, running his fingers along the sheet and watching the blue slowly fade into white. "What about me?" he mumbles, not daring to raise his head.

She stands off to the side, twisting the ring on her finger. "Well, you never know."

"It's not genetic," he says, dipping his thumb into the orange paint. "Do not play dumb. You've studied this for many years. You know it is not genetic."

Her eyes are sad. "I'm not worried about that."

Slowly, he presses his thumb into the blue. "In that case, your continued rejection gives me confusion, once again. I apologize for being clueless, but I am unable to understand your worries." He peels away his thumb. The paper sticks to his hand in the process. "I am in remission."

"Solas," she whispers, voice catching. "Things happen."

He continues finger painting. She sits with him, using purple to make his blue-and-orange creation into something mystical.

Solas is still finger painting the next time Ellana walks into the room. He is by himself, knees to his chest, yellows and whites spread along his dark skin. "What are you doing?" Ellana asks, standing next to him. "No more children."

"No more children," Solas repeats. He edges the piece of paper he is painting toward her. "A portrait."

"Of me."

"Of the stars."

Her eyes are wet, her hands soft as she touches his back and helps him stand. "Wash up. We're hungry."

"Am I?" He quirks an eyebrow.

She grabs the portrait, holding it at arm's length as she studies. "Yes, you are."

The cafeteria isn't packed. It's late, the first hints of the sun setting visible from the window they sit beside. Ellana chews on celery while Solas sips on bitter coffee. "So," he starts, and she finishes with "No." Her phone vibrates. "Fenris is here."

Ellana doesn't sound worried. She goes back to eating like nothing has happened. "All is well?" Solas sets down his coffee.

"You haven't heard?" Ellana grins.

"Heard what? You tell me so many things, vhenan." It's foolish, but they are both fools. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle. She loves that.

"I don't tell you that many things."

"You told me approximately twelve different things as you were getting ready this morning."

She blinks. "Did I?"

"Yes, dear."

She goes back to her celery, crunching rather loudly. The only other inhabitants are across the room, chatting away with wild hair and bright scrubs. Ellana is much like them. Solas feels out of place, short hair and big coat along his shoulders. The steam coming from the styrofoam cup holds his attention until a couple of bumbling lovebirds parades into the room—Fenris and Garrett.

Garrett is talking animatedly, hands waving and eyes focused on Fenris. Fenris looks almost bored, but that is his default expression. With his long hair now cropped short and pushed off his head in an undercut, Fenris' face looks fuller, the circles underneath his eyes deep and as dark as the hair on Garrett's face. His hands appear almost skeletal, though, as they protectively hold onto the royal-blue blanket securely tied around his shoulder and torso. He's the one to catch Ellana's wave, but Garrett is the first to sit at the table. They sit in the chair opposite Solas and beside Ellana, dropping the backpack they had on to the floor. "Gimme," Garrett says, even before Fenris has a chance to sit.

"Hold on," Fenris says, then produces a baby from the blanket, almost out of thin air. Solas furrows his brow, only mildly puzzled before he has to ask himself why else would Fenris have a blanket tied around his person. A quick glance from the corner of his eye lets Solas know Ellana is incredibly smug; Remember now? her lips read, but no words leave them. She turns to Garrett, who is now playing with the baby's thumbs. The size difference is outrageous.

"How old is…?"

"She," Garrett says.

"She," Ellana finishes.

Garrett shrugs. "Hell if I know."

Fenris slowly blinks. "Yes. That."

Ellana laughs. Solas narrows his eyes, stopping rather quickly. Fenris is staring at him, looking as tired as someone can be. Solas clears his throat. "What is her name?"

"Malcolm," Fenris supplies.

"Malcolm." Solas nods. Fenris glances at Garrett, then returns his gaze to Solas. "Right," Solas says.

"Right."

"I love her name." Ellana scoots her chair closer to Garrett and the small person in his arms. Her eyes are honey brown, her skin dark, her hair already as thick as Garrett's. She's giggling, her feet kicking energetically.

"Isn't it past her bedtime?" Ellana asks, catching sight of the long-gone sun from the window.

Fenris, now leaned back in his chair, arms over his chest and his eyes closed. "Yes. It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" Solas tilts his head.

Garrett kisses little Malcolm's cheek. Fenris absently shakes his head. "Yes. Nothing as meaningless as a bedtime matters when you are with her."

When Solas stares at Ellana this time, she looks worried. Her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, her fingers picking at each other, she appears deep in thought. She eats a piece of celery, having to hand one over to Malcolm soon after, her eyes wide and curious. She kicks some more.

Someone else walks into the cafeteria. It's Anders, and he is in competition with Fenris—who can look the most tired?

"Hey, Anders," Ellana greets.

He rubs his eye with the knuckles on his left hand. "Hi. There's a baby." He points.

"Where?" Garrett gasps.

Malcolm makes her hands into fists and scowls like Fenris. It's rather cute. Garrett kisses her fingers.

"My baby," Fenris says, lazily raising his hand, as if he had been forced to claim ownership.

Anders has a brief moment of stunned silence. "You didn't even tell me you were pregnant! You didn't even look pregnant!"

Fenris raises his hands, palms toward the ceiling. What of it?

Anders pouts. He stops in order to hold out his arms. "My turn."

Garrett passes her over. Fenris has now sat up properly, his spine stiff and eyes as sharp as a cat watching a bowl of fish. Anders is careful. Ellana begins to smile again. Solas looks away. "Why are you here, Anders?"

Anders lightly bounces Malcolm. "Seeing one of my patients who needed to be transferred. Are you guys still up for Varric's this weekend?"

"Baby," Fenris reminds.

"Bring the baby."

Garrett's face blooms. "Oh, we can bring the baby, can't we, Fenris?"

Fenris' eyebrow cocks. "Will Isabela be there?"

Garrett deflates. "Maybe we can't bring the baby."

Ellana butts in. "Bring the baby."

Garrett inflates again. "We're bringing the baby."

Fenris shuts his eyes and doesn't open them for some time.

Anders gives Malcolm to Ellana. She fumbles, immediately losing her constant aura of confidence. Solas beams. "I have to go," Anders says. "Have to prepare for this abortion tomorrow." He leaves with that. Everybody frowns. Fenris actually snores.

Ellana hangs the yellow-and-white portrait next to her end table. The lamp casts a lovely glow about the room, encasing the finger painting in pure bright light.

Solas has his head under a pillow. "Varric's…," he begins.

From her side of the bed, Ellana sits and digs underneath the covers. She pulls at Solas' socks, tugging until they slide off without resistance. "I have no idea why he invited Anders," she says. "I always thought he didn't like him."

Solas raises his head. "Why did you think this?" He props himself up with an elbow.

Ellana sticks Solas' socks on her hands. "I was under the impression he had a thing for Marian, and Anders… well, Anders and her are together."

Solas blinks. "That's ridiculous, Ellana. Varric is hung up over Bianca."

Ellana considers this. She slowly nods. "There's also Cassandra."

"What?"

She shakes her head. "Will you brush my hair?"

He does, slow and gentle, mindful of the long locks and their plentiful tangles. After he finishes, she brushes his hair, slow and gentle, mindful of how short and coarse his locks are. "Grow it out," she whispers. "I want to run my fingers through it."

Solas smiles. "No promises."

Ellana hugs him from behind, her arms looped around his neck.

Tomorrow, he goes to work and has a good day.

Varric's house is large. The halls seem to go on forever, with endless amounts of doors on either side. Most are locked. Solas had gotten lost on his way to the bathroom the first time he came. He could still hear Varric's laughter from there.

Varric is laughing right now. It's cheerful behind his hand of cards. "Won again."

Garrett's groan comes before everybody else's. "You always win."

Isabela shuffles the cards, eyes narrowed and focusing on the task. She's eager to show up Varric, sure he had done something to the cards the last round. Fenris watches her, trusting neither Isabela nor Varric.

Varric's house is large, but everybody is crowded into the kitchen, all at the table. Varric, Isabela, Garrett, Fenris, and Marian are the only ones actually playing. Solas, Ellana, and Anders are the audience. In Anders' lap, the smaller version of Garrett and Fenris sits, clapping when voices raise and chewing on Anders thumb with bare gums whenever Anders tries to speak. Fenris had scolded her, but after the third time, he stops with the repeated pointing and the stern "Malcolm".

Anders doesn't seem to mind. Marian does. She keeps an eye on him, but Anders is unaware. "How's Solana?" he asks Ellana. "I haven't talked to her." Malcolm chews at Anders' thumb.

