(NSFW: BE WARNED.)
He heard her coming up the stairs. She seemed to pause as though sensing him.
Her head crested over the railing and saw him, sitting where he'd sat since hearing the clarion bugling her approach. Next to her bed in the chair he'd dragged over there. Near at hand, on the coverlet, lay a stack of several hide drawings, all found in her quarters, hidden beneath a flagstone. Some stamped with the bloody hand, some not.
Face blank, Tir'alas approached the bed, eyeing him. Then her grey gaze drew over to the evidence of her … other work. She reached down and picked one up, thumb running over the etched surface. Then she saw the hide that lay over his one knee. Dead Rogalin of the Sabrae smirked under the flaking red-brown stain exactly the same size and shape as the hand she now used to hold someone else's likeness.
She whispered, shocked, "The agent. That was you."
Solas watched her over clasped hands. He wet his lips and said, "Tell me a story, lethallan."
Tir'alas dropped the drawing and that hand flew to her chest. For the briefest moment, he thought she might bolt. The lines of her body stretched like tense wire, but then just loosened all at once, and she sank to sit on the very edge of her bed, face turned away from him. Their knees nearly touched. Her hands lay limp in her lap like two dead doves.
Struck by that morbid thought, Solas leaned forward and captured those cold digits in his. He rubbed lightly to warm them. "Tir'alas-"
He stopped as her hands suddenly seized his in a tight grasp. She pulled in a huge, shuddering lungful of air and let it out in a soft long breath. "So … you know."
"Yes," he coaxed, soft as the breeze ruffling her hair from the open balcony doors.
She whispered, "I am the Rasdalelan."
Then she let out another sigh that seemed pulled from the very depths of her, swaying a little as she did. A profound relief filled her face as she finally turned her face back to him. Relief that someone, anyone, knew at long last. That relief yanked at his soul, and told him much about the constant strain she must have been living under.
"For nearly thirteen years." Then she smiled a sad smile and looked down at her hands. She said, "Have you told Leliana yet?"
Solas frowned and said, "No, and I do not intend to."
Tir'alas gave a dry huff. "How can you not? The leader of the Inquisition is an assassin. A cold-blooded murderer who would have put a knife in her dearly beloved Justinia had Corypheus not beaten her to it. Do you believe somewhere deep inside I'm actually grateful to the bastard for it? Creators, that's depraved."
Now anguish started to burn away the relief, starting with a creasing of the skin around her eyes until strain lined her face.
He reasoned, "Every day since must have tormented you."
"You know, at the beginning, I thought I had done it. I couldn't remember anything past actually entering the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I still can't. I woke in a cell, the Anchor screaming in my flesh. Cassandra barking at me. And I saw that hole in the sky and knew, knew, that it had all finally caught up with me. My punishment. I was ready to die. For all I'd done, for whatever it was that I must have done in the Temple."
"But then, somehow, I didn't die. And that was worse in many ways." Her mouth flexed as her eyes took on a manic edge, darting here and there. She continued, "A twist at my heart for every story Leliana and Cassandra told me about her. A whip striping my back for every single time someone said her name. The shame inside screaming, 'Confess. Confess. Confess!' All because of that horrible gratitude that nearly drowned me the moment I heard that monster's voice. It wasn't me. She died as it had been ordered, but I didn't kill her. The sky didn't bleed because of me."
Tir'alas started rocking back and forth, her expression very nearly mad. Concern growing, Solas shifted to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into his side with a whimper, saying, "I still wonder now if I had reached her first, if it would have prevented any of this. If taking away his sacrifice would have made any difference."
Solas hummed a negative against her hair, laying his cheek upon her head. "No, he would have just found another soon enough."
Her fingers curled and uncurled in her lap. Then they stilled. She lifted away from him, face once again averted, and said, "And now you'll go away from me. But at least ... at least someone knows."
"Ma Tir'alas," said he, cupping her cheek. His fingers touched wetness as his hand gently insisted she look at him. Tears shimmered over the silvery pools of her eyes, but still she met his gaze with a bravery that astounded. He whispered, "Killer, you may be. But cold-blooded? No, that is the very opposite of what you are. Knowing now what darkness you rise out of makes the brilliance with which you burn all the more incredible."
Her mouth opened, but whether in surprise or protest, he couldn't say. "How can you look at me when I cannot even stand to look in a mirror?"
He continued, "Others would have run the moment the chains were struck off. But you stayed. With all the reasons in the world to disappear, you took up the cause."
