Post Trespasser again.

Summary: Where he closed himself off and hid what he was feeling, she responded with honesty.

"Me? I'm dishonest. And you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict, when they're gonna do something incredibly...stupid." - Captain Jack Sparrow. So relevant. So true.

Yes, I did listen to the 'Pirates of the Caribbean' soundtrack while writing this. The beginning of 'Jack Sparrow' in particular.

Honestly

He worried when she didn't sleep, when he couldn't find her in the Fade. The Dread Wolf would search and search, knowing full well it was fruitless, if he couldn't sense her at all. But doing something distracted him from his heart seizing in his chest, from the beginnings of outright panic. An overreaction, he knew. He should stop invading her dreams altogether, he knew. Yet what he knew and did not know were two very different things and he did not know where she was.

Solas awoke in frustration, unable to roll over and enter the Fade again after almost ten hours of sleep. Rising from his bed, entirely alert, he hoped he would receive a report on her whereabouts today that would appease him somewhat, unlikely though that was. After disbanding the Inquisition she was so much harder to keep track of; his best agents could collectively scrape together a vague picture from cold trails and ambiguous sightings. It wasn't enough. These things could not tell him of her wellbeing. He knew she wasn't sleeping well, but he did not know why, for certain.

He headed for the great hall, dressed modestly in a simple tunic and furs, better to dispel fantastical notions of godhood. Posturing was necessary at times of course, but a closer connection would better instil a sense of loyalty in his followers. He needed to appear accessible and open, hence his habit of serving himself when it came to meals. Though he often took them up to his study regardless, it was an opportunity for his agents to see Fen'Harel in person.

It was uncharacteristically quiet as he approached the hall. He was up late, so perhaps most of his agents had left already.

He was wrong.

Rounding the corner, he was relatively surprised to note the hall was unusually full. Yet all were tense, and an air of uncertainty hovered, almost stiflingly so. A few of his followers looked relieved to see him paused at the entrance, while others looked apprehensive. Some outright blanched and seemed as though they would very much like to disappear, though apparently couldn't quite muster the will to move. Fen'Harel's eyes scanned the hall shrewdly, searching for the cause of this strange atmosphere. When his gaze finally settled on the sight of her, he was reasonably sure his face drained of colour.

Luthori Lavellan stood in the communal kitchen, not truly separated from the hall itself, quietly humming 'The Dawn Will Come' while stirring the steaming contents of many pots and pans on the go. Upon closer inspection he also recognized Dorian, helping her brew a large pot of tea, while the Lady Morrigan sat near them, waiting for her breakfast expectantly.

Solas squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed at an eye with the heel of his palm. This had to be a dream.

"Good morning, ma sa'lath!" Lavellan chirped warmly, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

He wasn't sure how to respond, and so said nothing. She tipped her head to the side disapprovingly at his poor manners, but continued to serve up breakfast. With a proud little noise, Dorian set down a laden tray of cups and a pot of tea near Morrigan's elbow. The witch, for her part, looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Look, it's not Tevine, but it will have to do." Dorian defended the brew brusquely.

Morrigan's tone was infuriatingly aloof and dripped of dismissiveness, "'Tis not truly the tea itself at fault for its no doubt poor taste, but rather the one that prepared it wrongly."

The Magister's moustache seemed to bristle slightly in outrage, "I can hardly be held accountable for supposedly poor tea brewing technique when the equipment I have at my disposal is sub-par."

"Indeed, blame the facilities for your substandard domestic skills."

"Now now children," Lavellan stepped in before their bickering went any further, "Play nice. We are in esteemed company."

Both Morrigan and Dorian snorted derisively.

A few of his agents glared at them for the insult, and Solas frowned.

"How did you get here?" he asked her, "How did you find this place?"

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before she spoke, "Those are very poor questions to ask, ma lath. I can't imagine you'd be unaware that this little island is only accessible by Eluvian. A few of which Morrigan can open at will."

The witch in question turned to look at him with a small, but smug smirk.