"She's fine," Ellana says. "Last time I talked to her, Alistair had somehow ended up tripping and breaking his foot, and she had such a great time in the ER explaining how both her and Anora were his partners."

Isabela deals the cards. Varric immediately begins to snicker. Fenris scowls.

Solas turns his head to see Malcolm staring at him. Her face splits into a wide smile, her fingers tight around Anders' thumb as she brings it back to her mouth.

Anders lets her have it. He's leaning over, his head on Marian's shoulder and looking at her cards. "Those aren't good, sweetheart."

Varric frowns, but Solas doesn't know the exact reason why. Ellana gives Solas a look. He gives one right back before grabbing her hand. He squeezes.

Fenris continues to scowl. "I think Isabela did something to the cards this time."

"I'm not allowed to drink, so of course I did." Isabela glares at no one in particular. "Are you surprised?"

Fenris blinks. "No."

Malcolm points at Fenris from across the table and says something incoherent. Nevertheless, Fenris smiles, Garrett goes "aw", and Anders beams. Solas even notices Ellana grinning. He squeezes her hand again. She squeezes back.

Marian and Garrett have a staring contest from opposite ends of the table. Anders returns to Ellana. "How has work been? Met anybody new?" He does this thing with his eyebrows that makes Solas look away. Ellana snorts.

"I meet people every day."

Anders stares.

Ellana stares right back. "I know what you meant, and the answer is no, Anders."

Anders shrugs. Malcolm chomps on two of his fingers. Solas says, "You know I'm right here, yes?"

"Yes." Anders wiggles his fingers.

Garrett throws down his cards with a grunt and stands. Isabela soon joins him. They leave through the back door, having to stand outside for a moment. "Looks like Isabela's sabotage backfired." Varric glances between Fenris and Marian. "Let's see who will win this round."

Fenris sets down his cards, taking Malcolm from Anders and going outside, as well.

Varric laughs. "Just you and me, then, Waffles," he tells Marian.

Determined, Marian narrows her eyes, the scar on the bridge of her nose wrinkling up. "You're on."

Ellana places a couple bills on the table. "My money's on Marian." Anders chips in.

Solas sides with Varric, earning him a pinch from Ellana. "Traitor."

Marian wins. Somehow.

Malcolm never sleeps. She is chanting babbles and wobbling on unfamiliar feet as Isabela helps her stand. Her hands are secure around Malcolm's pudgy stomach, her lips spread in a smile of wonder and pure happiness. "You actually made a baby," she says to Garrett and Fenris.

Fenris is sleeping on the sofa, curled into a tight ball, so Garrett replies, "We actually special ordered her. Only the best for Fenris."

"He doesn't look good," Varric says from the armchair. They all turn their heads to look at Fenris, who does look quite paler than the last time they had seen him. Solas is amazed how much a person's condition can change in a few days.

"He's tired," Garrett says, taking Malcolm when Isabela finishes. "We're all tired."

"But you don't look like you're going to…" Varric doesn't finish. They're all quiet, until Anders squeals from Marian pulling his hair. She's trying to braid it, but her fingernails keep catching on skin. Ellana takes over. Marian plays with Isabela's hair.

And then, Garrett places Malcolm in Solas' lap.

She doesn't weigh a lot, but it's enough to make Solas forget how to breathe. He tries to not make it noticeable, but he knows Ellana is watching him. When they get home, she's going to keep talking and talking and talking so he won't be able to gush about children for another night.

In the meantime, he'll savor this while he can.

It seems his world is the only one that had stopped for a minute. The others keep on talking—talking about the Game.

"I haven't played," Isabela says. "Merrill plays. She wants me to. Should I? I think I might."

"Don't," Anders cuts in.

Garrett furrows his brow. "Why? It's fun!"

If anyone here would defend the game, it would be Garrett, Varric, and Ellana. Solas keeps to himself, letting Malcolm press her palm to his. Her skin is the same color as his own. She likes this the most.

Varric and Marian become vocal with their support. No one minds Solas and Fenris being quiet, although the latter is asleep.

Marian reaches out and pokes Anders in the side. "I hardly see you play!"

Ellana ties Anders' completed braid. "Yeah! You haven't even been online!"

The room fills with playful insults thrown at Anders. Malcolm even shouts and shakes her fists. Fenris snores.

Anders explains himself. "I can't play anymore; I've had my account suspended indefinitely." Marian pokes Anders in the side again, daggers in her eyes. Anders frowns and continues, "Cullen tried to tell me all mages had to stay in the Circle, but you would have thought after my seventh escape attempt they would have let me do whatever I wanted. I guess going into the code and deleting Kirkwall's chantry was the final straw."

Silence. Varric's eyes are the size of dinner plates. "That was you? I had to help clean that up, and you're telling me that fucking shitstorm was because of you?"

Anders looks genuinely frightened. "Yes…?"

Varric laughs. Garrett and Marian do, too. "You should have told me," Marian says. "I would have helped."

Isabela crosses her arms over her chest. "So, should I make an account or not?"

The room disintegrates into mindless chatter. Malcolm tries to keep up, but her eyes droop often. Before Solas can give her to Garrett, a warm hand touches his neck. He turns his head to see Fenris, rolled onto his stomach and holding out his arms for Malcolm. Solas almost doesn't trust Fenris with her—he looks so frail—but Fenris proves him wrong; his arms are strong, muscles defined from the sleeveless shirt he has on. He settles onto his back, Malcolm on his stomach.

They fall asleep.

Ellana hasn't stopped looking at Solas.

At home, Ellana talks of fruit. Solas doesn't interrupt.

In the morning, Ellana continues the conversation. It's instant, starting when Solas rolls over to kiss her good morning. "Bananas don't actually taste like bananas. The banana flavor we know today is not actually banana-flavored."

Even when they're eating breakfast, brushing their teeth, showering, Ellana is constantly talking. As she drops Solas off at the university, she is talking about pineapples. Solas kisses her mouth, steals all knowledge of fruit from her lips. "Thank you," Solas says, and leaves the car.

Ellana doesn't drive away. Solas walks until she is out of his sight.

Dorian stands, holding an ice pack to his head. He's leaning against the top of his desk, next to the pencil sharpener and a printer. A student awkwardly stands next to him as they wait for their paper to print.

Solas hooks paperclips together. "So… you knocked your head right before I came in?"

"Oh, yes," Dorian says, waving a hand. "Merrill got this for me. Didn't you, Merrill?"

Merrill has a tower of books in her arms, which she peeks around on her way past the front desk. "Yes. I gave Mr. Pavus that ice pack. He bumped his head." She disappears behind a shelf.

Solas turns to Dorian, paperclips on his fingertips.

The student next to the printer hurries off, essay in hand.

"You're hung over. You didn't hit your head."

Dorian holds up a finger, dropping his ice pack in order to point and glare at Solas. "You speak slander. Of course I hit my head. Merrill saw me." Dorian presses the ice back to his forehead. "I might be a little hung over."

Smug, Solas pulls the paperclips from his fingers, dropping them back into their box. "Poor Merrill. I wonder if she suspects."

"If she does, she hasn't said anything." Dorian collapses into his chair, shutting his eyes and balancing the ice pack on the center of his forehead. "She's a good kid."

"Yes," Solas says. "I hope you're not overworking her."

Dorian tuts. "The most she has to worry about is getting a paper cut."

"And how to detect early signs of alcohol poisoning."

Dorian opens an eye. Solas grins.

Before Solas gets up to leave, Dorian catches his arm. "It's been a year, hasn't it? With Ellana?"

Solas curls his fingers. "Yes. Two this summer."

Dorian scans him, eyes going from Solas' head down to his feet. "Bundle up," Dorian tells him, shutting his eyes and letting go of Solas' arm.

Merrill looks from behind a bookshelf, head tilted, eyes wide. Solas pays her no mind.

At home, Ellana doesn't talk. Dinner is soundless. They sit on the sofa, silent some more. Ellana does lean against him, so Solas doesn't think she's completely lost.

When they get ready for bed, Ellana kisses Solas, and Solas kisses Ellana.

He rolls onto his stomach, and Ellana climbs on top.

Solas breathes into his pillow. Ellana sits next to him, sweat on her brow, her arms raised as she ties up her hair. "Tell me about who you shared your first sexual experience with."

"Whom," he mumbles absently.

"Whom." Ellana's hair is in a bun at the top of her head.

"It was… in the woods. We snuck out."

"In the middle of the night?" Ellana smiles softly.

"Yes, in the middle of the night. The air smelled like firewood, and his lips tasted of cinnamon. His eyes were of sorrow. I did not understand why he looked at me like that throughout our encounter, but in the morning, among the ladybugs in my hair and the touch of grass on my face, I discovered he and his family had moved. They were Romani; I should have realized he would have left me eventually."