"From shame!" she finally said, with a twist to her mouth.
Solas smoothed those lips with his thumb, and conceded, "In part. But mostly, because it had to be done. And you do not sit by and deliberate when things need to be done." He smiled at her, willing her to see his sincerity. "A virtue I admire in you. One of many you carry that I wish I had in such abundance."
Her breath puffed against the pad of his thumb as she stared at him, cheeks filling with rosy color. There, growing in intensity, belief. Her one hand came up and settled over his where it still rested on her cheek. She turned her face and kissed his palm. Then she lifted the other and laid a kiss in it as well, whispering, "Ar lath ma, vhenan."
Vhenan. The confession of her love sent his spirit soaring. Solas's heart seized in a painful contraction. Yet he couldn't resist teasing, "Are you speaking to me or my hands? Hawke might have mentioned your fascin-"
Tir'alas launched herself at him with a laugh, bright and full. Unreserved. He didn't think he'd ever heard it before. Not truly. Its open joy sparked a glorious ache in his chest. She bowled them both over so she mantled over him, straddling his hips. The press of her there on his most intimate area drew a deep moan from his throat.
Her mouth crashed into his with a fire that burned away all thought. Solas shivered in delight as she framed his face in her hands, hungry lips dancing with his, tongues snaking. His own fingers found her hair, twining its softness around knuckles as he unwove the simple braid that kept it in check.
Breaking away from their kiss before it suffocated them both, Solas let his lips drift down her neck. He laved her pulse point with a swipe of his tongue, tasting the salt of her sweat, the faint medicinal tang of the herbs she constantly came in contact with.
At his ear, she said, "Is this a dream? Are we in the Fade as before?"
He smiled against her neck and replied, "I'm reasonably certain we're awake."
"Please let this be real. I've loved you for so long now, ever since I heard that ridiculous little chuckle of yours."
Solas supplied her one then and scraped his teeth over her collarbones. "Is that so? Odd then that I only ever got to see your disdain."
Then she moaned, throwing her head back while grinding down on his stiffening length. She gasped, "I am not accustomed to dealing with … feelings. Plus I was certain you really, really didn't care for me. So really it was pre-emptive contempt."
"To be fair, you didn't have to do much to aggravate me. The fact that my reaction was so extreme should have clued me in." He laughed and continued, "I think my fascination started the first time you told me 'no.'"
She froze over him and looked into his eyes with wonder. "How did this come to be? Did I somehow cheat destiny and circumvent bad luck to end up here? I must have."
The way she regarded him, as though he were something precious …. His throat closed even as his chest swelled. "Or perhaps neither ever existed in the first place and we are just two fools denying ourselves to keep to the comfortable lonely paths."
She laughed then, warm breath at his ear as she leaned in again to nibble at his lobes. "We are idiots, if so."
His hands fell to her hips, clutching them, sliding around to test the tautness of her backside. The way she rolled into his touch drove him out of his mind. Frantic, he started pulling at her clothes, fingers warring with hers as they both sought to undo the (too many!) clasps that ran the length of the front.
With a feral growl that shot right down to his cock, Tir'alas took the last three fastenings and tore them apart. Buttons and thread went flying as she shucked the garment over her shoulder. Her breast band followed.
Solas laid back and looked at her, glowing in the light of the sun coming through the windows. Under his frank and heated appraisal, she grew shy, arms drifting up to perhaps cover herself. He took those arms in his hands and started to pull them away. "Please. May I see you?"
Swollen lips parting around an intake of breath, she laid both hands on his belly and allowed him this indulgence.
Whipcord and lean, her physique still told stories of graceful carnage, of leaps and spins and flashing knives. Even now, as a mage, her body would probably always hold signs of her early training.
Taut belly rested under well-fleshed ribs while breasts, high and haughty and perfect, heaved under his gaze.
With hands gentled by reverence, he touched her. Starting at the waist, then sliding up to wrap over the cage of bone protecting her heart. Until finally, fingers found those pert globes. He lifted them, feeling their weight and heft under his palms. Forefingers and thumbs rolled nipples until they peaked and hardened.
Her eyelids fluttered shut as she arched her back, bending in a way that seemed almost impossible to him. Sitting up, Solas took one of those peaks into his mouth, moaning at the feel of her skin, the texture of pebbling areola around the nub of nipple. Tir'alas panted as his teeth, tongue and lips worried at her breast.
Her hands couldn't seem to decide where they wanted to be. They brushed along his eartips, his scalp, down his back. Each new sensation made him buck against her, heightening the throbbing of his groin until it became painful.
