Eternity in your arms
They didn't know how they got there. Sitting around a large rectangular table, the members of the inquisition had gradually separated over the evening into two distinct groups. Gathered around the inquisitor, the women had turned their backs on their male teammates. They criticized the men in front of the latter's sometimes amazed and sometimes amused eyes, while getting drunk on wine. Unsurprisingly, their biggest critics turned out to be Cassandra and Sera. While the Seeker blamed the men for their annoying tendency to think they were superior to women, an argument that was validated by the entire female audience, the archer's critics focused mainly on their poor sexual abilities.
"What? You thought I was born a lesbian? I became one knowingly. There's only one woman who can fully satisfy another woman..." With a charming smile on her lips, the blonde winked at a blushing Josephine.
Faced with the audacity of the city elf, the ambassador couldn't hold back a giggle. With a certain amount of amusement, she took part in the little game initiated by her teammate. Alcohol, when consumed with enthusiasm, had the power to loosen tongues and to make the most reserved ones go wild.
Sitting at the head of the table, Rosal'in would simply listen to the conversation. When a remark seemed relevant to her, she would respond in a more or less evasive manner or would stick to a discreet little laugh. Unlike her counterparts, she was only on her second glass of wine. No sooner had she finished it than Sera refilled her glass. The liquor she poured into it seemed very peculiar to Andraste's chosen one. When she brought it to her lips, she couldn't help but wince at the smell of the brownish liquid.
"Don't be so coy, Inky! Down the hatch!"
The said Inky wince at the disparaging remark of her subordinate. She wasn't coy. The only reason she stuck to two glasses of wine was because she didn't want to compromise herself in front of such an assembly. Especially in front of Solas. Although it was rare to see him accept an invitation to the tavern, the apostate seemed rudely accommodated to the consumption of alcohol. While most of the table was in a drunken frenzy, his cheekbones had barely begun to turn red. Iron Bull was laughing loudly at Blackwall's salacious jokes, while Cullen almost protested at such vulgarity. Varric was so amused by the commander's reactions that he immediately began to tease him.
Nevertheless, when they heard the challenge to the inquisitor, their attention was immediately redirected to her. All eyes were on the young Dalish woman and her glass. Although she was unaware of its contents, she suspected that the drink that had just been served to her must have been a tough one, for the scent emanating from it almost irritated her nose. Driven by a pride inherent in every Dalish in Thedas, Rosal'in took up the challenge and swallowed her drink in one gulp to the cheers of her audience. Only when she felt her senses deteriorate did she inwardly curse her misplaced pride. Clinging to her chair with her head tilted, her body no longer seemed to be governed by the laws of physics. In spite of the buzzing that crippled her hearing, she heard laughter.
"This was a very bad idea, inquisitor..." remarked Dorian between two controlled laughs. "This Tevinter alcohol is for the most seasoned."
The dragon slayer gave Sera a reproving glance, but soon resigned herself when she saw her laughing out loud. Although it was at the expense of her precious inquisitor, this warm atmosphere brought the team some balm to their hearts. And as the Maker himself witnessed, they needed it.
"I don't think she can hear you, Sparkler..." replied Master Thetras to the Tevinter mage, a mug of beer in hand. "Our intrepid herald has gone to find the prophetess."
A general laughter took over the table. The specialist of the Fade himself, despite his taciturn temperament, let a clear and frank laugh escape from his throat.
"She'll be back soon, and we can finally get it out of her! I'll bet she's not as flawless as she looks!" Sera twisted herself laughing in her chair at Rosal'in's dazed expression.
"You deliberately got the inquisitor drunk in order to extract information about her private life? This is unforgivable!"
Cullen was nervously observing the reactions of his superior, worried about her condition.
"What if her drunkenness had some influence on the anchor? Your childishness can endanger her!"
"There's nothing to worry about, Commander. Alcohol atrophies her senses and thus limits her cognitive abilities. As it stands now, she wouldn't even be able to produce a spark."
As Solas intervened to reassure the Ferelden Templar, he scrupulously observed every reaction, however slight, of the young elf to his left. Supported by her elbows, which she had just placed on the table, Rosal'in remained silent for more than ten minutes with her head in her hands. She tried to call to reason, or at least to some order, her mind tangled in a hellish cacophony. This pandemoniac saraband faded after a long process of reconquest her senses.
By the time she finally managed to regain control of the emerging part of her psyche, conversations had resumed. Dorian and Iron Bull, under the guise of a so-called rivalry, flirted happily together while Blackwall questioned Solas about the naughty possibilities offered by the world beyond the Veil. The young woman noted that this question seemed to obsess him to an unimaginable degree. Unless it was a method, albeit a bit gruff, to break down the mask of impassivity of his interlocutor.