Ellana frowns, her face twisted and somehow still upbeat. "You had hair."

Solas smacks her with his pillow. They laugh. She falls into his arms, her heart fluttering like a bird. "Solana was mine."

Solas closes his eyes. "You've told me."

Ellana closes her eyes, too. "Yes. I tell you everything. You don't tell me anything."

"I tell you what you need to know."

She snores first.

They have a late dinner with Garrett, Fenris, and baby Malcolm at the hospital again. Fenris looks even worse than that night at Varric's. When he leaves to go to the restroom, Ellana and Garrett bully Solas into following him. So, with reluctance weighing him down, Solas drags himself into the restroom.

It's excessively clean. The floor and walls are shiny, white, practically sparkling. Antiseptic sneaks and stays in Solas' nostrils. Water in the sink and the tug and rip of paper towels rest in his ears.

And then, quietly, a barely restrained sniffle and the raw scrape of dry paper towels across damp skin.

Fenris is crying.

Solas can only assume Fenris has turned on the sink to drown the noise of him crying, but no matter the source of the water works, Solas hears and wishes he doesn't hear.

No one else is in the bathroom. Fenris must have walked by each stall, opening them and checking that they held no person. He might have been a wreck even then, shivering to the bone, nose and tips of his ears pink as he fought back the tears for a moment longer. When the coast was clear, he would have flicked on the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels and screamed into them. Fenris looks like a screamer. He screams right now.

Solas intervenes. "Fenris." His voice is steady, unsure of Fenris' reaction.

Fenris raises his head, eyes slowly widening at the sight of Solas. His face, already drained of color, turns even paler. "Solas," he hisses, hands wringing around the rough paper towels he holds. "What are you doing here?"

"They… they wanted me to check on you."

"What did they say? Specifically." Fenris walks toward him. "Did Garrett say something?"

"Ellana and Garrett both did…?"

"Specifically," Fenris repeats.

Solas narrows his eyes. "'Go check on Fenris. I don't think he's feeling well.'"

Fenris deems this satisfactory. He turns off the sink and bins the paper towels. His hands straighten out his jacket, the front of his shirt, but he stops once he looks at himself in the mirror. Puffy eyes, pink cheeks, even Solas wouldn't face whatever is on the other side of that door. Fenris gently wipes any fresh tears from the corner of his eyes. "Please don't tell Garrett."

Solas has softer tissues in his coat pocket. Fenris takes them with fumbling hands, eventually choosing to leave them for Solas to pat away the tears. "You'll tell him. I won't."

It takes several minutes for Fenris to recover, and even then, he doesn't look okay. The dark circles are back. "Solas," Fenris says, holding open the door for him. "Don't have kids."

They sit back down. Fenris says his stomach was upset. He gives Garrett a big forehead kiss before curling into his chair. Ellana has Malcolm, and she looks so happy.

Solas is rolling on socks when he tells Ellana.

"I think Fenris might have postpartum depression."

Ellana holds her pillow. "I suspected as much. Does Garrett know?"

Solas shrugs. "The way Fenris acted, I don't think so."

She chews on the inside of her cheek. "I won't tell them, don't worry."

They settle down for bed. Solas doesn't think it's necessary to let Ellana know what else Fenris had told him.

Ellana holds up to her word. She doesn't tell Garrett.

She tells Anders.

And she doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. "Anders is Fenris' friend," she explains, clear as day, to Solas' crestfallen expression. "And he's a doctor, Solas. If anyone should know, it should be Anders."

Solas doesn't look at her.

Ellana crosses her arms over her chest. "You said to not tell Garrett, which I didn't. I wouldn't even know this unless you told me, and I'm sure Fenris told you not to tell anyone."

"No, he told me not to tell Garrett."

Ellana stares at him, taking Solas' chin in her hand and turning his head until she is looking at his face. Her lips are playful. "Don't condemn me for this; you did the very same."

She's right, but Solas won't give her the pleasure of knowing. He slowly looks away again. If he were next to a window, he'd dramatically gaze out of it.

Ellana pinches him. "You wily tit."

He takes her by the arms, pulling her toward his body and molding her to him. She melts, a perfect fit, her mouth already finding a spot beneath his jawline to nibble. "Ellana," he sighs.

"Solas," she replies, glee in her tone, but apprehension in her eyes.

He lets her go. Tension floats from her frame like early-morning fog. "What did Anders have to… insightfully provide?"

Ellana sits on the corner of the bed, Solas dropping beside her. "He said he'd be more observant, check in more. He said it wouldn't be odd, considering he's dating a Hawke and is good with Malcolm." Ellana shrugs, then presses her cheek to Solas' shoulder. "I'm worried about Fenris, Solas. You know what some parents do…"

Solas shakes it off. "No, stop. Fenris wouldn't do that." Ellana wraps her arms around Solas' waist, hugging. He hugs her, too. "He wouldn't do that."

Some nights, Solas wakes to find Ellana curled into a ball, her head on his chest and holding onto her phone. Her screen is dim, but he can still see what she's reading, despite how much hair she has in his line of sight.

On most of those nights, it's parenting websites—frequent topics either being "the quickest way to get pregnant" and "sure-fire ways to prevent pregnancy". The articles she clicks, one after the other, are very contradictory, some even being ways to ensure a miscarriage, while others are how to avoid them.

He wishes he could read her thoughts, although he is terrified of the terrors and desires that are lurking there.

On nights like this, he shuts his eyes and doesn't disturb her research.

When he wakes from nights such as the one prior, the sun is always shining. It lays in a patch on their bed, illuminating everything it strokes. Ellana sleeps soundly, her fingers inside his pillow case. He wonders if she had reached for him after she had finished reading, if she had studied him and bit back words she wanted to say. What would she have to say? Would she tell him what she had been up to? And in turn, would he feel compelled to lean in and kiss her cheek and tell her Fenris had warned him to not have children?

She stirs. He has already left the room.

Sera is in the library, finding her way around the shelves as if she had a map printed on the back of her hand. The sight puzzles Solas, but he keeps to himself, his own nose stuck in his sketchbook, completing a drawing of Dorian with a pumpkin head.

Dorian taps furiously on the computer mouse, his eyes dark around the edges. He's tired, yawning. "Up late last night?" asks Solas, darkening the lines he drew for Dorian's eyes.

"Mahanon and I were arguing. I don't even remember what started it, but suddenly we were screaming about the curtains." Dorian blinks slowly, his eyes staying shut longer than needed to adequately hydrate them. "He said he hated the curtains. I picked them out. How could he hate them?"

Solas shows Dorian the drawing. Dorian grins. "Uncanny."

Sera sets three books on the counter. They are quite lengthy. "Have a paper due?" Solas scoffs quietly. "I'm surprised to find you checking out the books for the person writing your paper."

"Fuck off, Mr. Lavellan," Sera hisses, her eyes narrowed. "I don't do that anymore. I'm a good student."

Dorian raises his eyebrows, his lips pressed together to smother a remark. He grabs the books. Solas catches the titles, the covers. "If you wanted to learn more about these subjects, you could have taken my lectures."

Sera rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah, let me just get right on that. It was hell enough to take that year-round course—and you weren't even there for the second half! Some professor you were."

"Sera, I had leukemia."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Professor."

Merrill stands beside Sera, shorter and thinner than the girl on her left. "I don't mean to be a bother, but if it's possible, could you all keep it down? I can hear you from the second floor."

"Because we're in a library, Merrill. It's supposed to be quiet enough to hear a bird piss."

Merrill knits her brows together. "Technically, birds don't—"

Dorian gives Sera her books. "You'll probably need to renew them. I doubt you can get through them by the due date."

Sera likes a challenge. She takes them and shoves them into her bag. "We'll see." Before leaving, she glares at Solas in her own way of saying goodbye. This causes Merrill to awkwardly glance between Dorian and Solas, obviously uncomfortable, yet familiar with this experience.

"Uh, I should—"

"Are you doing Sera's homework, Merrill?" Solas remembers Sera would often corner Cole into helping her with her essays.

Merrill's eyes go as round as saucers, which isn't a hard feat to accomplish. "Oh, no, no! I wouldn't do that. I, I don't even have the time to do it. No, she… she'll probably kill me if I say this, but she likes books and those subjects, Professor. I, I need to go." She scurries away, ducking into a room.

Dorian is in a better mood than before, ecstatic to know something Solas doesn't. "If she enjoys history, why does she not take my classes?"

