"Solas, do you have a mom-"
Keela's bare feet skid to a stop as she enters the rotunda. Her gaze is always drawn to the gigantic eye of the Inquisition upon the far wall, but the explosion of colors now gracing the rounded walls sweep the words from her lips. Solas pauses to glance at her with a palette of colors in his grasp.
"Inquisitor?"
"They're beautiful, Solas," she says as she approaches the fresco he's currently working on. The looming, black creature above him does little to ease her worries, but it is still marvelous. The Elder One rises from the burning ashes of Haven and makes her lips turn down in fury. She'll be ready for him next time.
"Thank you for saying so," he replies and drags the brush through angry red paint.
"Wherever did you learn how to make such art? Surely they don't teach lessons in the Fade."
Solas makes an impatient noise as she moves on to the next piece. "I do have other pursuits."
She runs her fingers over the painted grass of Redcliffe and tries to think about her unbelievable trip through time without shivering. Remembering the scarlet, defeated eyes of her friends sometimes makes slumber troublesome still. Leliana is perhaps the hardest to look at, especially when Keela can see some of that cold fury already building in her spymaster.
Graceful limbs slip pass the furniture in front of the next depiction. The all seeing gaze of the Inquisition catches anyone that steps through the door, but it is the wolves that draw her attention now. She thinks this panel is meant to represent the reformation of the Inquisition, but has never understood the point of the four howling creatures below. There was the wolf in the snow after Haven whose deep voice seemed to guide her steps, but she's not even sure if it had been real. She certainly never told anyone about it.
"Solas?" She turns to face him and plunks back against the wall between the four canines.
"Hm?" The elf is concentrating upon his work and Keela can picture the hard line his mouth must be making. His dedication makes her grin.
"There is one thing that puzzles me about your artwork, however."
"Oh?" Solas tips his head to the side and approaches her, curiosity always something to lure him. "I would love to hear it."
She throws her hand up to indicate the wall behind her. "The wolves? Everything else I understand but their meaning alludes me."
Solas glances at the artwork and back to her, nestled in their embrace, and something strange flashes in his blue eyes. "Wolves have voices that reach across miles to one another. They are heralding the rebuilding of the Inquisition to the four corners of the world."
"Of course, that makes sense. I've always been fond of them. When you look into their eyes…it's like they understand you. It's as if they know they could live happily at your side, but they are too proud to give up their freedom. They could die, but they are free and we are not worthy enough to warrant submission. It is how I always wanted to live, to be wild like the wolf."
Solas is watching her now, carefully, as if she is part of a painting he can't quite decode himself. She pushes off the wall and moves towards him. "What is that look for? Thinking of ways to tame me?"
"I am not foolish enough to believe such things are even possible, nor would I want to."
"But perhaps I'd like to see you try," she whispers and stops just a few inches shy of brushing against him. Keela expects to find his features drawn down, lips ready to reprimand, but he simply shakes his head.
"I am sure there would be great pleasure to be found in the failing," he replies, voice playful, and Keela's skin prickles at the way 'pleasure' rolls from his tongue. He usually skirts away from her teasing, but ever since they left Haven something seems to have changed. Distracted by her thoughts and his bold tone, she lets Solas escape. He walks back towards his work and for a few quiet moments she simply watches as he touches up the fresco with finishing strokes.
His dark gaze is full of intense concentration as if there is nothing but the paint, the wall and the brush. It is obvious he finds happiness in this work and Keela can't help but wish he'd turn that deep concentration upon her. She pictures watching him paint the contours of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue, moving down and down-
"There was something you wanted to discuss?" Solas asks.
Keela clears her throat to chase away wandering thoughts, but she can't shake the sudden heat flaring up inside. "What? Oh, right. I wanted to…to…Fenedhis, I forget."
Solas gives her his favorite chastising glare, but because of her curse or her addled brain, or both, she can't be sure.
"It couldn't have been that important. Skyhold's not on fire, there's no archdemon outside. I'm sure it'll come to me in a moment." She looks back on what she had been doing before bursting into the rotunda. They were at the war table going over some reports, but there are so many now it is hard to keep track of all the numbers and words. Keela reaches up and runs her fingers over the dark lines of her vallaslin as she tries to think.
"Do you know that you do that?"
She stills and looks up to find Solas completely facing her. "Do what?"
"When you are deep in thought you have the habit of following the lines of your blood writing," he says and Keela pulls her hand back to glance at it.
"I do? No, I hadn't realized." She's not sure she likes the idea of having such a simple tell.
"It is perhaps not so obvious to those that have not studied you quite as much as I have."
"Studied?"