Women, on the other hand, continued to point out the worst male flaws inherent in all men, regardless of race. Just as Rosal'in straightened up to get properly seated in her chair so that she could face her companions with dignity, the bowman turned in her direction with a sarcastic expression on her face.
"So, Inqui, are you ready to give us some juicy information about the hectic love life of an heiress of the lost elven empire?" This cynical and sneaky remark had the merit firstly of making the person concerned smile, and secondly of attracting the attention of the person whose fate of the Elvish empire seemed to be the converging point of his existence. "How are the Dalish in bed? They are rare specimens around here, they don't mix with the common people, you see..."
Rosal'in considered the question for a short while before conceding to answer it. After all, answering her friends' questions and at the same time slightly spilling over into her personal life wouldn't do her any harm.
"To hang out with a city elf is seen as dishonorable by most Dalish. All the more so if the relationship goes beyond simple friendship. But it's not as bad as making out with a human... Anyone who has a love affair with a human is considered a traitor, is rejected and is given the sweet nickname of "Harellan", the traitor to one's kin. At least that's the theory. In practice, there is greater tolerance for Dalish men sleeping with humans than the other way around. Their action is perceived as an act of domination over humans. Taking them like an animal is for some a bestial way to get revenge on the shemlen. As for Dalish women... They must preserve themselves." As she stared into the void, Rosal'in scanned her mind in search of the slightest memory that could complete her testimony. A testimony that was unflattering at first glance, she remarked.
"What a bunch of weirdos…So you're breeding between members of the same family? Like those backward fuckers who are our leaders?"
It was the inquisitor's turn to laugh out loud. Alcohol seemed to make her much more outspoken than she was used to, and this unusual behavior once again drew the collective attention to her.
"That was a long time ago. But inbreeding has forced us to make alliances between different clans."
"Do you have any notable families in your ranks?"
Solas' intervention surprised her. She didn't think that Dalish morals and customs would arouse his curiosity.
"Of course. The clans come from the nobility that once ruled over the Dales." She replied hesitantly.
Before the apostate could reply, Sera cut him off.
"You're one of those families, aren't you? You some kind of Dalish princess or some shit like that?"
"As the First of the Keeper, I am part of the main bloodline, the one reputed to have the purest blood. However, we no longer have a proper hierarchy, so no, I'm not a princess." she replied, laughing again. "Especially since my clan doesn't have unanimous support among the Dalish. Our promiscuity with humans has made other clans suspicious of us."
"That's all well and good, Inqui, but why don't we get back to the matter at hand? How are the Dalish in bed?" The city elf repeated her question with a mocking smile.
The inquisitor couldn't help but blush further at such a question. The answer obviously implied her own experience and she didn't want to be seen as a slut in the eyes of those she now considered her own family. For a brief moment her gaze crossed Solas's, who seemed to be hanging on her lips. She wanted even less to disappoint the man with whom she had recently shared tender moments of loving complicity.
"Well, I guess they aren't that different from other men, whether they're elves, humans, dwarves or qunaris."
Iron Bull laughed mockingly and banged his fist violently on the table.
"I can assure you, Boss, Qunaris cannot be compared to any other race of Thedas. Whether it be in appearance or practice... I will be happy to introduce you to the pleasures of Qun if you wish." He punctuated his tirade with a charming wink that accentuated the redness present on Rosal'in's cheekbones.
Before she could say anything back, she heard her lover suddenly taking the floor.
"I'm afraid the inquisitor isn't interested in your subtle invitation, Iron Bull." The apostate mage plunged his steely blue eyes into the qunari's silvery gaze, silently intimidating him to recant.
"Are you jealous, Solas?" A carnivorous smile stretched the Ben-Hassrath's lips as he leaned towards his interlocutor, his forearm resting on the table.
The rift mage smiles arrogantly. The various spirits he had ingested in the last few hours seemed to loosen his tongue, prompting him to react with an impulse worthy of his youth.
As the two subordinates stared at each other, Sera promptly turned away from the spectacle before her eyes to once again direct her attention to the object of her predilection.
"Wait a minute... Don't tell me..." She stared at the herald's face in disbelief for a few moments before giggling loudly. "You and Solas? Seriously Inky? Isn't he a little old for you? Unless mature men are your thing..."
"Come on, love has no age, Sera!" This time it was the sweet Josie who spoke, no doubt encouraged by the glass of whisky she held in one hand.