With a whine, Tir'alas pulled at his tunic. Chuckling, he let her pull it off him, though the tail of it made it difficult. He had to lift further up. Then a thought struck him and he took advantage of the situation to roll them forward so she lay beneath him. Discarding the tunic, he captured her mouth once again, tasting her even deeper than before.
Tir'alas's fingers busied themselves at his breech-lacings. His breath hitched as they brushed against his manhood. Then again as she repeated the motion, with deliberation.
Solas trembled and looked down at her mischievous smile. "You are asking for trouble, lethallan."
"Indeed, I am," she said, voice soft and husky. Her hand stole into his breeches and gave him an impudent squeeze.
His hips rolled in reaction to that momentary rush of bliss. He growled and grabbed her breeches at the hip and yanked them off her in one easy pull.
She gave a breathless squeak as the action pulled her further down the bed, bare legs in the air. Solas grabbed them and laid both over his shoulder as he paused again to admire her, clad in just her smalls and wraps. Slowly, he unwrapped her feet, leaving the strips of fabric where they dropped.
His cock twitched as she squirmed against him. With eager but gentle hand, Solas ran his fingers over every exposed inch of her. The buttery silk of her skin intoxicated him. The ridges of old scars enthralled him. Every jut of bone or twitch of sleek muscle anchored him in the now as nothing else had done.
She writhed under him, made near incoherent by his touch alone. A very male sort of pride swelled within.
Her inner knee begged him to taste, so he did, dipping lower until he laid on his chest between her long legs. The sweet scent of her arousal drew him closer to the apex of her thighs. Moisture darkened an area of the cloth. He laid a single finger there, hooked around the edge, and looked over her mound at her flushed face. He said, "May I?"
She sighed a laugh, then bit her lip, embarrassed. 'I think I will die if you do not."
Solas echoed her laugh as the smallclothes unraveled with a quick, efficient tug. "Then I suppose, I shall. If only to save your life."
Her nectar flowed over his tongue as he laved a path between the petal-soft folds of her. She bucked under him, wild and frenzied. His hands went to her hips to still them as he worked the nub at her zenith in full, flicking circles. A cry burst from her lips, the first of a long string intermixed with no small amount of cursing.
Creative cursing.
At one particularly inventive one, he paused and said, "Really? Queen Anora and a mabari? Disturbing."
"Fen'harel ver na, Solas! Don't stop!" she exclaimed, desperate and sharp.
Amused, he rumbled a laugh against her core.
She shook and convulsed on the end of his tongue until with a shout, she came undone. Her inner walls pulsed against his probing. He lapped up her cream and spread it around her bud. At the renewed stimulation, Tir'alas's back bowed nearly in half. Her hands found his cheeks and words tumbled out of her mouth, "Wait. Wait. I can't-"
Tongue flicking out over her pearl again, he asked, mild, "Can't what, emma lath?"
Her knees drew up and tried to shut him away from her cleft, but he ran his hands along their inner stretch and they fell open again, helpless before his soft insistent touch. She pulled at his shoulders until, with great reluctance, Solas lifted himself away and up over her. She said, "I want you, Solas. But … no more of that. It's … too much."
Solas wiped her slick off his cheeks with the back of one hand and said, dark and desirous, "Someday, I hope you will let me do 'that' for the hours it deserves."
He didn't think she could get rosier, but, somehow, she did. She leveled a flat, flustered stare at him. "Really?"
The grin on his face widened to a leer. "Days, even."
She gasped, her knees squeezing his waist. Solas reached down and freed himself of his loose breeches, kicking them off to one side, along with his footwraps. Her eyes tracked him with hunger as he once again nestled between her thighs, his hard length pressed to the molten core of her. Not breaching as yet, but just enjoying the heat of their slick friction. Coating himself in her sweet juices.
Her legs wrapped around his hips as she rocked against his shaft. Visceral pleasure tingled up and down his spine. He rolled back so the tip caught at her entrance, and looked into her eyes. Those beautiful eyes that haunted his every moment, awake or dreaming. "Ready?"
She bit her lip and nervousness flickered in her gaze. "Solas, I've never-I mean-"
Surprised, Solas said, "You are … untouched?"
Nodding, she looked away.
A strange hesitance fell over him and he pulled further away, though his cock lurched at the lack of contact. He watched her close, and saw the fear there. The startling innocence in this one regard. Did he really want to be responsible for tearing away this last veil? Her final deflowering? Wetting his lips, he said, "Perhaps we shouldn-"
"Solas," she said, her eyes catching his. They stole his breath with how they shone with tenderness. Tir'alas said, "Please?" And her legs pulled him back toward her.
