Part Two
Once again he seeks her out , when he feels sufficient time has been given for the wounds of Adamant to have begun to heal. She no longer has the old run down house to claim as her place of solitude, and they are still pushing their advantage through the Emerald Graves. Though they have just cleared a grand old house of it's numerous undead as well as its curse, none of them seemed inclined to spend the night within it's walls and so they unanimously opted for one of the Inquisition camps instead. Somewhere amidst the shedding of armor and organizing of food and sleeping arrangements, she had slipped away, a habit she was prone to after a particularly long day.
The others often assumed that she disappeared to step closer to nature, to be closer to home. They were partly right, she did indeed seek out the wilder places, but she had never wanted to return to her people, she simply wished to wear the whole world as her home. Varric had come up with more than one theory that involved dancing naked by the moonlight, he imagined the dwarf would be somewhat disappointed if he found out she was simply drinking wine while wedged in the branches of a tree. She seems perfectly at peace however, a dark bottle resting on her thigh while she quietly sings a song of Ferelden origin, something about a bear and a maiden fair if he strains hard enough to listen.
It is becoming all too easy for her to bring a smile to his face. At one point he would have schooled every expression before he made it, but the sight of her up there is both utterly absurd and once again...charming. It's an odd and fussy word to spring to his mind, and yet she was delightful in the way she could surprise him.
"You are a terrible at being Dalish"
She rolls her head against the bark to look down at him with her lazy eyes and curving smirk. With a shrug of her shoulders she tips the bottle to her lips, a few swallows convulsing their way down her upturned throat. Despite her sloth like demeanour he can feel that her mood tonight is electric, he could feel her magic in tiny occasional bites at his skin, not entirely unpleasant and indicating that she was still feeling the fierce joy a moment's freedom could offer.
"I'll have you know that sitting in a tree and drinking cheap wine does not make me a bad dalish"
She lifts the wine a second time now and then pauses with the bottles lip touching against a wider grin she cannot seem to suppress.
"Not taking ….'It's been our way for hundreds of years"...as an answer to most of the questions i asked of our keeper makes me a bad Dalish, you have to watch those definitions Solas. Besides i thought you would be pleased, i seem to remember you having some rather strong opinions about my people, you looked rather adorable while you climbed up on that particular high horse"
He knew quite well when she was preparing herself for a proper verbal sparring, it was a favoured game she played with practically everyone, which delighted people like Varric and Dorian, frustrated Cassandra and reduced their poor Commander to hiding in his office when a conflict of interests arose. Of course her favoured victim was himself, though she curiously only did so when they were alone, it seems that theirs is a private game. He is not sure he has it in him to win tonight, not when she's calmly waiting for the right moment to disperse the remaining excess of joyful energy he can still faintly feel pulling and snapping at his skin. A few steps take him to the base of the tree, close enough to reach up and touch a dangling foot if he'd had the inclination to do so.
"The horse was quite a modest height i assure you, might i ask what a warm camp lacks that a tree does not? If you spend much more time away Varric's tales are liable to become even more embellished"
"He thinks i dance naked under the moon, I'm not really sure it could get much worse. I came out here because as much as i love our agent's I'm in no mood to recount the chilling tale of that bloody house, did Varric send you to check if i really did dance sans clothing?"
He begins to feel faintly awkward and foolish now that he's here, she's easy to talk to but she was difficult to read when in this mood, and the idea of seeking her out just to taste her again while she still had the joy of the woodlands in her blood seemed childish. It was not easy to find parts of himself awakened after such a long time. He once spoke to her of indomitable focus and had always considered his own to be unbendable, especially when it came to the fade. Now he was facing emotions and less than useful moral reactions that had long since atrophied somewhere alongside his patience for fools. These feelings and compulsions were like newborn limbs on the old wolf. He realises he hasn't answered her though she hasn't prompted him for an answer, comfortable silences between them were absurdly easy to fall into, though he knows he must say something soon.
"I came of my own accord, would you consent to coming down from the tree or must i embarrass myself by attempting to climb up?"
He doesn't need to look up to know that she's likely wearing her 'contemplative' expression right now, as if seriously considering the merits of making him climb the tree, though in the end it seems that her curiosity wins out over laughing at his expense. A faint rustle of leaves is all the warning he receives before she drops down in front of him, landing at his feet in a half crouch, a position that is momentarily feral until she stands, brushing loose dirt from her hands while she watches him expectantly.
"Oh now this must be serious if it warrants you risking the possibility of being embraced by a tree. What did i do this time….wait, is this about the bed roll because i only told Sera where she could find some lizards"
"I am not here about...what lizards?"