Tut-tutting, Dorian turns in his chair until he is facing his computer again. "Because, Solas, our little fireball hates you."

Ellana works late one evening. Solas busies himself with finger painting again. "Have you talked to Anders?"

"Yes. I'll tell you at home."

They sing in the car. They're rather good.

When they are in the bedroom, Ellana begins to speak. "Last week, Anders sat with Malcolm while Garrett and Fenris went out. He thought it would be a good idea if they spent time together without the baby. Everything was okay. Malcolm was asleep when they came home. They went straight to bed after, and Anders left." Ellana tapes Solas' new painting next to the other. This one is of a sunset, something very simple, but still quite elegant.

"Two, maybe three days ago," Ellana continues, "Anders received a call from Garrett. They found Fenris in the bathroom and… Needless to say, Anders came over and… mended what had been torn open, and he suggested letting Fenris stay with him for a bit. So, Fenris is with Anders and Marian for a while."

Her back is to Solas. She can't see his reaction, but silence at a time like this only means one thing.

"I know," she whispers. "I hope everything will be okay. Anders expressed his relief that Fenris hadn't done any harm to Malcolm."

"Did Fenris say anything?" Solas asks, his voice quieter than intended. Regardless, she hears him.

"He wanted to sleep."

Solas nods.

Ellana squints her eyes at Solas' finger paintings. "You should do a wolf next."

Solas decides to make the wolf painting more complex than a mere finger painting. He buys a canvas and cracks open his paints and works on the kitchen floor.

Newspaper stretches from the refrigerator to the doorway, protecting the tile from any paint that could, and probably will, squeeze its way underneath. Solas is careful, delicate with his brush strokes, however there are still areas for wiggle room, especially when it comes to paint and how permanent it is against the counters and cabinets.

He counts four specks of blue on the cabinet he has his canvas leaned against. Ellana doesn't know about them.

Solas paints for two hours, only raising his head at the front door closing and Ellana setting her keys on the dining table. "Solas? I called you, but you didn't pick up."

His neck hurts. He rubs it, mindful of the paintbrush in his hand. "Hello."

Her shoes crunch the newspaper. One of the laces lies untied dangerously close to the green paint. "I should have known. What is it?"

"Wolf."

"I told you that yesterday. You're already getting onto it?"

"Surprised, I take it?" He moves the paint from her feet. She understands.

"A bit. Are you hungry?"

He goes back to painting. "No."

She repeats, "I should have known." She sounds sad this time around. He doesn't prod. "Don't stay up all night. Remember, you have those papers to grade."

He does remember. He wishes he hadn't, so that he can thank Ellana for reminding him. It wouldn't be genuine if he were to say it now; she would know.

Her fingers run through his hair, smiling half-heartedly. "At least come to bed before I fall asleep."

"I cannot promise that."

Her fingers slide from his scalp and curve around his ears. He shivers. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Solas follows through with a promise he never made. He's fresh from a shower, his nose and toes cold as they poke into Ellana's neck and calves respectively. "Hi."

She kisses the scar above his eyebrow. "Hi."

They sleep.

Solas catches Ellana on her phone again tonight, googling at what point in her menstrual cycle when she is most likely to become pregnant. She stares at a calendar, too, going from the webpage to the calendar. Her thumb moves across the screen, counting to herself.

He closes his eyes.

As he is getting ready for work, Ellana fixes him tea, and then promptly forgets he detests the stuff. He sits on the counter, though, his fingers twitching along the mug, his lips pursed. However, Ellana doesn't notice. She is drinking tea, as well. "When's your next doctor appointment?" she asks, a not-so uncommon question, considering his health, but strange in the context. Ellana knows when he goes to the doctor—she is often there—so, he can't help his mind wander to places it shouldn't wander.

"This week," he answers, looking down at the contents of his tea. "May I ask why?"

"You may." Ellana sips. "But your answer will only be me smiling and walking away." Though, she does this before he can ask. He watches her and manages to swallow down more of the tea.

There are more students in the library today. Dorian is busy, and can hardly talk. Solas finds Merrill behind a shelf, red in the face and tears in her eyes. At the sight of Solas, she furiously wipes her eyes with too-long sleeves and sniffs quite too adorably for her own good. "Oh, hello, Professor. Do you need help finding anything?"

"No." He knows she doesn't want to talk about it, just wants to act like it hadn't happened.

Sometimes he reads people wrong.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to catch me crying. I, I don't really know why I'm apologizing. I shouldn't need to apologize for crying, but… I am, and… I'm sorry. There are so many people here, and I forgot to take my medication, and I don't mean to ramble either. It happens. I can't stop."

She wipes her eyes again.

Gently, Solas pats her arm, then her back. "It's okay, Merrill."

Her face glows. She quickly loses her shine when a student slides into the confined space with them. Solas can tell she doesn't want to help anybody right now, even with Solas standing there. It's been a bad day; that much is obvious from the way she holds herself.

She doesn't worry long, though. The person who joined them is Cole.

Cole waves a little, the tips of his fingers bent. "Hi. There are many here."

"Yes." Merrill frowns.

"They are static—searching, scraping. I worry for them. Their heads hurt too much."

Another student slides between the two bookshelves. It's Sera. "Shite." Her eyes dart to Cole, Merrill, and finally resting on Solas. She scrunches her nose. "Double shite. What's Goldilocks doing here?"

"Sera, that doesn't make any—"

"It's lunchtime," Merrill pipes. "I would think he has every right to be here, just as you, Sera."

Cole blinks.

Sera narrows her eyes. "Right."

Dorian files in next. He glances at each of them, confusion eating away at his features. "What is—never mind. Merrill, one of the printers is jammed. Help."

Merrill is small. Her hands pick at cuticles, her teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek. "Oh. Yes, Mr. Pavus." It doesn't take much for her to squeeze past them, and as she walks out, she appears twice her size.

Sera reaches over and pulls at Solas' earlobe. "Why don't you help out? You're here enough."

Solas bats away her hand. Cole tilts his head. "I often see you here, Sera."

Her cheeks turn pink. "Shut it." Cole takes out a book and peers inside.

"I heard you like history, Sera."

"Shut it."

The last student leaves at the very end of lunch hour. Dorian collapses in his chair, his feet propped up on the front desk and an arm over his eyes. "I need a drink."

Solas spins Dorian's chair. "Disappointing."

"Oh, be quiet."

Solas runs into Sera again. She's walking with a man Solas has never seen before on campus. He is much older than her, and holds himself in such a professional stance Solas can only assume he is one of the new professors who had been hired while Solas was absent.

Sera looks annoyed. "Gross. You again?"

Solas smiles. "And who is your friend, Sera?"

The man in question has deep eyes and a full beard that would make even Garrett Hawke jealous. "Thom Rainier. I prefer Blackwall." He holds out his hand.

A smile pulls at Solas' lips. He takes the hand offered. "Solas."

"Solas Lavellan," Sera adds. "He's married. Took her last name."

"Honorable," says Blackwall.

"Thank you," says Solas.

"Yeah, yeah," says Sera, rolling her eyes. "Come on, you were gonna show me that thingy." She tries to pull on Blackwall's arm, but the most she does is kick up some snow on the ground.

"What thingy?" Solas stares at Sera. She doesn't meet his eye.

"I was carving a griffon. Sera wanted to see it."

Sera won't even look at Blackwall now. A tree beside them captures her attention.

Solas stares at her, at her pink cheeks, her fast eyes. Her hair either desperately needs a haircut, or she has only recently cut it herself. The skin of her bottom lip is smooth—a sight quite strange in the dead of winter. She bites at her lips, but no harm comes of them. Solas nods at Blackwall and Sera. "I shall not keep you any longer, then."

Wide eyes, lips parted, Sera almost looks as if she wants to punch Solas in the nose. Nothing comes of it. They go their separate ways.

Solas runs his brush along the edge of the canvas, leaving sleek gray streaks behind.

Ellana forms a perfect O with her lips. "I like that color."

"You gave me tea this morning." Solas dips the brush into the gray again, then white.

"I was just having you on," she says. Her fingers dip in the brown paint. She takes hold of Solas' forearm and tries to make the perfect shade of brown for his skin. "What if I just painted your entire body? Would you even notice?"

At times, Ellana reminds Solas of Sera. He doesn't know what to make of those times.

He drags the paintbrush down the bridge of her nose—an ugly facemask.

And then, she smiles, and he doesn't see Sera anymore.

They end up fucking on the kitchen floor. The newspaper crinkles beneath them, paintbrushes roll, and bottles tip over and spill their contents. His fingertips are tinted light blue; her hair is now, too.