"And honestly, it was far too easy to just follow your agents about the Crossroads. They should be more careful." She continued, her tone edging towards mock concern.

"I shall bear that in mind." He replied stiffly.

Lavellan set down three bowls of porridge of a near perfect consistency at the table they had claimed, alongside fruit and warm bread.

"This base is awfully well stocked, Solas," Dorian commented lightly, shifting slices of apple onto his plate, "Wherever do you get it all from?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose while his agents looked on in silence, obviously unsure of what to do. Was this truly happening?

"I am not at liberty to answer that question." He replied sharply, narrowing his eyes at them.

Morrigan made an amused noise while Dorian sighed, and Lavellan tutted at him.

"I answered your questions." She pointed out, and he wasn't certain if the hint of hurt in her voice was genuine, "You're not being very fair. Honestly, you've been a terrible host so far."

"He most certainly has!" The Tevinter agreed readily, "Look at the state of these grapes, not even peeled!"

That drew a smile from her, and he stared at it for longer than he should have.

"Has no one told you to leave?" he asked when he'd recovered, casting a glance over the crowded hall from which his followers seemed to shrink back.

"Don't blame them," Lavellan told him, and her tone was almost motherly, "The poor dears had no clue how to handle the situation. It is a very peculiar one, you must admit. Besides, all we're doing is having breakfast; that's hardly a declaration of war now, is it?"

Fen'Harel cast his gaze over them, noting that only Lavellan seemed completely at ease. Morrigan's shoulders were a little too stiff and Dorian mostly kept his eyes on his food.

He spoke directly to her, "Why are you here?"

She smiled again, though it was a small thing, "To see you of course."

"And so you have." He responded, doing his best to be cold, though the veneer was dishonest, "You may leave now."

"Oh, well, if we may." Morrigan evidently took offense at his presumptuous arrogance.

"He treats his friends terribly," Dorian added, casually observing a grape he'd mustered the fortitude to peel himself, "I still have no idea what you see in him."

Lavellan only stared up at him evenly, until he could stand it no more and had to look away.

"Very well." She conceded, and stood, "It seems I have overstepped."

She did not apologize or ask for forgiveness though, and he was thankful for it.

"I haven't even finished my tea." The Magister grumbled, following her lead.

"Be grateful, it's vile." The witch informed, deadpan.

Morrigan took the lead as they made to file out, while Lavellan brought up the rear. He tried to stop himself from taking her arm as she passed him, he really did, but he had to know...

"What was the true purpose of this pleasant visit?"

She blinked up at him, searching his face, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

This surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have. He'd wanted to make sure she was well too, after all.

"I can never tell when we're in the Fade; you're always a wolf." She explained candidly, "So I had to see somehow, and Dorian and Morrigan agreed to humour me."

He glanced at the two mages then, noting that they were waiting for her a respectful if cautious distance away. It was not impossible that he had never given them enough credit.

She smiled at him, and it was soft and warm, "I'm just checking up on you, Solas, honestly."

He believed her.

Solas took the opportunity to scan her face too, to really take her in. She seemed healthy; not too thin, her skin pale but clear, yet there were dark circles under her eyes.

His shoulders rose and dropped as he sighed in something akin to defeat or acceptance, before he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, in front of both his followers and hers.

"Please," he requested gently, "try to get some more sleep, vhenan."

Her smile grew, and she nodded once, "Only if you try for a little less. Open your eyes; stay awake."

He knew what she meant. It was a promise he was hesitant to make, and considered telling her so. Yet he found the words to deny her wouldn't come, so after a moment, he nodded to her in return. She flashed him one last brilliant smile before she left with her small entourage.

Solas folded his arms behind his back as he watched her go, and hoped that she might visit him again.

There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Nothing angsty happened. Until next time. It's not called Solavellan hell for nothing. Also, I couldn't decide between Dorian or Morrigan to accompany Lavellan, as both of them bring the sass and the class I so adore. So have both. It's a shame there's no interaction (that I'm aware of) between them in game.

Thank you for reading.

- LaWren