"Ah right not that then...Oh wait...you're here to tell me off for letting Varric take a piss behind that Mythal statue aren't you...it's not blasphemous if you don't do it with malicious intent…"
He knows that if he let's her, she will run verbal rings around him until his own frustration gave way and he gifted her with some sort of reaction aside from his usual outward calm. Another night he might well have indulged her, but she is closer than he expected and he can still feel her magic sparking, those little nips at his flesh becoming more insistent. There are about a hundred reasons as to why he shouldn't be doing this, they were all lined up neatly in the back of his mind where he is now resolutely ignoring them. Her presence has become a quietly demanding one over the past few weeks, though she has not once pressed him about the dynamics of their strange relationship, there is a sense of her patiently waiting, and the knowledge that she would wait for exactly how long it took for her strange companion to finally say something. In the meantime she remained his compelling and intelligent friend and things would seem...easier, until those random stolen moments when he could not resist and she could never say no.
Her wandering mouth is lining up more words to throw at him, perhaps she is nervous, he'd hardly taken the time to really let her know where she stands with him after all, too many secrets and not enough words to explain any of them to her, instead he leaves her to fumble in the dark when it comes to understanding his motivations, a place she must remain if he is to keep his identity.
"...aren't even listening to me are you, your brain has wandered off to do cartwheels in the fade hasn't it. I could have been saying anyth-"
Too many words he decides, and that slight difference in their height allows him to bear down on those fast flowing words, cutting them off, robbing her voice with a kiss that is a little fiercer than he first intended. Her response is as immediate as her sudden silence, those flippant words swallowed down in favour of surging up on her toes to match the pressure of lips, as if she has been waiting for some cue all this time. Her hunger catches him off guard. Until now she has always been careful, not passive and yet never aggressive, as if she knew all too well how prone he would be to his sudden fits of conscience. Tonight her lips and tongue are devious tools that she actually uses against him this time. Quick and wet her tongue touches his lower lip and it's utter instinct that prompts his own to give chase, so easily coaxed to explore her warm, wine spiced mouth. She pours the wild of her nature and plenty of unspoken words in this kiss and he is ill prepared to do anything but follow it's lead, that hunger leeching into him, guiding his hands to sink into the warm, living silk of her hair.
A single step back and it feels perfectly natural to rest his back against rough bark, drawing her with him because he doesn't dare break this connection, if he allowed himself to think for a second then he would realise all too quickly that what he was doing was wrong. Instead he allows her sinewy frame to press closer to his, encourages her teeth nipping at his lip with a soft but guttural sound. The air is becoming heavy between them now, making the quiet noises in the back of her throat all the louder to his ears, he's only too aware how easy it would be to coax more sounds from her and he feels a rush of heat that is sudden and entirely male. A hand slips deftly beneath cotton, cool fingertips stroking the bare skin just above his navel and now his reaction is almost automatic, one hand dropping from her hair to seize her wrist as he draws in a sharp breath between clenched teeth. It is all the opening that his waiting conscience needs and now it floods into the forefront of his mind, dutifully pointing out that he was very steadily stepping over a line here. Carefully he withdraws her hand, dimly aware that he is panting slightly and that she has become utterly still against him as she waits to see what would happen this time.
Rather than push her away he turns her body to switch their positions before regretfully letting her hand slide from his as he takes a step back. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, as if she has been running again, while her eyes bear an almost amused incredulity when he steps back. He expects her to demand an explanation this time, he had all but attacked her mouth and now he was placing more distance between them.
"I am sorry, this was not what i…"
She surprises him yet again when she steps forward to quiet his mouth with two fingers that press against his lips only enough to silence his apology. She is far from unaffected by his sudden change in direction, her cheeks are flushed and he can actually see her restraining the outrage he's no doubt elicited in her until she smiles at him in a way that promises future retribution, but for now she will let it slide rather than hear him make the same apologies without really telling her a thing. There is a touch of sadness to that smile but she does not seem inclined to pursue it as she steps around him to bend and pick up her staff, securing it to the sling at her back. He doesn't want to let her walk away and yet he will because she truly didn't deserve this and counting on his own restraint isn't working out so well anymore.
"Come we'd best return before Varric's embellishments become grander than even he can manage"
She was yet again granting him a reprieve and not for the first time he knows that he doesn't deserve her, he is a selfish old wolf, but oh how she made being selfish so easy for him. She watches as he picks up the staff he doesn't even remember dropping, her hip cocked and chin lifted, and he is briefly visited by that flare of heat again. She will never press him, never demand and part of him wishes that she would, if she could despise his cowardice rather than accommodate it, perhaps it might be easier to finally put a stop to this. It is his intention to follow her back to the camp, perhaps in that same companionable silence they both seemed to treasure, but he can tell by the way she bounces on the balls of her feet that she intends to run, whether from him or simply as a way to shed more of her energy he can't say, but the display of her impending flight compels him to call out to her without knowing what he is going to say. Perhaps he just doesn't wish 'sorry' to be the last thing she hears again.