She wiggles, he slides, and they kiss and fuck and make a mess of their half-naked bodies and the tile flooring.

They finish with loud voices and hushed squeals. Solas kisses her pink lips, bites them, and soon, his breath is lost between them. "Ellana," he whispers.

Her fingers find a paintbrush. It has green on it. Solas' cheek is now green. "Yes?"

"I didn't wear a condom."

Ellana blinks, glances down at her open thighs, at Solas and his unwrapped cock. "Oh." She furrows her brow. "Well, how about that?" She sits, not bothered by the press of newsprint on the curve of her bare bottom. She stares at Solas, and Solas stares at her. "Are, uh, are you okay?"

He doesn't know why she's asking him this. Solas moves to sit beside her, his own ass painted a rather lovely shade of lilac. "Splendid. You?"

Ellana looks at the painting. The base coating of the wolf and a tree devoid of leaves look back. Solas sticks a hand up her shirt, rubbing the skin along her spine. "I'm okay," she says, grinning. "It's okay. Everything is okay."

Solas smiles. "Okay."

They clean up the kitchen the best they can, then they clean themselves.

Washing Ellana calms Solas. His heart slows, quickens, and skips all at once. Blues, oranges, and grays dot the porcelain of her flesh, but with each gentle scrub, she becomes herself again. "It's beautiful," she says, waving her hands in the bath water.

"You are so beautiful," he says.

She twists, he turns, and then they are fucking again. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub, drenching the towels they had lain along the floor. She comes with her hand tugging sharply on his hair, and he comes not long after, her fingers still tight and unforgiving on the hair he had grown since completing chemotherapy.

With his arms looped around her waist, he kisses her shoulders, her neck, and quietly asks, "Am I able to safely assume your stance on children has changed?"

Her answer is immediate. "I'll tell you after your doctor appointment."

Solas has dreams about being able to fly. Ellana is with him, their palms glued together. The air smells sweet, like cotton candy.

He wakes with Ellana's hair in his face. It's soft. Solas threads his fingers through it, unable to will himself to leave the bed. Ellana is awake, and she is almost as bad an influence as she is a good one.

Sometimes, Ellana drives around at night. She likes the quiet, the loneliness of it all. Despite this, she brings Solas along for each of these trips. Although they don't talk, Solas feels as if he grows closer to her with every passing streetlight.

Tonight, their trip isn't quiet; they have two additional guests with them. Solas has been shoved to the back seat, which he doesn't particularly mind. Anders is sitting next to him, but the way he is leaning forward suggests he would much rather prefer to be up front. Dorian, however, favors the passenger seat. This is no surprise to anybody else in the car.

But that doesn't matter.

The heat isn't turned on. They're talking enough to produce their own form of heat. Silent, Solas ties his scarf in various knots to occupy himself, tugging the ends of his coat tighter around his thin frame.

Dorian is talking about Mahanon. With Ellana here, Dorian should be mindful of what he says. He starts off with a complaint and a curious look at Ellana. "He's ungrateful of my decisions around the house. Has he always been so critical?"

"What's he critical of?" Anders says.

Dorian shakes his head, like he doesn't want to talk about it yet will. "The Goddamn curtains."

Anders raises an eyebrow, puzzled. "Just change the curtains…?"

Throwing his hands in the air, Dorian says, "There's nothing wrong with the curtains!"

Ellana moves on. "Anders, how's Fenris doing?"

Solas looks out the window.

"He's doing well. We let him have the spare room the first night, but when we woke, he had managed to squeeze his way between Marian and me, so we gave him our bed."

"What about the baby?" Dorian asks this, worry edging his voice.

Anders is still talking. "And then, we went to the spare room, but Fenris made his way in there—between us, again. He slept with us for a while. I think if he was in his right mind, he would be so upset with himself."

Ellana reaches behind her, touching Anders' ear and pulling on the earring. Her wrist twists at an awkward angle, but it's worth it to hear Anders squeak. "We asked about Malcolm," she says.

Anders rubs his ear. "Malcolm is a doll. Garrett said Varric is really stepping up and becoming a great dad."

Solas snorts at that. Anders turns his head, but Solas keeps to the window.

"When will Fenris be okay to move back in, do you think?" Ellana turns down a dark road. She flicks on her bright lights.

"He can move back in at any time. I'm not stopping him. He just… hasn't."

No one says anything for some time.

Ellana's car slows to a stop in an empty parking lot. They pile outside, sit on the hood of the car, the cement underfoot. Solas stands, leaning between Ellana's open legs as she sits on the car. Her big coat is warm and serves as a welcoming pillow. Anders and Dorian stretch along the ground, their hoods pulled over their heads to save their hair from bugs and grass and pebbles. "Ah, yes, I love the cold," Dorian states, yanking on his sleeves.

After that, they don't talk. Solas shuts his eyes and thinks of snow and little toes. Soon, Ellana's lips find the curve of his ear, kissing him, holding him captive until Anders' phone rings.

"It's Marian," he says, once he's hung up. "She wants me home."

No one asks why. It is understandable, given the situation. They pile into the car again, Anders in the front this time. Solas and Dorian sit beside each other. As Ellana drives, Solas finds himself scooting closer and closer to Dorian, stopping as soon as his head finds a safe haven on Dorian's shoulder. Solas expects to hear Dorian laugh, perhaps mention how absurd Solas is being. Dorian's eyes are soft, though, his brow furrowed, lips pressed together. If there's something on his mind, he doesn't say it. He moves his arm, wrapping it around Solas' waist.

Ellana drives. Anders leaves first. He kisses Ellana's cheek in parting. "I'll keep you up to date, love," he says.

"Thank you."

Dorian leaves next. Solas is on the verge of sleep when he feels Dorian's hands on his shoulders, his chest, coaxing him into sitting. "Let me know how your doctor's appointment goes."

Solas nods. "I will."

Solas climbs into the front seat. Ellana drives. She drives and stops outside their home.

It's quiet. Ellana pushes Solas into the back seat again, climbing in next to him.

They kiss and fuck.

Ellana smiles and pets Solas' hair. "Almost long enough to properly braid."

Solas closes his eyes. "Oh, thank you for reminding me. I need to get it cut soon."

She pinches him. "Don't you dare, Dread Wolf."

They laugh and laugh.

The morning of Solas' doctor's appointment is like any other morning.

He wakes next to Ellana, who is still, as expected, asleep. Her cheek is pressed to the pillow, a frizzy wave of light hair protecting her eyes from the bright sun through the curtains. When she rouses, he can already hear her drowsy voice going "we need a blackout curtain" before she rolls onto the other side of the bed and wiggling her body under pillow and blanket.

This happens. Ellana smacks a cheek on his kiss before she drowns herself in the bed covers. Solas can't complain. He kisses where he thinks her head is. It's actually her shoulder. "Mm," Ellana says, moving her feet. "I'll be up in a minute."

A minute passes. Solas and Ellana are racing to see who can jump into the shower first. Ellana wins. She gets blasted with cold water, so Solas thinks he's the actual winner.

They eat a breakfast of pancakes, which Ellana douses with syrup. "They won't get soggy, shut up," she tells Solas, as he pulls her wet hair into a French braid.

"I trust you."

The pancakes are soggy, and on their race to see who can reach the sink and brush their teeth first, Ellana somehow trips over her own feet. On her way down, she grabs Solas, because it's only fair, and they lie in a pile on the hallway floor. She laughs, and he does, too.

Side by side, they brush their teeth. She nudges her hip against his and smiles. Even with toothpaste on the corner of her mouth and sleep frequenting her eyes, he can't mistake his heart flitting in his chest for anything other than unadulterated infatuation.

She wants to come in with him, but he reminds her it's just a checkup.

"You do not have to worry about anything," he says.

As she drives away, he wishes he had grabbed her hand and held her for a tiny bit longer.

No matter how many times his nose is shoved with antiseptic, his eyes are burned from too-bright white, and his body threatening to shut down from shivers, Solas can, and will, never get used to the inside of a doctor's office.

Despite these misgivings, some good can come from it.

xxx

Ellana has already texted him. So?

He smiles. I said you had nothing to worry about.

And then, he has to provide Dorian with the update. Since the beginning, Dorian was there, a shoulder to lean on when Solas was at his weakest. He doesn't like to think back to those times.

Once he enters the library, Dorian verbally responds to Solas' text from his spot at the front desk. "Well, how is my healthy old friend doing?"

No one else is with them. Merrill might be hiding somewhere. Solas lets it slide. "Hello, Dorian."