"Josephine is right, the age gap doesn't matter as long as the feelings are sincere." Cassandra added, amused by this somewhat surprising news.
Rosal'in's cheeks suddenly turned scarlet. The conversations had taken a dangerous turn, now focused on the secret love affair between the two elves.
"So you were wooing our young inquisitor behind our backs! You were hiding your game well, Chuckles!" In a friendly gesture, Varric gave a fraternal pat on the dreamer's shoulder, while Dorian sent a glance full of innuendo to the qunari sitting to his left.
"A mature man is like a good wine; there is nothing more exquisite. Solas is to our dearest Rosal'in what a great wine is to an oenophile."
Once again, everyone laughed out loud. Only the victims of this innocent banter remained silent, exchanging a few cautious glances with each other when the opportunity arose. The inquisitor tried as best she could to ignore the dirty remarks the archer said to her between sips of beer.
"Bet he calls out "Elven glory" when he does it."
Appalled by her friend's misplaced cheekiness, Rosal'in stared at her for a brief moment before looking at the mug of beer that the bartender had just served her. In fact, she was completely unaware of her mentor's approach to the carnal act. Until now, their love escapades stolen at the bend of a corridor or a mountain path had never gone beyond what was proper. In spite of a few voluptuous hugs, the two lovers had remained chaste. Solas was careful to temper their ardour, so that his young partner, out of shyness, didn't dare to insist any more. She was afraid of disappointing him, of seeing the way he saw her change. That the spark of adoration that she could discern in his eyes, when he placed his silver irises on her, gives way to disillusionment and disgust.
She promised to be patient, to let him come to her. Like a wild wolf unaccustomed to her presence and her caresses, he shuddered with apprehension when they became more insistent, less innocent. He would then skillfully grab her hands and kiss them gently, then apologize for distracting her from her duties before urging her to resume the tasks she had put on hold for him. Until now, he had never pushed her away, but this didn't stop the young woman from physically challenging herself. The apostate kept complimenting her sagacity, that finesse of mind she seemed to have inherited from another age. As for her appearance, he had so far refrained from comment. Perhaps she simply wasn't to his liking. Perhaps she was too young.
Struggling with her ruminations, Rosal'in unintentionally ignored Sera's reiterations who eventually grew weary of her passivity. The friend of red jenny then decided to move on and pulled out a deck of cards that she placed in front of her before smiling mischievously at her teammates.
"Who's up for a game of wicked grace?"
At the sight of the cards, the ambassador uttered an exclamation of joy and then rubbed her hands.
"I'm in!"
Some reticence arose among the guests. The Grey Warden and the Commander had bitter memories of their last card games against Solas and Josephine. Apart from their clothes and their dignity, they had lost all the contents of their purses during the festivities. However, this reticence was soon swept away by the general state of drunkenness which ruled the tavern.
Despite her affection for her friends and these precious moments spent in their company, the inquisitor decided it was time for her to retire. Although her senses had calmed down, she didn't feel up to standing against the experts at the table. The Tevinter alcohol was slowly beginning to make her ill.
"I'll pass. As things stand, I'm afraid I'll be completely naked before the end of the first run…" She punctuated with a slight smile, taking care not to stumble as she got up cautiously.
"You're not gonna leave now, huh? The party's only just started!" With a hint of disappointment in her voice, the archer watched the inquisitor walk to the door.
"It's your fault, Buttercup! " Varric replied as he watched Josephine deal the cards.
Rosal'in couldn't help but smile at the disappointment not only of Sera, but also of the rest of the table. The apostate watched her swinging gait for a brief moment before getting up and joining her.
"Allow me to escort you home, Inquisitor."
"Don't worry about me, Solas. You're lucky you're still in good condition. Enjoy the game." She gave him a warm smile, urging him to enjoy the evening.
"I insist." He offered her his arm in a gallant gesture.
She hesitated somewhat, she didn't want him to deprive himself of a moment of joy because of her misplaced pride. It was only when she met his tender gaze that she decided to respond positively to his proposal. With her cheeks slightly rosy, she grabbed his arm under the joking remarks of their companions.
"Solas, when I said I wished I could have seen you make the flowers bloom at the sound of your voice, I meant the flowers, not the inquisitor... Though her name may have misled you." Exclaimed the Altus as the two lovers left the tavern under Rosal'in's hurried footsteps.