Humbled by this gift, he nodded, kissing her all about the neck until she lay breathless beneath him. Angling himself, he eased the tip of his cock into her clenching passage. Tight. It actually hurt a little.
She hissed in his ear as his slow thrust met her barrier. Concerned, he watched her close for a single sign she did not want to continue. Her hands smoothed along his shoulder-blades, holding him as near as she could. Her mouth settled against his, murmuring encouragement.
With a quick push, he burst through that last barrier and filled her. A ragged gasp the only hint that it hurt her. He stopped, fully seated in her depths and stroked her hair, her cheek. His forehead rested on hers and he whispered, trembling, "Ma vhenan. Ma Tir'alas."
After a bit, she wiggled under him, provoking a deep shudder that wracked his whole frame. Withdrawing and advancing, he started a series of gentle, soft thrusts. She moaned with such want that he nearly spilled himself right then and there. It had been so long after all. And she so snug.
He denied himself by only the slimmest measure of control as her rolling hips demanded he speed up. Giving in, his motion grew wilder. Elation filled his heart to bursting, until he felt as though he might fly. Pulling nearly all the way out before driving back in again. Her slick tunnel gripped him, hot as a fever. It threatened to squeeze every drop from him.
Her cries grew in volume until he worried what people below her balcony might think. Muffling her with his mouth, Solas moaned again as the tight coil of his coming release started to unwind, cresting with a blinding bolt of ecstasy that shattered him. Senseless, he fell atop her, just barely holding his own weight up on his shaking arms.
His issue left him in draining waves of rapture. Her legs and arms pulled at him and he let her take his weight, resting his face in the hollow of her throat as he gasped and panted. Languid, he rolled them again so she lay draped across his chest.
Arms circled around her back and held her tight, as though she might disappear. In the wake of their passions, that fear did latch onto him and grow. To have such bliss, only to lose it ….
"Solas?" she asked, voice quavering.
Apprehensive that his thoughts had been stamped upon his face, he glanced down to see her staring at him. He tilted his head. The raw adoration in her gaze dizzied him for a second. His heart lurched.
Then she smirked, and that set his pulse pounding even harder for some reason. She said, "Let me up for just a-"
His arms loosened immediately and she lifted up a little, grimacing as she pulled his pendant free from where it had been lodged between them. Giving it a glare, she tossed it to one side. Tethered to his neck, it swung onto the pillow. Then she rubbed at the indentations in her left breast.
Chuckling, Solas lifted himself up so he could kiss those marks away. The shift dislodged him from her, member sliding free.
She hissed, skin around her eyes crinkling. Worried, he grimaced and looked down. A red trickle ran down her inner thigh with his essences. He looked back up at her. "I'm-I'm sorry, vhenan. I should not have lost control-"
She waved the apology away like it was the most ridiculous thing she'd heard. "As though watching you lose control was not possibly the most erotic thing I'd ever seen."
Fresh heat rose in his cheeks at her bold words. His hand slid down her side and over her swollen and bruised labia. She hissed again, then sighed as magic flowed from his fingertips to heal her. In his mind's eye, he saw burst capillaries close and the wound of her maidenhead seal. No longer whole, but no longer hurting.
Looking at him with wonderment, she kissed him, lips lingering around warm, exchanged breaths. Then she shifted above him and frowned. Her nose wrinkled in the most adorable way and she announced, "I need a bath."
Tir'alas lunged out of the bed and strode on wobbly legs to her bathtub. He watched the measured bounce of her bare buttocks with no little pleasure, biting his lip as a fresh wave of arousal smote him low in the belly.
She paused, peering up at a copper tube suspended from the ceiling. Pulling a chain he hadn't noticed before, she put a hand out as a shower of water poured from that pipe. Astonished, he stood himself and approached, eyeing the mechanism.
Seeing his interest out of the corner of her eye, the Inquisitor said, "Gravity fed from a rain cistern on the roof. Dagna built it for me. Getting rid of the water after is the hard part."
The tub soon filled and she dipped a finger in it, then shivered. She turned to him and said, oddly coy, "I don't suppose you could, um-?" She gave a wiggle of one hand.
He laughed. "Can you not craft fire runes yourself? I seem to recall teaching you that."
She scowled at him and replied, "I tried once and set the tub on fire."