Solas passes Cole on his way to Ellana's car. It's cold out. He has a huge scarf wrapped around his neck three times and a pink beanie pulled over his ears and down to his eyes. "Cole," Solas says, and Cole's skin lights up like a hundred pinpricks of strange rosy bulbs.

"She thinks it's time," he says in return. His fingers give a small twitch. Solas assumes it's a wave.

He waves back. "Thank you, Cole."

Cole takes his hand, running nails along his palm, until the tips are pressed together. Warm skin against cold skin, Solas tangles their fingers. He pulls Cole's hand to his chest, covering the back of it with his other hand. Bug eyes watch him. "She wants two. She wants five. No, wait, three. Four."

His fingers twitch again. Cole slips his hand from Solas' grip, instead closing the space between them with a hug that produces far more body heat than Solas expects from the feeble boy. "Thank you, Cole," Solas says again.

"Thank her," he whispers.

Solas slowly nods. "I will."

Ellana drives them home in silence. The car hums as it travels. Solas looks out the window. "Thank you," he murmurs to the passing trees. He twists the ring on his finger.

"You're welcome." A smile on her face colors everything she says with excellence and the ability to send Solas flying.

It's the first thing she says when they arrive home.

"I think we should have kids."

"Are you positive? I don't want you to feel as if I am pressuring you into this."

"No, no. Solas, I'm ready. I have you."

She wants kids. She wants kids. She wants kids.

For the rest of the week, they try. It's the best week of her life, she says.

On the following Monday, Ellana stains the bed sheets with one of her bloodiest menstrual cycles to date. She doesn't feel like talking about it.

This happens the next month. And then, the one after that.

Ellana wants to talk about it now. "Maybe we just have awful timing," she says. "We have to do it more often."

But when their fucking increases in frequency, Ellana begins to catch on to something Solas has been dreading for some time.

Solas is on the kitchen floor, paint on his face and fingers, as he finishes the wolf. It's late at night. Ellana should be in bed, but she stands next to Solas and stares at him with a curious tilt to her head and a suspicious look to her eyes. "Solas," she starts, voice low and as timid as possible.

He dips his thumb in white and places the shine in the wolf's eyes. "Yes?"

"Can we… Can you… Can I…" She drifts.

"Can, can, can," Solas muses. "We, you, and I can do many things, Ellana. Perhaps you should be more specific."

He's teasing her. It's late at night, so it's allowed.

Her fingers curl into fists. She angrily crosses her arms. "I won't tell you if you're going to act like that."

"Act like what? I share your concerns." He sets down his paint brush and turns the canvas toward Ellana.

She glances at it, unable to keep her eye from the remarkable piece of art in front of her. "That's really good, Solas. And you very well know what you're acting like. You're acting like a clueless arse, because you know exactly what I'm about to ask, and you're just as worried as I am."

Quiet. Solas stands. He doesn't look at her. "I know," he says. "And I don't know."

"Interesting."

He picks up the dirty paint brushes to clean them. "We should go in together. It would be for the best."

"Would it?" Ellana goes on tiptoe to tuck a loose braid back into Solas' ponytail.

"It would." He kisses her palm.

"It would," she agrees.

"No." Ellana tugs the blanket, taking it from Solas and wrapping it around herself. "I change my mind. I'm worrying too much."

Solas stuffs his fingers underneath the edge of the blanket, absently poking at her shoulders in an attempt to regain a portion of the blanket. "Did you have a life-altering premonition? Should I ask what it entailed?"

Ellana's grip tightens on the blanket. "It's nothing, Solas. I'm tired. Go to bed."

"We are in bed. You woke, took the blanket, and roused me from slumber."

She sighs. "Solas."

He goes back to sleep without a blanket to warm him. During the night, she drapes her body over his torso and turns her face to the crook of his neck.

With the sun spreading along the bed sheets, with eyes shut and full of sleep, with lips chapped and nails sharp, Solas takes Ellana.

Open thighs greet him in the morning. They welcome him, as does the rise and fall of her chest. "Solas," she whispers, and he sucks her thighs and kisses her clit and licks until she is drenched and unable to form coherent sentences.

He takes her, slow, deep, her fingernails down his back and in his hair. She curses and comes, and he fidgets and finishes.

Ellana's palms touch his face, her thumbs running along the length of his cheekbones. "I love you. You know that, right?"

His hand on her breast, Solas leans forward and catches her bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses her. "Yes. I know." He kisses her again and again. "And I love you."

They spend the rest of the morning in bed.

A child has chemotherapy, but they don't want to finger paint. Solas sits next to them in the big chairs he used to sit in and doesn't talk. He watches them, reaching over and wiping tears from their pale cheeks with a gentle stroke of the backs of his fingers.

"Will I ever get better?" they ask, legs swinging.

"I did," Solas says. "Do you want a lollipop?"

Their face lights up, eyes wide and a hopeful smile, and for a moment, Solas sees Cole.

"I'll get you a lollipop."

On his search for candy, he runs into Ellana. "What, what is it?" She is frightened out of her mind, which Solas finds absolutely preposterous.

"I'm getting candy for a child."

"Oh, right. Right." Ellana helps him. The jar is full to the brim. Solas digs out five lollipops, deciding it would be sufficient enough, especially for a child going through rigorous chemo. Before putting up the rest, Ellana swipes a thing of Sweet Tarts. "I've been craving these for some reason."

Fenris, Garrett, and Malcolm accompany Solas and Ellana in the hospital cafeteria. This time is different. Fenris is lively. He isn't tired. He holds Malcolm and feeds her and plays with her, and Solas thinks the sight is odd, yet refreshing.

Garrett doesn't even ask for Malcolm. They stare at Fenris and her, smiling all the while. Ellana is smiling, too. "How is she doing?"

"Ask her yourself," Fenris says. He turns Malcolm around, moving her until her palms are pressed to the tabletop to aide her in standing on Fenris' knees.

"How is little Malcolm doing?" Ellana leans on her elbows.

"Goo," Malcolm says.

Fenris hugs her around the middle. Malcolm giggles. Fenris laughs. Garrett blinks, shocked for a brief moment—no doubt surprised at the sound of Fenris expressing happiness in light of recent events.

They take Fenris' hand once Malcolm sits back on his lap. Slowly, Fenris raises his head, his eyebrows knitted together. His expression is unreadable, but it's an expression that no one but Garrett can read. And they read it, and they squeeze Fenris' hand, and Fenris squeezes back and doesn't let go.

Solas' wolf painting props against the wall by Ellana's side of the bed. Studying it becomes part of her nightly routine. She always finds something new. Tonight, it's the faint traces of pink in the snow.

"I don't understand how you can do that."

He doesn't explain, only brushes hair behind her ear, his hand dropping to her hip right after. A quick scan of her face tells him she isn't aroused, nor even seems to want to become aroused.

Solas withdraws his hand. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Dorian bounces a pen off his lip, hoping to appear nonchalant as Solas' narrowed eyes stare him down. "Excuse me?" Solas tilts his head. "What was that? I believe I misheard you."

"You're old," Dorian says, not hesitating when he should have hesitated. "Perhaps that is why you have not succeeded in putting a baby in her belly."

Solas slowly spins in his chair, glaring at Dorian from the corner of his eye. "That's what I thought you said."

"Then, you didn't mishear me."

With his chair turned completely around, Solas can't look at Dorian's face as he laughs.

Snow piles up on the sides of the road. It's dirty, more slush than anything. This is one of the downsides of winter.

Solas steps around puddles and avoids crossing the street if he is able. There are some students who have not retired to their dorms yet, taking some time to form wet snowballs and throw them at anyone passing. When Solas walks past, they don't hit him. They pause and act as though they have better things to do. One even asks if they had any history homework due in the following week. Their voice is anxious. Maybe they're falling behind. Solas is thankful the sight of him can jog a memory.

Once the students leave his view, he gets hit by a hard clump of snow. It's large, not soft nor mushy at all. Someone had picked it up from the end of the sidewalk with deliberate intentions to harm him.

It doesn't shock him to realize it is Sera.

"Hey, Mr. Lavallen," she says, waving with two hands. If she's trying to hide the fact it was she who had thrown the snowball, she's doing a piss-poor attempt at concealing it.

Solas moves toward her, mindful of where he steps. "I am your superior, Sera; you should respect me."

"Oh, you can respect my arse."

Sera stands, Solas stopping in front of her. Solas puts on a smile. "Hello."

Sera's ear has a new piercing through the cartilage. It's healing well. "Saw you walking. Just thought I should say hi."

"With a snowball? Lovely."