_
A deep but subtle laughter was heard in the night, filling the darkness with an ingenuous lightness to which the old fortress of Skyhold was little accustomed. No sooner had they left the tavern than the inquisitor had hurried to the castle. When she reached the steps leading to the main building, Solas saw her wince and couldn't help smiling. The latter was further accentuated when, looking both embarrassed and determined, she began to climb the steps one by one while leaning on his shoulder as he firmly grasped her waist to stabilize her in her enterprise.
They finally overcame this ordeal after an ascent which for Rosal'in seemed to be equivocal to that of the Frostback Mountains, so great was the effort required. When she reached the summit, she suddenly felt her stomach contracting. No sooner had she bent over the ditch than it gave back to nature what she had swallowed out of pride an hour earlier. Immediately, she tried to conceal this humiliating aspect of herself from her partner's sight by pushing him back to the throne room. Despite her many attempts, Solas remained firmly at her side. His first reaction was to carefully pull her hair out of her face and gently hold it in a low ponytail.
"Don't look at me..."
"It's only vomit, Rosal'in."
Although she was terribly embarrassed by the spectacle she was unwittingly offering him, his presence by her side comforted her. With his free hand, he stroked her back slowly in a reassuring and affectionate gesture. It took her a few minutes before her stomach decided to calm down. Only when her trembling stopped did he lead her to the rotunda and then to the sofa near his desk.
"Wait for me here, I'll be right back." He said, putting a rebellious curl back behind her ear before disappearing down a corridor.
The young woman stared for a brief moment at the place where darkness had just caught her lover until her migraine overcame her curiosity. Slowly, she let herself slide against the armrest, folded her legs and closed her eyes. Confused by the side effects of alcohol, she didn't hear Solas return. The mage smiled tenderly when he saw her lying down and slightly drowsy. In order to warn her of his return and not to catch her unprepared, he purposely increased his pace as he got closer to her.
Rosal'in opened her eyes immediately and quickly straightened up at the sight of her mate. He had brought back from his excursion a wooden basin, a clean cloth and a flask with greenish contents that made her wince. The apostate laughed slightly at his reaction before placing the basin on the pedestal table next to the sofa and immediately filling it with warm water with a wave of his hand. He then handed the young elf the decoction he had prepared for her during his absence.
"Drink this, it will relieve your ills."
"Ma serannas, lethallin." She thanked him as she grasped the potion.
Taking advantage of the promiscuity of their hands, she delicately brushed his fingers in a soft caress while she plunged her emerald look in his azure eyes. A soft smile appeared on her elder's lips, subtly accentuating the withering of time at the corners of his eyelids and mouth. The inquisitor couldn't deny Sera's accusations, she liked mature men. Or at least, she loved the wisdom that her mentor radiated in every move, in every word. Wisdom that could only be acquired through life experience.
In fact, she also liked the unalterable testimony of his advanced age in his face and body. Nevertheless, though sharing a mutual affection, Solas had never confided his age to she was at his side, she would observe him, studying every wrinkle in the same way that one studies the stump of a tree to estimate his old age.
A hand resting delicately on her cheek pulled her from her mental peregrinations, anchoring her back to reality.
"Staring at me like that won't help your migraine, inquisitor..."
The Dalish's cheeks suddenly took on an exquisite pinkish hue, extirpating an amused expression from her closest adviser. His reaction turned Rosal'in's surprise into an embarrassed pout. Without saying a word, she brought the potion to her lips and swallowed its contents in one gulp. Contrary to what she had expected, the taste was not unpleasant, quite the contrary. The remedy tasted of spices and left a pleasant minty touch in the mouth which made the aftertaste of bile that had taken its place there disappear in a few moments.
"I took the liberty of adding a few mint leaves to the remedy. I thought you might want to get rid of this bitterness as soon as possible." Explained the rift mage before pointing to the basin he had brought a few minutes before. "Refresh yourself, it will help to get rid of your migraine and dizziness."
"What would I do without your thoughtfulness and delicate attentions, hahren?" Rosal'in replied with a touch of mischief as she skillfully dipped her hands in the water and then rinsed her face.
"Well, you'd probably be on your knees, head in a bush, dal'en." He replied with a slight grin.
As she was about to retort, she was promptly interrupted by Solas who meticulously began to mop up the drops of water that were beading down her jaw and threatening the ornate collar of her tunic.
"Or you'd be at Iron Bull's side, ready to be introduced to the pleasures of Qun..."