Indeed, now that he looked, scorch marks adorned the porcelain all along the bottom. Another laugh climbed out of his throat, full-bellied and ringing.
"It's not that funny," she groused, arms folding.
With a gesture, he heated the water. "I regret to inform you that it is indeed 'funny.'"
"Fine. Have it your way."
"It takes talent to light stone on fire. One must be most … convincing."
"Oh quiet, you." One long leg went into the tub then the other. She stood in the hot water with a contented sigh and said, holding out a hand, "Join me?"
"I would be delighted." He stepped in and soon they settled, sitting with her back to his chest. He watched the play of her shoulder-blades as she scrubbed her skin with a cloth and soaproot. Her hair she washed with perfunctory quickness and dunked to rinse.
On a narrow shelf next to them, an array of small, expensive-looking bottles and wrapped rectangles lay. None of which looked like they'd ever been opened.
Solas picked one soapbar up and read the Orlesian label, "'Savon Exquis. Muguet du Bois.'"
"Don't use that. I'm pretty sure it has bird droppings in it."
Setting it back down with a touch of haste, he said, "Really?"
"You'd be surprised what noble ladies will put on their faces. On their skin. No, not surprised. Appalled." She turned a little to look at him with one grey eye. She sighed. "And don't get me started on the really, really pricey ones from Tevinter. I sent them back. Dorian protested, until I explained to him how soap is made. And what sort of animals have the best fat for it."
Intuition leapt the gap and he said, queasy and horrified, "Is it the sort that walks on two legs and talks?"
Her head bobbed. "Funny what a little bar's worth of status symbol really costs."
He banished the disturbing thought as he leaned farther back into the tub. He lifted a knee out of the water, smiling as it brushed her ribs. She started, much to his amusement and shot him a look over her shoulder again. Then her lip curled into a smile and she held out the rag. "Wash my back?"
Taking what she offered, Solas ran the cloth over her slick skin, rubbing the lather around in small circles. Tir'alas leaned forward, curling her spine. A low moan came from her lips at his ministrations. It seemed to vibrate through the water to a certain … appendage.
His interest grew avid as he slowly went lower and her back bowed completely back the other direction. He marveled at her flexibility while his eyes drank in the sight of her breasts rising free of the water.
Her soapy arms went around his neck and her head lay back on his chest. With her mouth so close, he couldn't resist diving in for a kiss, tongue licking across her bottom lip, begging entry.
Granted.
She sucked at his tongue and he moaned at the sensual thrill that ran through his body.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him, hands roaming where they will across the map of her skin. His fingers made love to the dip next to her hipbones, the hollow at her throat, the sweep of her collarbones. Not an inch went un-worshiped. Soon her body heat rivaled the water, and she gasped and shook against him.
Her hand found him hard under the water and gave him a firm stroke root to tip. How he sighed and clutched her tighter, his own digits flying for her cleft.
Tir'alas sat bolt upright at the first touch, as though shocked by lightning magics. The thought inspired have a dozen ideas, which he tucked away for a time when they weren't both soaked in conductive water.
Her hands on him. His hands on her. Solas soon lost track of rational thought.
Just as he was about to suggest she rise to her knees that he might better please her, a loud voice drifted up the stairwell.
"Lavellan! Are you coming to the war-room or not?" Josephine shouted, heels clacking as she ascended the steps.
In a roar of cascading water, Tir'alas jumped to her feet. "Josie, I'm, uh, in the middle of a b-bath."
Josephine stopped just below the landing. Solas could actually see the top of her head. The woman's voice drifted to them, flustered, "Oh! I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Herald."
Tir'alas winced, then replied, "It's alright. I'll be there in a minute. Start without me."
"Alright. I will see you then." Josephine turned around and went back down the stairwell. They listened in stillness until the slam of the door reached them.
The Inquisitor let out a breath. "Whew. Almost gave our Lady Ambassador an eyeful."
"I was about to see if I remembered the knack of holding my breath underwater for a long period of time." Solas chuckled.
"Then what would you do about your knees sticking out of the water?" She laughed with him, a tinkling bell-like sound. Then she gave a half-frown. "Someday, I'll remember to lock that damn door. But honestly, then I'd have to go down and let people in every five minutes. I'm surprised no one interrupted us sooner, now that I think about it. Creators, what if it had been Sera? I'd have never heard the end of it."
"I would not have cared if she had seen us together. Though I do not wish to share our private affairs with anyone." Solas stood with her, wiping some lather off her cheek. She sighed and embraced him. He held her back, careful and close. "I love you, my heart."