"Talitha…"
"Hmmm?" She is itching to go, fists opening and closing, eyes making quick darting movements in search of the path.
"...lizards, really?"
He is relieved to see her break into a wide grin as she begins to stride backwards, that spark of wickedness highlighting her eyes once again.
"Sorry Solas, but my lips seem to yet again be temporarily sealed...watch out for the bear traps" and with that parting shot she pivots on one heel and is gone in a spray of loose dirt and dry leaves at a pace he has no hope of matching, at least not in this form. When she is gone he is left with only the fitful silence and the memory of her hunger, not an easy one to shake, certainly not while his lips still faintly tingled and the taste of wine was still to be found on his tongue.
~~~oOo~~~
She had turned to water in his hands, skin and cloth sliding against and between fingers that had shifted to find the natural angles of a hip and the small of her back where she was warmest. Her urge to fight had been taken in the most wicked of ways and now she flowed against him, her body fitting perfectly in line with his own, constantly shifting as he poured five years worth of collective need past her lips. He'd had far too long to contemplate what it would have been like to have just given in, and more than enough time for those contemplations to plant and grow an almost overwhelming need inside him. Leaving her might have been the right thing to do, but it had done nothing to relieve the wounds he had inflicted upon himself, and in the brief moments when his mind hadn't been occupied he had always found his thoughts settling in the same place, what he had denied himself in denying her. There is enough want between them that the kiss was almost bruising, his tongue relentlessly seeking out hers while her teeth nipped feverishly at his lower lip. The need to breath forces them apart long enough for him to bury his face in that warm spot just behind her ear, where her scent was truest, that fragrant warmth filling his nose and lungs and he allowed a helpless groan before he set the fire of his mouth to throat.
He found the rapid beat of her pulse and lips began to suck at the quickening flesh, feeling it flutter all the harder against his tongue and he becomes far too aware that only a thin layer of soft skin lay between his teeth and this precious life source. She arches in his grip, her fingers digging deep into the flesh of his shoulder beneath the supple leather, and yet she suppresses her voice as she has done every time he has dared to kiss her. Perhaps she was still cautious after all this time, afraid to show too much in case he ran again, or perhaps she was merely being stubborn, still angered by this insidious tactic, he found that he didn't much care for the reason. If he was truly going to damn himself in the sweetest of ways, he would drain every scrap of pleasure he could from this, and that included her voice. Nothing in dream or memory could have truly prepared him for something like this, his will, morals and resolve had never been tested to its limits by a mortal before and if he'd cared to be truthful, some dim part of him needed all that uphill struggle to be worth this one night he might have with her.
The ability to stand was becoming a precarious one, he could feel her weight sagging in his arms and broke away from her throat long enough to bring them both to their knees, the stone hard and unforgiving beneath them,an ironic tribute he thinks, for nothing between them has ever been soft, or easy. Love had been warped into pain and then war between them, it was only fitting that this should hurt them both just a little. Fingers that were usually so agile and sure now fumbled at his unfamiliar clothing long enough for her brow to furrow and lips to purse in frustration and he was reminded that he had loved her even in her imperfect moments. His hand takes up her own, guiding it to ties and fastenings while he watched her solemn expression as she pushes aside cloth, fur and mail to bare the man beneath, expressive eyes becoming almost thoughtful while the close warmth of her hand hovered above his chest. The memory of his flinching at her touch seemed to have stayed with her and it remained fresh to him too, the quick fear that had seized him when he felt the urgent reaction she had caused in a body that had been asleep for hundreds of years.
His fingers slid over the back of hers, pressing that hesitant warmth to his chest with a long sigh, such intimate a contact long denied now almost becoming a shock to his system, a soft spark that ignited a skin hunger in him, a gripping desire for more of that warmth and softness. Her hand is drawn over his chest and along the curve of his neck by his own guiding hand, the side of his face now pressed to the palm, his head turning slightly to kiss and gently bite at the delicate skin of her inner wrist. He released her long enough to shrug away the rest of the clothing above his waist, the jawbone now a slightly more savage looking thing while it lay against his flesh, framed by a pale that began to explore and spread that ever growing desire to feel more of her without the trapping of garments. While she carefully mapped the contours of his body he dropped his head to the curve of her neck and shoulder once more, tasting the flesh there until he met the resistance of her robe, an unfamiliar and unnecessarily fiddly garment, he remembered her best in loose Dalish spun fabrics and supple leather, this thing was a little too ostentatious for his taste, it was also in his way.