His last comment had been a whisper, subtle, inaudible to anyone but her. A veil to which she was unaccustomed had tarnished for a few moments the hitherto mischievous gaze of her mentor. At least, it wasn't that she was unfamiliar with this expression, but rather that it seemed as if she had never seen it on her lover's face, usually imbued with an enigmatic temerity that his most presumptuous detractors had come up against. This expression was more familiar to the commander of her armed forces. The first time he had caught them together, in a deserted alleyway of the library, his features had immediately deformed under the wrath of jealousy raging deep inside him. Like a hurricane sweeping away all traces of life in its path, surprising his beloved inquisitor with the apostate elf had swept away the hope he had secretly cherished since their meeting of occupying in her heart the place now occupied by Solas.
With a hesitant hand, Rosal'in delicately grasped the apostate's hand and pressed her cheek against his half-open palm. For a moment, as if she was about to reveal the depths of her soul, she remained silent, weighing every word that would cross the threshold of her mouth and reveal to her elder the desires of her heart.
"It is at your side that I am, ma vhenan'ara."
Solas' response was not immediate. Disconcerted by his lover's confession, he contemplated her for a long time. He wouldn't have been able to estimate the length of time he stared at her, analysing her slightest facial expressions in order to spot any sign that would contradict the verbal commitment she had just made. Had she done it without knowing it? Did the Dalish remember the symbolic value of this affectionate term? The restraint she had shown seemed to indicate that they were aware of its meaning, however, the evanuri couldn't be satisfied with mere supposition. If she uttered these words, she must have been aware of the responsibilities involved. Love had never been a trivial thing in the ancient times of Elvhenan. He surprised himself to hope that it was the same for their heirs.
Faced with the mage's lack of reaction, Rosal'in bowed her head to escape his inquisitive gaze. Perhaps it was too soon. She cursed her sensitivity that had forced her to make this sudden and unexpected confession. From now on she expected nothing more and nothing less than rejection. It was only when she felt his hand gently raise her face that a glimmer of hope shone again.
"Ma vhenan'ara?" His voice was soft, his astonishment perceptible. He had dropped at their feet the cloth he had just used and had taken advantage of this freedom of movement to fully grasp her face in a loving gesture.
"You don't know the meaning of this express-"
"Yes, I do, do you? Are you fully aware of its meaning?" He slowly caressed her jaw and the base of her ear, his gaze deeply anchored in hers.
The fair skin of her cheeks immediately took on a reddish shimmering hue, adorning the face of the Andrastian messiah with a youthful innocence. Never before had she experienced such a degree of intimacy, not even when her first lover, a Dalish warrior of the Sabrae clan ten years older than she was, had made her a woman. Her vow committed not only her body, but also her soul. Keeper Deshanna had made sure that her apprentice understood the sanctity of this declaration inherited from the age of Arlathan. A declaration that accentuated the cleavage between the shemlen and elven love manifestations as their differences were rooted in the dissimilarity between the two races.
As Solas had explained so well to Sera on many occasions, the rhythm of their ancestors' language resounded in them like the song of life, allowing them to feel the nuances hidden behind the obscure terms used. The inquisitor still remembered the day she had discovered this expression in one of the many manuscripts made available to her by the clan's keeper as part of her formation. The way it danced on her tongue and made her heart vibrate, the teenager immediately understood its importance. She would only use it when fate would bring someone who could make her vibrate in the same tone.
"Ar ame, ma sa'lath." Rosal'in finally said in a sigh to the one who wielded the instrument of her soul with such dexterity and expertise.
A smile of infinite tenderness then illuminated the artist's face as he bowed to better contemplate his darling. Lovingly, he began to stroke with his thumbs her cheekbones made crimson by shyness. How he loved to see her lose her means, the powerful inquisitor, Chosen of Andraste and Messiah of Thedas. She blushed at every move he made, like a young girl in bloom, in the throes of her first love affair. Her reserve certainly betrayed her youth and inexperience, but it awakened in Solas a primary desire that he had long believed extinguished, condemned to exile alongside his beloved Arlathan. Paradoxically, it was his desperate love for his Dalish lover that prevented him from succumbing to the sin of the flesh. Once the sin had been committed, the separation would only be harder.
This refusal to honour her in lies, however, came up against the way she looked at him, a look full of adoration, affection and hope. A selfless gaze that had been able to see beyond the veil he tried to keep between him and the outside world at every moment of the day and night. Despite the image he deliberately painted of a penniless apostate wanderer, Rosal'in looked at him as no one had ever looked at him before, not even at the height of his divine glory. The mere thought dulled his senses, shattered his self-restraint.