"I closely watched you hover on the verge of life and death, looking for any way to counter your predicament, remember? Now I seek to see how you fair with the mark now that it has stabilized, what ways it might change you or influence your magic, your being. As somewhat of an expert on the Fade and rifts, it is my duty."
"Is that the only reason you watch me?" she asks, her voice quiet but full of suggestion.
"I admit my interests may no longer be so academic in nature."
Keela tries to keep the delight from showing on her face. "Oh, I see."
"While we are on the subject-"
"Of me?"
"Yes. There is something I have wanted to ask you, but felt it too personal a thing to broach previously. Now I hope you won't mind my curiosity."
"I could hardly deny you a question when I have asked so very many of my own. Ask away."
"Your vallaslin. As I understand it, a clan tends to worship one god above the others, but it is not always necessary for all to wear the same mark. Is your clan followers of Mythal, then?"
"You needn't worry about asking a Dalish about their vallaslin, Solas. They'll be more than happy to spout religiously over which god they honor or how they favor them in skill. It is a personal choice, but we wear them so boldly upon our faces that it seems ridiculous to be shy about it, don't you think?"
"I suppose you are correct."
"But to answer your question, no, most of my clan wears the vallaslin of the All Father. And I know what you might think, that perhaps Elgar'nan is a more fitting patron for my personality. I'm brash and bold and tend towards violence before I think and so on and so forth. It is definitely how my Keeper describes me, to be sure."
"I may notice some similarities," Solas says dryly and she gives him a hard look. "Why your choice?"
"For the irony, mostly."
"…You are toying with me."
"Only in part." With a sigh she collapses against the wall. "My Keeper wanted me to choose Elgar'nan's markings to continue the tradition for the sake of the clan. My parents, whom I've met only a few times, also wear his vallaslin and urged me to honor him. No one thought to ask me what I might want."
"You wanted Mythal's vallaslin."
"No, I wanted no vallaslin at all," she admits. "I didn't want to be marked for all my life in the name of someone else. But what was the alternative? To live in an alienage and waste away? Not until I met you did I know that there might be some other path. So I chose Mythal's to spite them, but also because this design is one of the smallest. Sylaise's might be smaller, but the idea of it coming so close to my eye was not something I wanted to experience. This way I hope it isn't the only thing that defines me to others. It is a part of me, but only a part, not the whole."
There is something like pride in his expression. "Maybe not such a vengeful spirit then, but rebellious."
"Yes, they were none too pleased with my choice. I went against traditions, against their wishes. I could not have upset them more unless…unless I were to wear a vallaslin for Fen'Harel, if it existed. Maybe I should have made one up."
Solas lets out a snort somewhere between disbelief and amusement and she thinks it's the most undignified he has ever sounded. It makes her feel light inside. "You would risk the wrath of the Dread Wolf?"
He says the name with a hint of disdain and Keela rolls her eyes. "I am terrified, truly. If he wants to strike me down, he'll just have to wait in line with everyone else. What about you, Solas? If you could choose a vallaslin, which would you pick?"
"I do not-"
Keela puts a finger over his lips, already knowing whatever he is about to say will be biting by the way his eyes have turned dark. She has no desire to fight over her heritage right now. The contact surprises them both and Keela pauses to contemplate the feel of his mouth. It is softer than she thought and for a few burning seconds she imagines how it would feel against hers, or slipping down her neck…
Keela takes a deep breath and pulls her finger away, replacing nervousness with mischief. "Did you know some Dalish don't just mark their faces, but other parts of their bodies as well? Some continue lines down their necks, their shoulders, arms…"
Solas' eyes follow the path of her words before snapping back to her eyes like he has been caught stealing. Keela's heart thrills to see the unrest in his gaze. With his attention elsewhere, she drops her hand towards the palette of colors still clutched in his grip and dips a finger into the red paint.
She leans closer and raises one of her eyebrows. "Would you like to know where the rest of mine are?"
Before he can answer or form a thought, Keela reaches up and swipes her red stained fingertip down the length of his nose. Solas stumbles back a step, startled, and glances at the damage. The sight of him with eyes crossed and wearing such a look of surprised horror makes Keela laugh loud enough to disturb the ravens in their loft.
He is quick to recover from his shock and pins a fierce look of disapproval against her, but there is a devilry of his own building deep within his eyes that startles Keela with its intensity. Perhaps she has met her match after all. "You-"
"Oh, I really must be going. Dareth shiral, Solas!" she yells in her sweetness voice and sprints back the way she came quicker than a halla, laughter trailing behind her all the way into the training yard.
She never does remember what she went there for.