In deference to both his distaste and impatience with the garment he curled fingers into the neckline and tugged, at first just enough to spread the heat of his mouth further from her throat, but another tug caused something to give way enough to expose the round of one shoulder, the unblemished flesh practically begging for the soft press of his teeth. A sharper wrench on the fabric caused the robe to split along an integral seam and then it took only a few more tugs to bring the garment to her waist and he spared no time in drawing her against his chest, teeth setting harder into her shoulder when all that soft, natural warmth slid along his own skin, the whisper of flesh accompanied by a hushed whimper released against the line of his jaw. He could still the hands now roaming her flesh, following the curve of her ribs to the swell of hips where cloth impeded him only long enough for the quick work of one hand to push the continuously offending robe to her knees, the other sliding upward to cup the swell of one breast, thumb grazing it's peak briefly before moving on to map the rest of her body. There was a momentary pause when he reached what remained of her left arm, guilt parting the cloud of desire long enough for him to look down at his own handiwork, his lips pressed together in a thin line to trap a hundred useless words of apology.
The sudden sharp nip to the tip of his ear tears his immediate attention away, Indicating that she had as much use for his apologies as he did in this moment. His response is a moment of instinct, the short growl becoming a base line that rumbled in his chest when she sucks at the offended flesh, the old wolf almost certain that he can feel her lips curving into that familiar smirk, half smug and half amused. Retribution was easily won with arms that encircled her back, twisting and dipping his body to lower her to the floor, head darting forward to close his mouth over her breast before her shoulders touch the stone. The brief war with her own voice was lost in that moment, her low moan unravelling the last parts of him which that might have had a care that what he was doing couldn't possibly lead towards a happy ending for either of them.
A flick of his tongue over a her nipple and she was shaking in his hands, he felt the flesh stiffen against the agile muscle and sucked as if expecting to draw something from her, in this case it was another moan, the sound finding a rather primal switch in his brain, which in turn sends the impulse to graze teeth over the trapped flesh until he feels her back arch away from the floor. The hardened peak was swollen and sensitive by the time he released her, a casual slip of his tongue making her twitch and dig her heels into the stone. A low, decidedly male chuckle slipped from his chest as his head bent to her other breast, eyes flicking upwards to witness the flush that finds her cheeks in response to that sound. His eyes narrowed with growing desire and long fingers slid down the heaving dip of her stomach as he bit her just that little harder, slipping those fingers between her thighs to find her wet and squirming.
The sound of her hoarse cry finally called his attention to how hard he was when he felt the twitch behind straining cloth, not enough to lose his patience just yet however. He had seen so many facets of the woman beneath him, he had seen her at her lowest ebb and her highest seat of power, shared her intelligent, contemplative moments and witnessed her wicked joy, but this was new, a side of her that was both raw and compelling to him. He waited until she finally gave him her eyes once more, pinning her with his own as he slowly and deliberately slipped two fingers inside until his palm pressed tightly against her sex. He didn't give her time to gather her thoughts, she was still gasping in shaken breaths when those fingers pulled back, curled upwards and drove in again, the pads scraping over rougher, hidden flesh, palm grinding slowly into a bundle of nerve endings that sent her into almost epileptic fits of movement. His mouth found hers again, lips bruising, drinking down the broken sounds from her throat, the hand between her thighs working relentlessly, a heady sort of determination gripping him that was only marginally satisfied when her hips began to buck against his hand. He was pride, and he wanted to see her come apart beneath him, to see all her strength and guile melt away with just a few strokes of his fingers. It was not a spiteful thought, nor was it precisely a desire to demean her in his own eyes, it was simply his nature to take pride in what he could do to her, this relentless creature that had brought half a nation to it's knees, now keening against his mouth, working in tandem with his movements in that familiar dance that once started...simply had to reach its end.
Just not right away.
He waited until he could feel inner walls gripping his fingers and pulls back, the tips brushing that sensitive spot before she is left empty and panting, staring up at him as if she cannot quite believe that he would stop now. Her dawning outrage feeds something in him that had little to do with sex and if he ever thought he had more time he would have pushed that outrage to it's limits just to see if she would lash out at him or perhaps even beg. The latter is a powerful thought that had everything to do with sex if the response behind binding cloth was anything to go by. He hadn't planned on snatching up her hand, but once he slid it between them and pressed her fingers to the firm ache of his groin, the words fell from his mouth into her ear as he bent his head with a groan.
"This is what you do to me. All that control, all that will, ten lifetimes of practice and this is what you do to me...what you did to me every time we kissed"
It was like his subconscious had catalogued everything he had wanted to say each time he had pulled away from her, and now it came tumbling out as she shook his hand away and wrapped her fingers around the shape of him through cloth. The words were both bitter and heated strongly with lust, his voice a growling whisper that was punctuated by a roll of hips against her palm.