"Emma lath."
After a moment of pounding hearts and thoughts that drifted back toward dark and perilous places, Solas said, words coming out beyond his control, "Losing you would ..."
He couldn't even finish it, wasn't sure how to finish it.
"Few things last. We may die tomorrow and all that. Enough that I have this, have you now. Tomorrow is unimportant," said she, fierce and firm.
Words tried to climb out of his throat, denying her claim. Proclaiming forever. But he knew she was wise. Wiser than he, sometimes, for all that she was quick. Mortal. Sorrow sunk its talons in his heart as he nodded agreement against her cheek.
Then she pulled away and smiled at him. "I should go to that meeting. It's about Crestwood and the Wardens. Hawke'll be there and I love watching Cass when he's around. It's like she forgets how to talk."
Solas laughed, feeling a little lighter. "I have witnessed something of the sort myself. Hero worship, I take it?"
"Of the worst kind." She reached for a nearby towel and handed it to him, before grabbing another for herself. She dried her hair as she walked to her bureau.
Solas put on his own clothes as he found them, surprised at how they'd gotten so scattered. A chagrin filled him at his earlier eagerness, his vigorous enthusiasm. Surely he must be too old for such youthful abandon. As he pulled up his breeches, he turned to just catch her watching him, her lip worried to redness by her teeth. Her face colored as well as she found his gaze.
He huffed a near soundless chuckle, pleased that he affected her to some degree as she did him. Perhaps not as much, for it took all his restraint not to just toss her on the bed and have his way with her for the foreseeable future. Sighing, he sat to wrap his feet again.
The now-clothed Inquisitor moved past him and picked up the stack of hides that had somehow escaped being thrown about during their … diversion. She went to her hiding spot and lifted the stone to reveal a hollow. At the bottom of which sat a simple, black-bound book. The hides went on top, as he'd found them.
Then, she came back to stand before him. Solas drew her near by her hips and rested his forehead at her belly. Her thumbs played at his ears, a tingling distraction. She asked, "Later?"
He smiled against her shirt. "Without a doubt, yes."
"You owe me a story, after all. Quid pro quo, as the Tevinter say." She bounced over to the stairs, pausing to say, "Or a demonstration of this breath-holding trick."
"Why not both?" said he, with raised, lascivious brow. Then he had the visceral satisfaction of seeing her mouth drop open, then snap shut.
She dropped out of sight without another word, leaving him to himself and his thoughts. Never as delightful as her presence.
With a sigh, he wondered how he would get out of her room unnoticed.
In case someone should mention the timing of his departure to Josephine, who then might wonder why her Herald might bathe in his company.
Perhaps the balcony ….
A/N: Whew. Long and spicy chapter. The smut has landed. It is here. FINALLY. all that build up and they finally get down to bizniz. Hopefully not too cheesy. Though, like Alistair, I do love cheese. WITH A FIERY PASSION THAT BURNS LIKE ... fire? Poot. That fizzled out at the end there. Lol. Hopefully you've enjoyed this chapter as much as I had fun writing it. Anyway, comments and critiques are welcome, as always. Cheers!
Glossary of elvhen:
ma vhenan: my heart
emma lath: lit. my love
Fen'harel ver na: The Dread Wolf take you *snerk*
Tir'alas: the World (add 'ma' at the beginning and it becomes 'my world')
nuvenin: as you wish
ma serannas: my thanks
sathem: shortened, less formal 'thank you'
Ir abelas: i'm sorry
lath'din: Unloved (a very bad insult)
tel: a prefix that negates the following word, like since ir abelas means I'm sorry, then tel'abelas mean I'm not sorry.
ea son: (are)Be you well?
on nydha: good night
on dhea: good morning
da'len: child
da'len'en: children
hahren: teacher/guide/elder
That's all the ones that I can think of that are in this fic so far. I got most of them from fenxshiral's Project: Elvhen, a resource you can all find on ao3 or tumblr. It's pretty awesome, actually. It's as close to making elvhen a working language as I've seen, since Bioware didn't go so far as to invent a whole new one just for their games. I don't blame them. I wouldn't have either. So it's not a proper language, really. It's a cypher. So most likely they run english through a program to spit out 'elvhen'. This means that things like syntax/conjugation aren't consistently addressed, which is fine. That's what fanfic and things like Project: Elvhen are for. And really, fenxshiral did a wonderful job there.
(and is kind enough to give on the spot translations as long as you ask nice.)