Sera narrows her eyes, nose wrinkling up. The first waves of regret of calling him over are flowing over her face. "Actually, no. I just wanted to tell you I'm thinking about registering for one of your classes in the fall. I mean, I had to, 'cause Lady Morrigan isn't actually a professor here." She blinks, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. "You're still gonna be teaching in the fall, right?"

"I hope to." He doesn't want to entertain the possibility Sera might actually be concerned for his well-being. If he asks her this, she'll tell a joke or make a rude gesture, so he keeps to himself, hands in his coat pockets, and looking at her. She maintains the eye contact, her cheeks flushing pink with mild embarrassment. Sera can read his mind, and she's trying her hardest to not act like she can.

Instead, she resorts to talking about his hair. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to lose all that a second time around." Nervously, she laughs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

He moves right along. "What other classes do you expect to take next semester?"

Sera is relieved for this question. She fires off. "I wanted to take a painting class or somethin'. Cole says it would be really bad if I do, but he's an odd little bugger, so I'm gonna. He thinks I need to take vocal lessons or, or, or join a choir or theater, because he says I can sing, but, like I said, he's an odd little bugger. What the fuck does he know?" She sticks a hand in her bag, turning on her heel. Solas turns with her. "Do you mind if I…?" She shows him her lighter and a cigarette kept between her index and middle finger.

Solas shakes his head. "No."

Sera flicks the lighter. It's old, a scratched-up ace of spades design on the front. When she drops the lighter in her bag, Solas smells the smoke from her cigarette. He knows now why Sera asked if he would mind. It isn't like Fenris, back at the motel summers ago, where he wondered if Solas was a lung cancer patient. No, Sera wanted to know if he would go narc. Sera might hate him, but she also trusts him to some degree.

They begin walking down the sidewalk.

"I would have faith in what Cole has to say." Solas watches a student ride past them on a bike. Some are rather committed, even in the in-between stage of winter and spring.

"Yeah, well, he's weird. He said I should stop dancing. I like dancing." She puffs on her cigarette.

"Perhaps you can transform your dancing into something practical."

"Like… what? With swords or daggers or arrows or somethin'?"

Solas shrugs. "Perhaps."

"I like arrows," says Sera, returning her marijuana cigarette to her mouth. The fire from the tip reflects off the gold clicker through her septum. The freckles along Sera's face are more noticeable in this light. Solas wonders if they were a feature of Sera Ellana appreciated.

He looks ahead.

Smoke leaves through the part in Sera's lips. "When were you gonna tell me you had a dog?"

Solas furrows his brow. "Excuse me?"

Sera points a thumb over her shoulder. "The doggy. It's been following us for some time; it's been following you for even longer than that. Is it not yours?"

They stop walking, turning around to stare at the dog that followed them. It's a fairly large size, although it still looks young. The fur is pure white, dashes of gray along its flank, its ears and face. The dog tilts its head, ears perking up. "It looks like a wolf," Sera points out, aiming her exhale away from Solas. "You sure it's not yours?"

Solas crouches. The dog comes toward him with little to no pause. Wet nose and happy eyes press into his palm. He rubs it behind the ears. "I don't have a dog," he says. His hands go to each side of its neck, his fingers burrowing into the thick fur as he scratches and rubs and searches for a collar that isn't there. "Students aren't allowed to have animals of this size in the dorms."

"I mean, yeah, but you don't see that stopping them from smuggling in cats and dogs and sometimes birds all the time. The girls in my suite have two cats. Hairless ones. They say the cats are theirs, but who has to wake up every morning with two bald pussies in their bed? Me."

"I would think you would like cats." Solas runs his thumb along the dog's eyelid. The dog, in turn, licks his wrist.

"Why? Because I'm a lesbian? That's rich, Mr. Lavellan."

"No. I meant only that they are friendly creatures who are also rude and arrogant and are able to do a lot of damage behind your back."

Sera considers this. She takes another drag from her cigarette. "I guess. Are you going to keep it?" She crouches down, as well, patting the dog's head with her free hand. "Will Whatsername approve?"

"You know her name."

"I do, yeah."

"It doesn't matter what Ellana says. I'm taking this dog home."

The dog wags its tail, tongue flopping out as it seemingly smiles.

Sera tilts her head, putting her hand on the damp sidewalk in order to lean over and peer underneath the dog. She giggles loudly and snorts. "Oh, it's got big balls!"

The dog trots beside Solas. Ellana's car is already parked. He can't tell what her expression is from here, in the dark, but if she shows any disapproval, he pretends he doesn't see about it.

He opens the side door and helps the dog inside before sliding into the passenger seat. Ellana stares at him. "Um." She twists in her seat to take a good look at the dog sitting obediently in the back. "I'm naming it."

"Him."

Ellana grins. "I'm naming him."

A week goes by. Solas calls him "beautiful" in the meantime. Sometimes, when the dog and Ellana are in the same room, Ellana's head turns whenever Solas means to talk to the dog. He shrugs in moments like this. "Think of a name quicker," he says.

"I'm trying," Ellana urges.

She consults baby name websites, as if that would help in a situation like this. He sits beside her one day, the webpage pulled up to unisex names. "Those are people names," Solas says, to which Ellana's eyes double in size. She quickly closes the browser.

"I know, I know, I know."

It's while Solas is playing the Game with Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric that Ellana gets an idea. She pokes him in the side until he is cursing and his character dies and needs to be revived by one of his companions. "What is it?" he asks, removing his headset. Dorian's and Varric's laughter echo through the speakers still.

"I have a name."

"Is it a person name?"

"No." A brief change goes across her face at Solas' mention of this. She shakes it off. Solas doesn't pry. "I thought 'Shartan' would be a good name."

Solas' chest swells with unprecedented pride. "Yes." He kisses her cheek.

"I've been doing some research," she continues. "I think he might be, what was it, a Northern Inuit. They look like wolves."

Speak of the devil, almost as if he could sense it, the newly named Shartan jumps onto their bed and lies at the foot of it. In under a minute, he falls asleep.

"He does look like a wolf," Solas says, and returns to playing. Ellana leans against him.

Along with Ellana, Shartan takes to gazing at the wolf painting every night. Ellana runs her fingers through his fur, smiling and murmuring in a cute voice, "That's you, isn't it? Is that you? Are you in the painting?"

Shartan barks and dashes around the bedroom.

Solas wakes to the sound of whispering. If he had known Ellana would invite company over while he took a nap, he would have pushed himself to stay awake for an hour or more. Shartan's muzzle prodded his legs, though, and soon, they had slept side by side on the bed to the hum of the television in the sitting room.

But now, the television is off, and Solas hears whispering. Shartan and he leave the bedroom. Aiming to eavesdrop, Solas shifts his weight to the tips of his toes. However, Shartan has other plans. He bounds through the house, practically flying to the source of the conversation—the bathroom. The voices quickly hush. Solas pokes in his head and sees Shartan pacing circles around Anders' legs. Ellana is in there, too, sitting atop the sink counter with a pale face, her long hair down, and an empty, crinkled packet of Sweet Tarts in her hand.

"Hello," says Solas.

Neither Ellana nor Anders returns the pleasantry.

"Is something going on?" Solas looks from Ellana and Anders.

Anders speaks. "I was telling Ellana about Fenris."

Shartan nips at Anders' fingers, mirroring Malcolm's actions whenever Anders opens his mouth to talk.

"And how is he?"

"Good, good. Better than ever, he says. Garrett says so, too. Malcolm is glad to have both her parents in the house."

"Why are you in here?"

Anders blinks, glances at Ellana. "Excuse me?"

Solas takes a step further in the room. Shartan moves his circles around Solas' legs now. "If you are here to tell Ellana about Fenris, then why are you in the bathroom? Surely the kitchen or the living room is better suited for this type of conversation." He knots his fingers behind his back.

Anders shifts his gaze to Ellana again. "I—"

"Anders had something in his teeth, so he came in here, and we continued talking. Haven't left since then." Ellana stares at Solas, her eyes hard and daring him to object her story. "Why are you in here?" she goes on to ask, stepping off the counter and starting toward Solas. Her expression is unreadable, but unlike Garrett with Fenris, Solas doesn't know what she is hiding behind this façade. "You were asleep. Came in here after waking, yes? If Shartan wasn't here, I bet you would be standing right outside the doorway with one ear turned this way and the other as oblivious as the illusion you try to shove down our throats." She narrows her eyes. "What's the matter, Solas? Don't you trust Anders? Don't you fucking trust me? Why do you walk everywhere as light as a feather, in hopes to catch someone with their master plan all laid out for you to sniff? Huh?"