"You shattered me, you were always too real to ignore no matter what i did, and your acceptance of my strange ways only made the want all the stronger, why did you have to make it all so real"
His tongue traces the outer edge of her ear, proving that he didn't really expect an answer to his question when he sucked at the tip, relishing the way she gripped him and cried out at the same time.
"I had to watch you grow closer to all of them while i had to keep pushing you away. You had become theirs but you were mine and there were times i hated them all because they never had to hide what they felt"
Her blind hand now moved to the lacings of his pants, tugging and pulling until there is merciful slack and those fingers were spilling beneath fabric to find him hot and aching. He made a choked sound and pushed down into the fingers that wrapped around him, soft..skillful fingers that he'd seen wielding a spirit blade with furious abandon, the same fingers that had lingered on his jaw when she first took it upon herself to kiss him. She began to stroke, the lazy but firm glide of her hand drawing long shuddering breaths, the old wolf desperately trying to gather the thoughts she had thrown to the wind with fingers that seemed to be as wicked as her eyes.
His possessive nature was almost as well hidden as his identity had been, it had lasted longer than his name but the sensation had been there from the moment they had taken down the dragon in the Hinterlands. He'd almost swallowed his own heart when he watched her charge towards the creature alongside Cassandra and Bull, only to see her wield the spirit blade with far more skill than he would have credited a Dalish. She had stood there in the aftermath, black with soot, dragon blood splashed brightly over pale skin like a war brand, and he'd had the overwhelming desire to sink his teeth into the top of her shoulder until he tasted blood, a primal claim that had scared him badly and yet was so close to the surface that he'd had to turn and walk away towards the broken bridge. He had not marked her flesh but he had marked her somewhere in his mind and now his mouth was hovering over that very same spot, the desire so strong that it made his jaw ache, yet he had just enough sense not to let the impulse push him over….until she bit him.
It wasn't a particularly hard or painful bite to the throat, but his his hand snapped about her wrist and hauled her arm up over her head, pinning it there as he looked down at her, the heated need between his legs now reflected in his eyes. She had always known how to provoke him, whether she was seeking his laughter, his knowledge or even his lust she knew just where to apply the right amount of pressure. He couldn't be entirely sure that this was the reaction she was looking for here and now, but things had started sliding towards an inevitability that was sweeping them both up in its wake. Keeping his grip on her arm he moved his lower body, angling down for his cock to press and rub against the soft flesh between groin and thigh, perilously close yet not enough to do much more than frustrate her if the shifting of her hips was anything to go by. He found that he liked the mix of frustration and lust in her half lidded eyes and compounded
both with lips that hovered over her own, promising a kiss that she couldn't quite reach without straining against his grip and the weight of his body, trying anyway only to have him move just far enough away to make it seem worth trying again. The soft valley of flesh was now slippery with her sweat and his own steadily leaking tip, the heat between them almost scalding.
Her frustration eventually gave way with a snarl and he chose this moment to draw back, dropping his head to her shoulder as hips drove forward and took her in one unforgiving thrust, her scream the final catalyst that caused him to bury his teeth into her shoulder growling into that copper stained flesh until she stopped struggling against him, A rotation of his hips turned her shaking into something more sinuous, and he finally tasted her life's blood on his tongue, a taste that found that primal chord within his mind and lit it with a dark red pulse that whispered the same thing from his subconscious over and over again..
Mine..
The slick heat of her was almost unbearable, and yet he couldn't imagine a single thing in this world that would have pulled him away from her now, the claim unofficial and only in his own head but it drove him now and she seemed to be following its rhythm, her eyes shining with both pain and that same physical heat that mirrored his own. When he lifted his head, tongue chasing her blood from his lower lip, both pairs of eyes met and he saw that her mood was lightening again, her urge for him to move translated by the way she undulated beneath him, her hand opening and closing into a restless fist. Bowing his head he brushed the denied kiss across her lips, feeling her chase his mouth and relenting just as he pulled his hips back, thrusting his tongue in after hers, hips mimicking the gesture until he was hilted inside her again, supporting his body on one arm to give her just enough to room to shamelessly meet the next thrust, his dance was timeless and it was in their very blood to follow where it led them. Every push into that velvet grip threw ripples of heat and pleasure through every cell of his body, reaching places no hand could touch and urging him to rock into her harder, faster. The strong legs he had so long ago admired, now wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she gained what leverage she could, chasing that final edge along with him. Sweat ran over flesh that heaved and flexed with the strain of their pace, limbs tangling, muscle straining to wrench every aching moment of pleasure from them both. The civilized shape of words had left both mouths now, their coupling a wild thing that demanded older sounds, every moan, shout and growl thrown back at them in disembodied echoes that rolled around the cave walls, perhaps they would be remembered in the stone when this time had long passed.
