"Why are you so bald?" asked the boy, latest and hopefully last of the Dalish offerings to their demonic shadow killer. Solas looked down at the child and suppressed a stab of annoyance. This one liked to be difficult.
"Creators, Martinet, you can't just ask people why they're bald," said Moineau, sharp and full of rebuke.
"Why not?" said Martinet, insolence incarnate.
"Cause it's rude, that's why." Moineau smacked the boy on the back of the head. "Besides, it's obvious. He shaves. Just like they did to us."
"Nuh-uh. I never seen him shave and he don't get them black, bristly things that itch."
"It is called 'stubble,' and no, I do not get stubble," Solas said. But then both boys pierced him with a look that demanded answers. He felt oddly uncertain before those stares. "Is it not possible that I am nat—"
"He magics it off every night. A single wave of his staff and 'poof!' no more hair," Varric interrupted, as he strode into the rotunda.
Solas frowned at the guess that actually hit closer to the mark than what he'd been about to say. He once had hair, now he does not. A simple change more easily accomplished than a single lightning bolt, if one knew the knack of it. And if the world wasn't static, as it is now. A seeming is just that; a seeming. Though the bigger the shift from normative, from the shape one is most accustomed to, the harder it was to stabilize. Some could hold a strange shape forever.
Some could ride the winds as dragons.
Or … other things.
The boys rushed Varric with excited shouts. He laughed with them as they hung off his arms. Quite the accomplishment considering Varric only had a couple inches on them. Then the dwarf said to Solas, "They got you on babysitting duty, Chuckles?"
"No. They escaped their minders. I saw no harm in letting them wander for the time being." Solas gave a single magnanimous nod.
"Oh? Don't let the Inquisitor catch you kids. She'll haul you back to the sisters by your ears," said Varric, rumbling a chuckle.
Martinet announced, "I don't like her. She's mean. Like the shems."
"She's not mean. She's firm. You just don't like rules," retorted Moineau. His hair, grown and cut into a pageboy's bob, fanned out as he shook his head.
"Shem's rules!" said Martinet, sticking his tongue out in disgust.
"Don't blame the Inquisitor! You earned those swats for throwing rocks at the cats!" Moineau's face grew ruddy in anger. "She's a great lady. Good and pretty and noble. Cullen says." As though that settled the subject.
"'Cullen says,'" mocked the balder boy. "If she wants to be a shem so bad, someone should cut off her ears!"
They all four froze. Taken aback, Solas took in a huge breath to say, stern, "Da'len!"
At his sharp rebuke, Martinet dropped his gaze to the ground. Even Moineau looked guilty.
Varric muttered, as an aside, "Wow. Nice dad-voice."
A little shocked himself that it worked, Solas said, "Varric, would you mind taking Moineau back to the sisters? I think perhaps Martinet and I should talk."
"Sure thing. I've been meaning to drop in over there anyway. I have a new story for the girls."
The way Martinet looked after the retreating pair, longing and envy, told Solas that the boy really wanted to hear, too. Perhaps not getting to hear would be punishment enough.
Martinet dragged his toe through the dust on the stone floor and shot little uncertain glances up at him. Solas shifted and the boy flinched.
Tilting his head, the apostate said, "I am not going to strike you, da'len."
Doubt suffused the boy's features. He said, sullen, "Oh yeah? Then what are you going to do?"
"As I said, talk." Solas sat at his desk and gestured for Martinet to take the seat opposite. Which the boy did, with ill grace. The apostate considered Martinet over folded hands.
After a long while, where the boy became increasingly fidgety and agitated, Martinet said, "Well?"
"Your accent is Ferelden. Were you born in an Alienage?" A startled double-take confirmed Solas's guess.
"Yeah. What about it?"
"I was only curious. How did you end up with the Dalish?"
Anger and hurt flared in the boy's eyes. Along with no small amount of shame. Ah, a sore spot. So strange how all these cast-off children had that in common. Some great wrong they feel they committed in their short, brutal lives.
Martinet said, guarded, "Old Bannon brought us to the wood when the town burned down."
"Is Old Bannon an elf?"
"Yeah, he had the—" The boy gestured to his face, drawing imaginary lines.
"Vallaslin."
"Yeah." The lamplight reflected shards of deep unease in Martinet's eyes.
Solas said, "Is your hatred for the shemlen connected to the town burning down?"
Martinet jerked upright, eyes hard as diamond. He sneered and shrugged. "I'm not sorry."
Yet something in his stare said the opposite, to some degree.
Reserving judgement from expression and tone, Solas said, "I don't believe that is the complete truth, but if you need to talk about it, I am listening."
"And if I don't want to talk about it?" challenged Martinet.
"Then you do not have to." Solas stared back, open and honest. "But some secrets poison the spirit, until you are as one dead. But worse, because the dead are just dead, and so cannot pass on that same hurt to others."
The boy's brows shot up in surprise and disbelief. Then his face shifted to thoughtfulness. His fingers tapped over his bottom lip. "They … they liked to take the little ones. To hurt and play with. Most of us were slippery and quick enough to get away. Just made'em try harder."