Okay, Solas decides, maybe this isn't a façade. One look over her shoulder, at Anders' terrified face, lets Solas know something is quite wrong. He's only woken from his nap minutes prior. His mind is still fuzzy. Ellana is standing before him with a tight jaw and a drop of spit on her bottom lip. She is scaring him.

"I don't know where you are getting these assumptions, Ellana," he begins carefully, "but I would gladly discuss them with you."

Ellana's nostrils flare. She bares her teeth. "No." The word cuts into Solas like broken glass. Before he can say anything else, she leaves the room, one stomp after the other. Shartan follows hurriedly, his head tilted and ears twitching at her outburst.

Anders, from the other side of the bathroom, is as confused as Solas. "Uh, I didn't do it." He shows Solas his hands—an act of surrender.

In return, Solas shows Anders the door. Anders completely understands. "I didn't mean to be an unwelcome visitor."

"It's fine, Anders."

Anders touches Solas' arm. At Solas' quizzical look, he drops it. "This is a bit of a TMI, but Marian and I had a miscarriage a few months past. She wasn't that far along. We didn't even know she was pregnant until we found out she miscarried."

Solas slowly blinks. "Why are you telling me this, Anders?"

He shrugs. "Just to tell you that it's possible a person like me with a low sperm count can impregnate someone once in a blue moon."

Anders is trying to compare his low sperm count with Solas' age. The collation is there, certainly, but right now, and it only happens rarely, Solas is utterly confused. "Why are you telling me this, Anders?" he repeats. He abhors redundancy.

Shrugging again, Anders heads outside. "Only a reminder."

"Damn your blighted reminders." Solas slams the door.

The bedroom door is shut. Shartan is lying in the hallway. Ellana was courteous enough to give him the pillow he favors.

Solas knocks and waits for Ellana's invitation to enter. It's a while before she says anything.

She crowds him around the door once he's inside the room. His back pushes the door close with a sound that should bring about Shartan. Shartan doesn't scrape his paws along the door, and Ellana sets a hand on each side of Solas' body. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet. Solas is unsure how Ellana would respond if he were to ask if she's been crying, so he doesn't. As a matter of fact, he doesn't say anything at all.

Minutes tick by. Ellana hasn't blinked. "I want you to pull my hair and fuck me against the wall."

"How about talking?" he suggests. "You seemed put off earlier. Shall we sit and discuss what happened instead of turning that frustration into fabricated lust?"

Ellana holds Solas' wrist and guides his fingers between her legs. She moves aside her shorts, taking him inside her, no resistance, except for the limitations clothing has. "Does this seem fabricated to you?" she asks, edging her legs apart, Solas' fingers going deeper. Two of them are inside her, up to the knuckle. Solas' knees grow weak. He leans against the door, using her hip as balance. His hand grips it, steadying himself and her, if it comes to that.

"No," he mumbles. "This does not seem fabricated to me."

He curls his fingers, then removes them. She hisses, and he frowns. "Put them back."

"I think we need to talk."

"About?" She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Well, for starters: Anders. Fenris was not all you talked about in the bathroom, was it? He told you about Marian and what happened."

She bats her eyelashes and becomes ignorant. "What did happen?"

"I don't want to play this game, Ellana," Solas says, pressing the two fingers that had been inside her to Ellana's lips. She wraps her tongue around them. He watches. "You must know how stupid I feel."

Her lips pop off. "Oh, is the Great Solas left in the dark for once?" She is amused, her eyebrows up and mocking. "Surely you must know something."

"And what would that be?"

"How much I want you to fill me with your seed right now."

Solas grabs Ellana's hair, twisting the locks until his grip is firm and unyielding. "Against the wall, you said?"

They lie on the floor, Ellana, smiling and struggling to catch her breath, and Solas, watching her and smiling, as well. "It's already there," he says. "It's been there. How long?"

She has no idea. She shakes her head and slips her fingers through his. "I expect you to have your dreadlocks back by the time they leave my womb."

When he laughs, it's loud, ridiculous. He can hardly believe his ears. "I can't promise you that, Ellana."

Solas' hair has grown back so much already. Maybe Ellana's hope isn't too farfetched. She pouts for a little. "Can you promise me this, then?"

"No. What is it?"

She squeezes his hand. "Get me some Sweet Tarts."

Solas laughs again. He rolls over, hugging her and never wanting to stop. "I do believe I can promise you that."

He tells Dorian first. He doesn't seem fazed.

"I thought she might be when you stopped bringing it up."

Merrill is behind the front desk, checking out books for Sera. They're as lengthy as the others. She made the deadline last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Her fingertips are bandaged. "Paper cuts," she said when Merrill asked. "And other things."

"Congratulations, Professor," Merrill says, turning her head to glance at Solas as she finishes checking out Sera's books.

"Babies are cute, I guess," Sera says. "Even yours, I bet. Hope they get Ellana's looks, though."

"Thank you, Sera."

"I have some news, too." Dorian rotates his chair, his hands resting in his lap. "It might pale in comparison to yours."

Solas lifts his leg and kicks Dorian's chair, sending it spinning. "I don't care for this flourishing. Just tell us."

Dorian pauses for dramatic effect. He does love the touch of suspense. "Mahanon and I are getting married."

Merrill bounces on the balls of her feet, clapping. Sera even seems happy for him. Only Solas understands what this truly means.

"Shut up," he says in preparation for the next words that leave Dorian's mouth.

Despite this, Dorian still says them. "Imagine the family reunions: you and I in the same room. Oh, it would simply be wonderful."

Apart from the occasional binging of Sweet Tarts, Ellana's diet is incredibly healthy. She doesn't put on a lot of weight, which does worry Solas. As he rubs her feet one night, she reminds him of Fenris. "He didn't look pregnant," she says. "Anders didn't even know he was pregnant, and you know how much he likes to hover around them."

"Still," Solas grumbles. "I have every right to be concerned."

She touches her stomach, fingers curling. "What if we have twins?"

"You're too small to have twins. If you were having twins, we would know."

"Right, right, my bad." Ellana rolls her eyes and wiggles her toes in Solas' face.

Solas kisses her ankles, the arches of her feet.

Fenris finds out Ellana is pregnant as they are having dinner at the hospital. She isn't big, but the bump she does have is hidden by her scrub top. Every time she stands—mostly to go to the bathroom—Solas strokes her belly with the tips of his fingers and tells her to be careful.

Malcolm and Garrett are in line to get food. Malcolm runs and jumps around them. This leaves Fenris and Solas by themselves. For once in his life, Fenris actually looks happy to talk to Solas. "You're going to love it," he says. "It'll be tough, but fuck, it's worth it."

Garrett picks up Malcolm and kisses her until she is giggling and saying "Bibi, Bibi" over and over with cheerful tears in her eyes and a permanent grin on her dark face.

Solas' hair is longer. Ellana learns to dread and even helps maintain his hair. "I hope our child has your hair."

Shartan snores at their feet.

"Your texture," Solas says, "and my color—that's what I hope for."

"Honestly, I'll be happy either way." She's quiet for a moment, lips pursed. "I want them healthy, and… I want them to see you healthy, too."

Solas is quiet now. He sits there, eyes closed, his hands pressed together. "We both will."

"Maybe all three of you will."

Solas falls back, looping his arms around her waist to carefully pull her on top of his chest. "You are hell-bent on the idea of twins, aren't you?"

"That obvious?"

Solas plants a kiss on her forehead. "Oh, don't worry. It isn't a bother."

Shartan wakes and walks across the bed, lying down next to Ellana, sandwiching her between him and Solas. They fall asleep easily.

Anders insists on being in the room when the time comes. "I'm a doctor," he reasons, "and I like babies."

Ellana shakes her head. "No, you're going to try to hold them before me, and I can't have that."

Solas laughs. Anders is offended. "I would never! I'm going to wait my turn."

But when the time comes, Anders is the first to hold them.

"Anders," Solas says.

Anders sheepishly hands them to Ellana. "I'm sorry," he says, but he isn't sorry.

Perspiration on her brow and a sickly color to her face, Ellana manages to cradle the baby to her breast. By now, she is openly weeping. Anders might be joining her in a minute.

Solas brushes loose strands of hair behind her ear, yet they escape again, twisting into loose corkscrews. "What is it, Ellana?" He smiles, can't stop smiling. He kisses each star along her left temple, unwilling to do the same treatment to the ones on the right. In time, the baby in her arms will be able to admire the artwork on her skin. "What's wrong?"

Ellana's eyes have dark circles under them—ones Solas has seen before. He can't place where. "Look at them, Solas." Fresh tears well up.

He wipes them away. The babe cries and holds onto Solas' thumb. The grip is tight. Nothing else matters. "They're beautiful."