Solas lost time, spacial awareness, everything. His world had narrowed to the unified strain of both bodies, her heat, the sensation of his own pleasure gathering in his gut like a tightening fist and dark blue eyes that seemed as lost as he was. This time their eye contact made something in his chest give way, a burst of emotion that had no name, not one that could ever be uttered with any degree of accuracy. The hand still wrapped tightly about her wrist now unclenched to slip finger through hers, still applying that pinning pressure but now both hands clenched together and both bodies seem to reach the simultaneous conclusion that now was the time to work just that little harder, and the impact of flesh striving for that joint purpose now joined the amatory collective of their voice. Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath him and he saw that this quickened slam of her pulse had caused more blood to well up in the fresh imprint of his teeth, mingling with sweat to run in diluted trails over her shoulder and the curve of one breast. Nothing in his brain was left to protest when he bent his body awkwardly and followed that firm swell of flesh with his tongue, chasing the scent of blood to where it was stronger, undiluted, the tip of his tongue now probing the marks he'd left behind. This seemed to be her final undoing, whether it was pain mingling with the building pleasure or simply the act of his tasting her, something that had been strained to breaking point now snapped.
Her body tightened around him almost possessively, inner walls convulsing while her hips jerked hard towards his own until he gripped one and held her there while he continued to move in short, powerful strokes, fighting the grip of her body all the way and drowning in her accompanying cry, a sound that drew invisible fingers down the length of his spine. He couldn't have lasted long in that clenching embrace and didn't even try, his body had almost reached its imperative state and would have gone on without his mind to direct it. The oncoming rush picked him up and dragged his body forward one last time his own voice first stuttering then breaking as he felt his mind giving way to the sensation he'd never been able to replicate in the vast chambers of his memory. He clung to her as though briefly afraid of coming untethered, every muscle in his body clearly defined and trembling with the climax that ripped through his flesh and set every nerve ending to burn in pleasure, for the first time in a long time, he was overwhelmed. Only when those violent pulses began to lessen did his body seem to relax, a strangely numb sort of peace settling over him, interrupted only by the aftershocks that shook them both amidst their embrace.
Their grip on each other seemed to loosen by degrees yet neither seemed inclined to release the other, as conscious thought began to trickle slowly back into place, perhaps they both realised that this perfectly calm moment wouldn't last, eventually words would find them again, difficult words that might sting and bite. So they remained as they were, limbs intertwined and breath finally slowing, even as the sweat cooled to a chill on their skin and bodies began to demand payment for such ardent activities being played out on a hard stone floor. It had been a long time since such a perfect and blank peace had found him, a mind always occupied by a thousand thoughts at once rarely had time to understand how perfect this warm state of nothing could be. Well not entirely nothing, because her presence was part of that blissful quiet, she was a missing piece that fit seamlessly around him in this moment and that arrogant streak within him decided that she was where she belonged if only for a time.
But it wasn't.
Reality began to filter in at that thought and with it came the sounds of a world that had continued moving even when time had momentarily stopped for him. Slowly they drew apart, their glances wary as stiff limbs were forced to comply enough for them both to sit up, those quick glances now turning to a stare as both of them tried and failed to find a single word that came close to being appropriate now. What they had done had confusing consequences and neither seemed to know how to even begin to start, they had prepared for every scenario but this one it seemed. He watches her struggle to find the words none the less and he feels almost certain that he is going to pay for his cruel tactic, he couldn't even argue that he didn't deserve it, he'd done it to save himself from the desperation of her plea.
Yet again she surprises him, and part of him wondered when he was going to learn to expect this.
He watched her rise up onto her knees and felt her cool palm on the side of his face before she kissed him, the gesture gentle and brief before she rose a little more to press her forehead to his.
"I do not have it in me to do this now. Please, can we….can we just rest, just for a little while. We can't run from what has to happen, but time can just damn well stand still for us for just a little longer"
Once again his mind supplied a hundred reasons why he couldn't do what she was asking, the chief reason being that he couldn't stop time and the apex of everything he had worked and sacrificed for was drawing nearer. Once again those reasons were tactfully ignored because reason couldn't understand how her words wrenched at him. So much had been stolen from her, including a love she deserved and now she begged to keep a temporary grip on a pale imitation of what she should have had. How in the fade was he ever supposed to refuse her, particularly when she spoke of everything he wanted too. He had found her too late, in a time where the momentum of what he started could not be stopped, he had been forced to hurt what he wanted time and again, how could he resist the promise of understanding what loving her should have been like.