His restraint fell into disuse as he slowly began to trace the contours of the young elf's luscious lips. Under the gentle pressure of his fingers, she opened them, allowing his to capture them in a slow, gentle kiss of exquisite sweetness. Almost instinctively, she embraced his neck, inexorably bringing their two bodies struck with fervor together. Taking advantage of this closeness to embrace her waist with one hand while with the second he held her head firmly in an angle conducive to their carnal frenzy, Solas skillfully slipped his tongue into her mouth. Rosal'in sighed slightly at this pleasant intrusion, making the offender smile on her lips. As the mage's mouth grew greedier and took more voluptuous laments from the young inquisitor, murmurs from the library suddenly interrupted them. Guards watched them from the railing, exchanging smiles and libidinous comments.
"Your soldiers seem to enjoy the show." He whispered in the hollow of her ear as he gently wiped the saliva from the corner of her lips. "But I can't blame them. I must admit that I also enjoy it very much."
The sensation of his breath against her ear made her shiver. It was hot and humid, an almost tropical dampness that invited her to the sweetest ramblings and prevented her from reasoning coherently.
"How about..." She pursed her lips and took a deep breath to give herself courage. By Mythal, she felt as if she was behaving like a teenager. "How about pursuing it somewhere else?"
It was Solas' turn to breathe deeply, not for lack of audacity, but to soothe the craving he felt in his groin. This sensation, now familiar, whose frequency of manifestations depended on the good will of his inquisitor, incited him to let go, to drop the mask. He wanted her more than rightly. But this impetuous desire, faced with the devoted love that he felt for her, fell silent and faded away, giving way to a devotion that made him bend his abstinence he imposed on their relationship wasn't a sign of indifference to Rosal'in's charms, but of his consideration for the candor of his feelings. She was so innocent, so young. In view of her modesty, he didn't grant her more than two partners, certainly older.
From the moment she arrived at Haven, he had noticed her inclination for mature men, her eyes lingering more on her elders than on young men of her age. He still remembered the young squire trying to attract her attention and win her favours, while Rosal'in barely noticed his presence and blushed at Commander Rutherford's clumsy attempts. The mage was astonished to find her receptive to the advances of what her people disdainfully called a "shemlen". When their relationship became ambiguous, he surprised himself by insistently observing the human, wondering what might well arouse the interest of his counterpart. Despite the Templar's indisputable charm, the spiritual bond that was established between the two elves quickly swept the young leader's interest in him from her heart. The evanuri initially feared that this connection was due to the anchor, that it was pushing its bearer towards its creator. However, when he realised that his magic had no influence on his lover, he realised that the latter was simply sensitive to his attraction, just as he was sensitive to hers.
Never before had he felt a feeling like the one that animated his millennia old heart when his young lover stood beside him. Ironically, fate had made his soul mate one of his all-too-many victims. As a Dalish, she was raised in fear of Fen'Harel. As the First of the Keeper, her role was to protect her clan from the Dread Wolf. How would she react if she learned that the man she cherished and embraced so dearly was none other than the god her people feared so much and blamed for the decline of their race ? Although his love was sincere, he couldn't resign himself to abusing her ignorance.
Solas straightened up and took a step back.
"In view of your condition, it would be wiser if you went to rest, ma vhenan."
He refused her invitation in a tender tone and was about to chastely kiss her cheek when Rosal'in turned her head to be out of his reach, leaving him speechless. It was the first time she had pushed him away, and the simple gesture was more painful than anything he had endured since his awakening.
"Why are you pushing me away?" Her voice trembled and betrayed a throat that had been tied by emotion, a mixture of sadness and anger. "If I'm not to your liking, why did you become so jealous of Iron Bull?" As Solas was about to answer her accusations, she interrupted him immediatly. "I ain't a child that can be silenced with a kiss, Solas." Her eyes, bathed in tears, reflected the pain the apostate's latest rejection had inflicted on her.
No sooner had a tear rolled down her milky cheek than Solas was kneeling in front of her, his face level with hers, using his thumb to chase away the unwelcome one.
"It was never my intention to silence you, ma vhenan." He left her face in favor of her hands, interlacing their fingers. "You are beautiful. Any man would desire to share your bed, including myself." He detected a gleam of incomprehension in her emerald eyes as her expression softened. "I do not reject your advances for lack of desire, quite the contrary..." His gaze lingered for a few moments on the shapes that could be guessed from the inquisitor's tight-fitting outfit before diving back into her eyes. "But I refuse to make love to you while you're struggling to stand on your feet, Rosal'in. You're not a one-night stand." Slowly, with a loving gesture, he placed his forehead against her own. "Ma ane 'ma'sal'shiral."