"Who are 'they?'"
"Big boys. Shem kids older'n us. I was lucky. I never been caught. Until …." He swallowed hard, narrowed eyes shining with unspent tears. Face twisting in rage, Martinet said, "Well, they got theirs. I laughed and laughed as they burned in that workhouse. But I didn't mean for it to—"
The boy's lips clamped shut. His throat bobbed in held back emotion.
Solas finished for him, "For it to spread to the Alienage."
"Old Bannon grabbed me and a couple other kids, but by then the whole village went up." Martinet sighed, grimacing. "Then the Dalish didn't want me either after they found out what I done. They shaved off my hair and took my name away. I didn't know anyone could do that."
"It's a cruel habit of adults to take advantage of a child's credulity." Solas shook his head. Then smiled at the way Martinet bristled at the word 'child.' "Ah, forgive me. A … young person of limited experience."
The boy's face said he wondered if that was better or not.
Solas said, "So what was your name?"
A small, pleased smile alighted on Martinet's face. "Mum called me Elric. I hate it, though."
Solas chuckled. He stood and gestured for 'Elric' to follow. Climbing the stairs to the library, he called to Dorian, "Ser Pavus, do you perchance know where that tome on Ferelden names might be?"
The Tevinter hummed and threw his crossed ankles off the balustrade. "It's still over with languages and etymologies, no?"
"Ah, found it," said Solas, after a moment of digging in the indicated section. A surprisingly thick book that made a deep thump when he set it down before Martinet. "Can you read?"
"A little," admitted the boy with a frown. "Enough to puzzle out most things."
Solas leaned over him and flipped through page after page until he found the general area. "This is a book of names and their origins. They are listed alphabetically. Find yours."
Bending to the task, the boy mumbled as he read aloud, finger skirting along word after word. Dorian sauntered close to stand at 'Elric's other shoulder. The Tevinter mage started to point, but Solas reached across and pushed that arm down.
With a decisive jab at the paper, the boy looked up at him and smirked, triumphant and proud. Feeling an echo of that himself for the child, he obediently leaned closer and read aloud, "Elric. From Old Avvar: Ælfric. 'Ælf' meaning 'elf' and 'ric' meaning 'ruler or power.'"
"Someone had ambitious parents," said Dorian with a grin.
Solas hummed agreement. He looked down at the thrice-named boy and said, "Names may be given. Or they may be taken for oneself. Or even left behind. But they are not for others to steal away. And think it righteous anyway. In elvhen, your name would be Ha'raj, though it may garner you a few odd looks."
Picking up a nearby quill, Solas wrote the name in flowing elvhen script on a scrap piece of parchment.
"Why?" said the boy, his eyes greedy as he watched the word form on the paper.
"Because there are no kings among the elvhen," replied he, adding after a significant pause, "any more."
He handed the parchment to the boy with the extremely ambitious parents and smiled to see the wonder in his gaze. 'Elric' said, "Do you know a lot about elves?"
"Oh, here we go," said Dorian, wandering away to his nook.
"I know much about the ancient elvhen, yes. You know I am a mage? Well, when I sleep, I dream of the past. I've seen glories long gone from the world. Flying cities. Elemental beasts bigger than dragons. Battles whose shattered echoes ring through the Fade like the last strains of half-remembered song." Aware his homily had ventured toward the poetic, he shook his head.
The glow in young 'Elric's eyes gratified him. The boy's mouth hung open in awe.
Solas said, "Do you know why what you said about the Inquisitor was so awful?"
Guilt took that light away, but not too far. 'Elric' said, shaking his head, "No. Why?"
"Once we were mighty. Once we held the whole of Thedas in our hands, to sculpt as one does clay. Elvhenan and its greatest city, Arlathan, coasted the rising swells and falling furrows of countless centuries, untouched by death and decay." Solas ran his thumb over the cleft in his chin, gazing inward upon the distant past. Old sorrows that still stung fresh as today's wounds. "But it fell. It fell because even in the midst of all that immortal beauty and grace, there was still room for cruelty. For ugliness and betrayal. And petty evils."
The boy reflected his sadness. "I'm sorry."
About Arlathan? Or about what he said? Or both?
Solas patted him on the shoulder. "I know. But we have to be better. Though others choose not to, and stab at us with their own pains. We have to try to break the wheel. How can we hope to rise again if we cannot be better?"
Blinking, the boy said, "I think I'll stick with Martinet. At least for a while."
Solas laughed. "As you will." And he gestured that the boy was free to go, if he chose.
Stepping toward the stairwell, Martinet spun and said, "Do you think I could come back? And, um, hear some more about the elvhen, Ser Solas?"
With a smile, Solas nodded.
"For someone who professes to not knowing how to deal with children, you do remarkably well," commented Dorian.
"Understanding is slow going still, I'm afraid," confessed he. "I find it seems to go well if I just treat them like tiny adults."
"Say that when they start crying for no discernable reason and won't tell you why," said Leliana, from above.