He says nothing, not trusting that he wouldn't say something that might break this fragile and temporary truce. Instead he helped her to her feet, catching her about the waist when stiff legs refused to cooperate for a moment. She followed him without comment, perhaps understanding his silence all too well, and he guided her up the staircase long ago etched into the rock. His bedchamber was little more than a smaller cave within a cave that looked out over the top of the woodlands, it's mouth leading to a sheer drop that couldn't be scaled. She pulled away from him gently, her touch lingering as if to assure him that she didn't intend to go far, her steps taking her to the edge of that opening where she contemplated the night sky dressed in stars. Seeing her standing there reminded him all too starkly of her plea to him and he almost reached for her in order to drag her back before the idea of taking one more step back might find her. He does not reach out and she turns from the view to look upon the large pile of furs at the other end of the room. By the time he lay down beside her, the momentary thought has given way to a more certain one, of all the ways she might choose her end, taking her own life was beyond her nature.
Her body fits against his as if designed for that very purpose, her cooled skin now warming against his own and it felt utterly natural for his limbs to wind their way around her while she nuzzled against his shoulder as if seeking the desired spot to lay her head. When she finally stilled he counted her slow breaths until they became slower still and the weight of her grows limp with sleep. He remains awake just a little longer, watching her face unadorned by the usual expressions that animated it, wondering who she might have been if she had truly been given the chance to be free, if she had never met him, He purposely lets his mind drift away from that question, the persuasive lure of sleep snaring him properly and dragging him under into the quiet dark.
~~~oOo~~~
It had not been his intention to slip into her dream, perhaps it is simply because her sleeping mind is so close to him now that reaching out and touching the dream was unavoidable. He recognizes the forest only because her dreams have taken him here before, the same forest that changed her course in life when she was still a child. The scenery is as well developed as a memory yet the edges of this vision flicker ever so slightly, not a memory but a thought that has visited her often then. He cannot see her but there is a certain sense of wrongness that had not been here before, a hard to define corruption in the air that makes him hesitant to walk further into this place. He cannot not remember the last time he has ever feared to walk the path of a dream before and this thought alone is enough to make him move his feet, pride once more guiding his movements. It is dark again, the moon casting only a weak glow over the clustered trees their leaves moving together in a gathering susurrus that almost seems to become a foreboding whisper. He cannot even begin to guess what thoughts have led her to conjure a place like this from her subconscious, it is a cold, dry place, its colours muted and the very air seems to carry a bitter mood, it is as far removed from her personality as he could imagine.
A scream splits the air and a flock of ravens burst from the tops of a large band of oak to his left, cawing their displeasure at this sudden disturbance. The sound root's him to the spot, crystallizing his blood to ice and piercing his heart. It is a wounded sound full of grief and fury, both ugly and pure, the implied agony almost palpable, and perhaps it is..for the surroundings are growing darker as if that scream commands that the trees and the grass should display its grief. A dreadful thought now occurs to him and he is moving before it can fully form along with his dread, bare feet flattening the dry grass beneath them, branches and leaves clawing at his face and arms when he refuses to slow down in their presence. There is absolutely nothing he can do to stop the dream's progress of course, so why did he run towards that awful sound, did he truly want to see her this way?
He hears her before he see's her, her breath caught in wracking sobs, the kind of crying that didn't allow for dignity, not while it was translating the sheer weight of burning grief. She was a dark shape amongst other dark shapes and that awful sound is his only beacon to her, a beacon he tries to follow until his foot finds something slick and liquid, it's cool, viscous quality unpleasant. At that moment the canopy of trees seem to part in some silent exhale and the weak moon gives just enough light for him to see and simultaneously wish he was blind.
She is kneeling among carnage, the charred clearing littered with bodies that are still fresh enough to bleed, her eyes seeming to see nothing but the woman she held in her arms, both of which are whole and unblemished. This was no memory but now he understands why this dream has so much clarity. She had not seen the aftermath of Clan Lavellan's slaughter, it would have been impossible to reach them in time, even the closest Inquisition scouts had been too late to do more than see to it that the bodies were properly and respectfully taken care of. At the time he'd been grateful that she had escaped that sight, it had been hard on her not to at least try, but the very pragmatic centre of his soul had told him that such a thing would take some of the much needed fight from her. Now he can see that she had escaped nothing, it had followed her, the unknowing haunting her dreams until it became real enough to pose as memory.
The woman she clung to was almost certainly the clan's keeper, a woman who had frustrated her greatly enough for her to want to leave the embrace of her clan, and yet she still has love enough to mourn the woman after all these years. It is clear that she wants to bear the blame for this scene of slaughter, the whole display is a screaming accusation for a woman who had been too far away leading someone else's war to help. Every man, woman and child is a pointing finger, the crows now returning to add insult to injury as they pick amongst the macabre feast. He stays well beyond the periphery of her vision for there is nothing he can say that would soothe these dreadful thoughts and she would not thank him for invading the sanctuary of her deepest regret.