An uncontrollable flow of emotions overwhelmed the young woman at once. In a vain attempt to contain her emotion, she closed her eyes, unconsciously tightening her grip on Solas' hands. His words resounded within her like the frenetic rolls of a drum, perfectly matched to the frantic beating of her heart. This primitive song was a hymn to love in its purest form. How had she managed to live without it until now? Once touched by its grace, she knew she would never be the same again.
Witnessing her emotionally overwhelmed, the mage freed his hands from her grip and drew her into his arms in a protective embrace. Rosal'in hugged him and huddled her face against the hollow of his neck, discreetly smelling the natural, comforting scent of her skin. They remained in this way for several minutes, reveling as much as they could in the presence and touch of the other, before being extirpated from their moment of complicity by the thunderous voice of a definitely drunk Dorian. Accompanied by the Qunari mercenary, he seemed to be trying to get back to his room without getting caught up in the various obstacles he was facing. Rosal'in sighed with relief when she heard them leave, allowing her to focus on her lover again. The tender caresses he had been giving her since he had welcomed her into his arms stopped when he felt her raise her head in his direction to look at him.
"Can I stay with you tonight? While you finish your work..." Her request was hesitant, almost shy. She was afraid he would repeat his advice.
This profoundly endearing behaviour aroused in Solas a sudden surge of tenderness. As he bowed slightly to kiss her, he whispered his approval against her lips.
"Bellanaris."
_
When his work was finished, the Solas sighed wearily. The moon's position indicated once again a late hour of the night. Lately, he had become accustomed to finishing his tasks very lately because of the huge quantity of documents and manuscripts of all kinds that had gradually piled up on his desk to the point of covering almost the entire surface. The fateful hour of the final outcome was approaching. The position of the Mythal temple had been located a few days before, in the Arbor Wilds. The Inquisition agents were overworked and were running around. As were his own.
The Dread Wolf turned his head towards the sofa and watched his beloved's sleeping face for a while. She suspected nothing. No one suspected anything. Without a sound, he skillfully got up from his armchair and approached the sleeping figure. Only when he subtly caressed her cheek with his fingertips did he realize that they were no longer alone. A hooded man, dressed in the Inquisition uniform, watched him patiently from the embrace of the door leading to Commander Rutherford's office. Slowly he removed his hood, revealing a face bearing allegiance to Mythal. His purple irises lingered for a moment on Rosal'in before shifting their attention back to the original purpose of his coming. Fen'Harel had asked for him several days ago in order to make the final preparations for the violation of the temple of The All-Mother. Presumably, Solas seemed to have forgotten that he had to meet his most loyal agent at the agreed rendezvous point after nightfall.
Silently, the evanuri indicated with a gesture of the head the adjoining corridor. The spy executed himself at once, disappearing in his turn into the dark and narrow alley leading to the humble room he occupied. Before returning to the darkness where only conspiracies and machinations awaited him, Solas looked at Rosal'in again. She slept peacefully, pressing the fur he had taken care to cover her with against her face when the sleep had finally overpowered her will. No sooner had he laid his eyes on her than he immediately turned them away, assailed by guilt. He could still discern among all his thoughts the loving tone with which she had made her confession to him. Her words, carried in a soft voice, but as sharp as the blade of a dagger, slashed his flesh raw, carving the name of their speaker in letters of blood.
Silencing the whims of his heart, he took the path leading to darkness. His agent waited patiently for him there, leaning against an old solid wood door.
"Our agents have just infiltrated the ranks of the Inquisition and are ready to act. We await your orders."
Solas nodded and then with a simple wave of his hand, a letter sealed with the seal of his organization appeared.
"I entrust you with the task of applying them, Felassan."
His old friend took the orders with a smile .
"I'm still not used to seeing you in this disguise..." His purplish eyes glowed in the night, allowing the rift mage to follow their path. "I suppose what I glimpsed when I arrived must be part of your plan as well." The spy's lips stretched into a mischievous smile as he assessed the situation.
Solas remained silent. Felassan knew him all too well. He was well aware that it was impossible for him to feign such gestures of affection.
"She's not a pawn on my chessboard." At least not in a loving way, he thought bitterly.
At first he heard what seemed to be a faint sigh and then it was the turn of slight footsteps. He finally felt a warm and comforting hand resting on his shoulder.
"Perhaps there is a place for her in our world." Felassan's voice, usually filled with playful sarcasm, was now deep and serious. "She is one of us, Solas."
A sincere smile appeared on the dreamer's lips. It was a fantasy that he repeated himself every night before going to sleep to silence the guilt that was eating him up inside.