"So the bloom is off the rose, is it, Spymaster?" called the Tevinter up towards the ceiling.
"No. I still adore them, but it is nice to take a break from them from time to time. It reminds me why I never chose to become a mother myself."
"Typical aunt. Always there to pass out the sweeties, but never there to endure the sticky aftermath." Dorian snorted. To Solas, he said, "That kid just made your day, didn't he. Finally, someone else's ear to pour the tragic tale of Elvhenan into."
"He wants to learn, and by teaching, perhaps I can rectify the many terrible misconceptions floating around out there. Every little bit counts." Solas turned on his heel and walked to the stairs, hands clasped behind his back.
He turned the corner at the bottom to see a welcome surprise. Tir'alas stood and considered his latest mural, hand to chin. The smile came unbidden to his face, along with a warm rush of affection. "Vhenan."
Her answering smile as she turned smote him like the light of dawn. "Solas."
His heart swelled at that sweet sound. He went to stand near, but not too near. Tir'alas raised a brow and took a single step forward, so they nearly touched chest to chest. She wet her lips and his attention magnetized to those bowing, carnadine invitations. He leaned forward, drawn like moth to flame.
Her soft breath puffed into his face as she spoke, "So, word is you've discovered something about those tablets."
She spoke loud, for the benefit of those above, no doubt. Playing her game, he replied, "Yes, Inquisitor. Described as shards in every manuscript, but I didn't know why until I discussed the issue with Enchanter Renaud via raven. The actual shard is within the tablet …."
He stalled as her lips ghosted along his jawline to his earlobe, giving it a nibble that set his nerves ablaze. His hand found her hip and squeezed, thumb sliding under her shirt to touch her warm belly. It twitched under his caress. A couple weeks since they'd become intimate and the hunger never abated. The strength of it dizzied and awed him in the same breath.
His other hand reached for his desk, picking up a glowing remnant no larger than his thumbnail. Handing it to her, Solas declared, "Dagna is busy breaking down the rest and whatever others our scouts find."
She pocketed the find. "We must have quite a stack by now."
"Yes."
Meanwhile, her hands busied themselves at his waist, raking nails up his ribs. He barely felt it through the woolen tunic, but the tingling sensation begged a moan he suppressed with difficulty. Turning her with his grip on her hip, he stepped forward until the back of her legs hit desk.
Tir'alas hopped onto it with nary a sound, thighs spreading to cradle him between her knees. Solas dropped his head to kiss at the base of her throat. A powerful wave of arousal snapped like a whip through him, and he just resisted rolling his hips into her, and rut against her like an animal.
Her voice a tad hoarse, she said, matter of fact, "Good. Any idea what they're for?"
"Renaud and I, hngh," the soft noise escaped him as her wicked teeth found the sensitive point of one ear. Solas pulled back to shake his head at her in consternation. "—found evidence in that scroll we procured of a possible ancient elvhen ruin far to the west."
Mischief and danger lurked in her blown pupils as she replied, nonchalant, "Let me guess. Near the Hissing Wastes? In a certain oasis?"
"Astute, as always," he said, fingers finding that one spot behind her knee that had proved most … sensitive. Her mouth dropped open in a near soundless sigh. Longs legs wrapped around his waist and yanked him to her. His knee thumped the desk and they both froze.
Tir'alas looked up, eyeing the many balconies where just anyone could look down and catch them in so compromising a position. A satisfied smirk bent her lips again as she again looked deep into his eyes. Her palm slid down and cupped him below, squeezing.
It took every ounce of will not to rip off her breeches right then and have her. Her face flushed as she took in his dark hunger. Her throat bobbed, transfixing him. How he longed to suck the flesh there and mark her. Instead, he settled for catching her lips with his, worrying her bottom lip between his teeth. Just a bare second of such torturous ecstasy, then he pulled away.
She swayed toward him, eyes closed. Then she blinked and focused dazed silver irises on him. Swallowing, she said, "We leave for Crestwood on the morrow. Have you everything you need?"
'Not hardly,' he mouthed, dragging his fingers along her thighs. How she squirmed then. Out loud, he said, "A tent?" Big enough for two. But he didn't need to say that part.
"I'll see what I can do," said she, hopping off his desk and stepping around him. He turned to watch the interesting sway of her hips. He hoped that extra little bounce was because him, or rather, for him.
"Vhenan," he said, by way of farewell. He just saw the corner of a saucy smile as the door to the main hall closed. Palming his stiff cock into a more comfortable position, he sighed.
Movement above caught his attention. Dorian peered over the rail and mouthed, 'You're not fooling anyone.'
Frowning, Solas shrugged. What concern was it of the Tevinter's? He went back to his research with visions of her pulling at his imagination. The taste of sweet breath mingling with his.
A pleasant distraction while the rest of his mind worked through yet another tedious translation.
A/N: Again, a long delay before I could post this chapter. Had to go visit the fambly for a few days. Anyway, here is more silly Solavellan stuff! Hope you enjoy. All comments and critiques are welcome, as usual.