Slowly she sets the Keeper's body down and then freezes when a long rolling growl slips from the cover of the close growing trees, it was a sound that went back to the days when things that walked on two legs huddled in the dark and listened to bigger, hungrier things owning the land. The thing that stalked forward from between the trees seemed to be mere moving shadow until it began to develop form the closer it came, a large four legged beast, its bristling hackles trailing tendrils of shadow that flowed from its back like a heat haze. He felt his throat close up as he watched her stand before the advancing wolf, all six of its crimson eyes seeming to burn with hateful intelligence, now centered on her challenging gesture. It's muzzle is dripping red and some masochistic part of him draws his eyes to examine the bodies a little closer, a sickened sound escaping him when his theory is confirmed. The elves were feathered with arrows and wore the deep slashes caused by swords, but amongst these injuries he could also see the marks of teeth and ripping jaws.
Was this truly how she saw him without her love to taint her thoughts?
He watches as the shadowy wolf bares its teeth and crouches as if meaning to spring before turning away because he refuses to watch the thing tear her to pieces. In all the time he has known her she has spoken the name Fen'harel with either fondness or sorrow, but never had she given it the shape of a beast. How could she love something that held such a place of horror in her heart, and how could he become so terrifying a figure to her?
"He is neither of you"
Her soft speech causes his eyes to snap open and he turns to see her still standing where she was, now facing him, the wolf still crouched behind her, though now it seems as though time has been stilled for the creature, frozen just before the building urge to leap finally relented. He doesn't know how to explain her having noticed him, perhaps his horror at her image of him was strong enough for her to sense him far more strongly than before.
"He is not the old stone wolf who would always make me feel safe, seeing him has always made me feel like the whole world could be my home, that one's face is always wise. Neither is he the man I love. Despite what that love has cost me, it wears a gentler face than this creature"
She jerks her head back at the still wolf and takes a step backwards, her pause not inviting him to speak, though he doesn't think he could find any words that would help him here. Falling to her knees again she tilts her head to one side and pulls silvered hair over one shoulder to bare the long, curved line of her throat.
"His is the face of my penance, the price for my failures. My guilt and my sorrow. All the mistakes i made live here, every life i couldn't save, every man and woman who stood between me and Corypheus is buried here. This is the place where my clan's blood will never dry, this is the place where my greatest failure becomes my punishment. I wasn't enough to stop you becoming what they all feared you were, i wasn't enough to turn you from what you must do. He is what i see when you hide behind the mask"
He doesn't want to be here, he does not want to hear this defeated note in her voice when she speaks of him. She does not lash at him with her words as she did before, there is an unmistakable sadness to her voice, but it hurts all the same and he has nobody to blame but himself. Part of him asks if he should care how she should see him, it changed nothing, but it's a dim voice and its efforts are feeble.
"Go Solas, let me dream alone, the rest is not for your eyes my love and you can do nothing for me here"
The last words are followed by another low growl and he turns away sharply, using every inch of his will to propel him from this place before the sound could reach its violent conclusion. The fear and horror that had seeped into his bones began to disperse the further away he drifted but the disturbing image of the wolf at her throat will likely not dissipate for a long time yet. He carefully guides his conscious further away from her place of dreaming until he is drifting once more, perhaps drifting towards true sleep where he could hide from even his own thoughts much less hers.
His last true thought is that of the three wolves. Because no matter how she tried to separate them in order for her sanity to survive, there would only ever be one Fen'harel and he would always carry the weight of all those faces.
~~~oOo~~~
NOTES
So i think i discovered the number one problem with writing post-Trespasser smut, and that is remembering that your Inquisitor only has the one arm to work with! Once again i ask that you bear in mind that I'm still shaking out the cobwebs when it comes to my literary skills, and writing smut that feels true to Solas (as i see him anyway) requires a lot of patient effort, and even then i can't say if i have done it justice, though i think i have given it my best shot.
The last flashback came in a random moment of inspiration while i was trying to think how to end this chapter. It has always bugged me that while bioware thought it was real important that i escort some asshat's lost druffalo back to his farm, they did not think the death of Lavellans clan worth so much as a word, not even from Lavellan herself. I did think about making the scene a memory where Lavellan would actually find her slaughtered clan but then my imagination went and skipped off with my last remaining brain cell and the third face of Fen'Harel was born.
Oh yes, for those of you that recognize it, I know that 'The bear and the Maiden fair belongs in Game of Thrones, but it popped into my head and is harmless where it is i think.