"I'm too old to expect such fancies to come to life." He pressed his hand lightly against Felassan's before pulling it from his shoulder and stepping back, re-establishing a distance of rank between them. "When the time comes, don't-"
A squeak from the rotunda suddenly interrupted them. The two elves stiffened and exchanged a worried look. Felassan was about to enter his superior's room when a sleepy voice calmed their fears.
" Vhenan ? "
Solas held back a sigh of relief as the sarcastic expression of his agent sat proudly on his face again. He seemed to revel in those few snippets of his intimate life that he was the privileged witness of. Snippets that he wouldn't forget so soon.
"I am here, emma lath."
Without delay, he joined the rotunda, greeting Felassan one last time before leaving the narrow corridor. Rosal'in was still lying on the sofa, although she was now on her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms. Her sleepy pout brightened when she saw Solas heading towards her.
"What were you plotting alone in the dark at such a late hour?" She asked, in a teasing mood.
"Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid." He knelt down to his own level and then put a few of her tousled curls back behind her ears. "I was just finishing filing my reports." The lie was bitter on his tongue.
"What a studious man. I'm almost ashamed that I fell asleep while you were working so hard... Almost." A crystalline laugh crossed her mutinous lips as her hand reached for his jaw. "You must be exhausted."
"Barely." Gently, he grasped her hand and delicately kissed the inside of her wrist. " You, on the other hand, need to rest. The night is young, you still have enough time to recover from your intrepid adventure."
She sighed, defeated.
"I suppose it's time for me to return to my quarters."
Rosal'in rose cautiously, still haggard from sleep. The effects of the alcohol had faded, but there seemed to be a slight heaviness in the pit of her stomach. In future, she would no longer be fooled by Sera. As she was about to leave the rotunda to go to her quarters, Solas grabbed her hand.
"Allow me to escort you back to your quarters."
His sudden request made her smile, making her remember the chivalry he had shown towards her throughout the evening.
"I would be delighted."
Without any further delay, they reached the throne room, where only a few soldiers now stood guard. The journey was short despite the slow pace the two lovers had taken. The separation, though momentary, was still painful for them. Their hearts desired more than a few kisses hidden in the bend of a corridor or a rotunda.
"Well... I think it's time for me to retire for the night... On era 'vun, ma' lath."
Rosal'in smiled slightly, or at least the expression on her face seemed like a sloppy sketch of a smile. She then walked through the massive wooden door. This massive door that further emphasized the divide that separated her from the common people. Her quarters were too big, too impersonal and insipid. For a Dalish woman who had spent most of her short life in community, this isolation was more of a punishment than a blessing. Decency, however, prevented her from making the slightest complaint. This psychological exile was the price she had to pay for the survival of her own people and those she was now beginning to consider as her own. War, famine, misery, mourning... All these evils were inherent in mortals, regardless of race or social status. Once stripped of all our artifice, we were equal in the face of death. The anchor had been able to strip Thedas of its so-called finery, forcing its different peoples to unite against a common enemy who alone personified the consequences of their bloody dissensions.
As the door slowly closed on Solas' face, she looked away. This night would be like any other. A night of torment where the call of the Fade wouldn't reach her ears.
"Melena!"
The inquisitor suddenly raised her head. The mage held the door with a steady hand. For the first time since they'd met, he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.
"Inquisi-" His tongue slammed against his teeth. "Rosal'in, I-" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking into hers. "Would you allow me to share your bed tonight?" He paused before his lover's perplexed expression. "To sleep, it goes without-"
Rosal'in pulled him into the dark and dilapidated hallway leading to her bedroom with rosy cheeks of happiness.
"I thought you'd never ask."
_
The first few minutes were odd. None of them had dared to move until a fresh breeze, which had managed to infiltrate through an old crack in the fortress, made the young woman shudder. Solas had then pulled her against him before placing a warm and comforting hand on the small of her back. The intimacy of the gesture made them both smile. By mutual agreement, their embrace deepened. Rosal'in had taken advantage of their promiscuity to snuggle her face in the hollow of his neck and slowly but surely began to fall asleep. The regular rhythm of her breathing betrayed her drowsiness.
Unconsciously, the corners of his lips rose up and then he tenderly kissed the crown of her head. The Dread Wolf didn't know whether, like a man guilty of adultery, his culpability had driven him to seek redemption or whether this argument had only been a pretext to join Rosal'in in her bed and fall asleep at her side. After all, tonight, as every night, he didn't want to fall asleep alone.