Chapter 4: Lying

The next morning as they rose and dressed for breakfast around the campfire, Solas noticed Cassandra giving the two of them odd looks.

"So…" Cassandra said, avoiding eye contact as she poked the fire with a stick. "What did the two of you do back at the ruins last night?"

Lavellan looked up from her apple, slightly wary. "Looked around. Found some medical supplies though. Then we ran into darkspawn and had to deal with that."

Cassandra's eyes flashed up to her, lips pressed into a firm line. "Darkspawn, you say? Interesting. It must not have been an easy fight. You had not yet returned before I fell asleep."

"Yes, actually, it was a bit bloody. Burned through a few healing potions and ruined a perfectly good shirt."

"Were there spiders, Inky? I told you there'd be spiders. There's always spiders in ruins." Sera, who was still quite snug in her bedroll and could not be bothered to get out of it yet, rubbed at her nose, bleary-eyed, as she accepted a hot cup of tea from Cassandra.

"Oh yes, you were right about that. Huge spiders. Big old pincers snapping at my face and all those hairy legs coming at me," Lavellan shuddered; they all knew she hated and feared spiders.

"Were there any other types of darkspawn there? Something smaller, perhaps?"

Lavellan tilted her head slightly, trying to understand why Cassandra had phrased the question in such an odd manner. "Er, yes. Deepstalkers. Quite a few of them."

Cassandra sipped her tea. "Nothing smaller than that?"

Lavellan shook her head. "No. Why do you ask?"

The barest hint of a smile crossed Cassandra's face as she blew on her tea. "Just wondering what it is you must have encountered last night to end up with such small bruises on your neck."

"What?" Sera turned to get a better look as Lavellan clamped a hand over her neck, but it was too late. They had seen.

Two elves had never blushed so deeply as the two wide-eyed statues on the ring around the campfire.

Sera shot up in her bedroll, looking half like a caterpillar as she did so. "Wait, what?! That's not a bruise! That's a hickey!" Sera exclaimed, eyes growing rounder as she pointed at Lavellan's neck. Then she divulged into a fit of laughter. When she finally stopped she wiped away a tear from one of her eyes.

Solas inwardly groaned and cursed himself for not being more careful.

"And you!" Sera rounded on him, the biggest smirk on her face. "You've got them too."

Now it was Lavellan's turn to curse herself, though she did her best.

Solas sighed heavily, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Beside him Lavellan stared up at the clear blue sky, praying for a lightning bolt to zap down and end her agony.

"Perhaps it is quite contagious," Cassandra murmured over her tea, sending Sera into further fits of laughter.

"Oh, oh! Look-it! Lover boy has a flower in his vest. Did Inky give that to you on your date? Hang on," she paused, thinking. Then she whirled back around to Lavellan and stood up, shimmying out of her bedroll. "Weren't you wearing a flower crown that matched that one last night? I swear I-Yes! Found it!"

Lavellan turned an even deeper shade of pink as Sera dove behind the stump by where she had been sleeping and pulled it out. The flowers had wilted slightly and a few were crushed, but there was no denying that it was a crown made from the very same flowers.

Cassandra's expression changed as she saw the flower crown and she turned to Solas, bewildered. "You made that crown for her? Oh, that is so romantic," she said, her tone shifting as she put her hand to her heart, surprised at him and moved by the gesture. "We should tell Varric. Maybe he could write it into his next book."

"Oh, I'm telling Varric alright," Sera snickered. "He's gonna owe me twenty crowns. I bet you two were gonna knock boots but Varric didn't buy it. He never thought Mr. Grumpy Lump would have the stones." She laughed again then suddenly cut off into a frown. "Hang on-You two did knock boots right? This wasn't just some kissy whatever, right? We're talkin' bumpin' bits, yeah?"

"Sera!" Cassandra scolded her with a look. "What? I'm not bein' a pervert or nothin'. I'm only asking because otherwise I owe Varric twenty crowns."

"You are incorrigible."

"Whatever. So did you two smash or what?"

"Ma ghilana mir din'an," Solas grumbled, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"I think we can go ahead and drop this subject," Levallen said, a note of warning in her voice.

Cassandra shrugged and went back to her morning tea and book.

Sera, on the other hand, was not so easily swayed. "Oh, come on Inky. Everyone is going to want to know what happened when they see your neck all covered like that. There's bound to be stories. Might as well get it out in the open."

"We were beset upon by leeches. There. Happy now? We were wandering the ruins and I walked on a rotten bridge and knocked us both into the water. By the time we got back to the shore, the leeches were all over us."

Sera made a face. "Leeches? Really? That's the story you're going with? Come on, Inky, if you're going to lie, at least do it better."

"I'm not lying," she said, definitely lying.

"Psht. Yeah right. That's the most shite cover story ever."

"Really? Oh, I've definitely heard worse. For instance, I once heard someone swear that they never even spoke to, much less had a romantic fling with a certain bard. And yet her name appears in the most interesting song-"

"Alright, alright. If you want to go around telling everyone your bloody leeches story then go for it. Not like they're going to believe you anyway."

Surprisingly true to her word, Sera did drop it, though she kept an annoyingly close watch on the two of them for the rest of the day, which slightly spoiled some of the pleasant moments the two might have had if their secret was still undiscovered. In fact, the two hardly shared more than a casual word of conversation for the next few days.

Try as he might, however, Solas could not stop thinking about her. As much as he despised himself for giving in to temptation, thinking about it only led to memories of how wonderful it had been in the moment. Merely the thought of her skin against his sent a pang of desire coursing through his core. He tried then, to resist thinking about her at all. But the temptation to revisit those moments in his memory was strong and he relished in them like an intoxicating elixir. Caving to his desires had given him a taste of possibility and he found that he wanted more than a taste.

At the same time, that want and desire reminded him of how selfish and cruel his actions were. How false he was to play with her heart, for his duty and responsibility had not changed. He was still the reason the world was in chaos. He was still the reason for her hurt. How could he love her and pretend to promise a future with her that he could not share? He could not fail in his task. He could not afford to be led astray, no matter how tempting a future with her might seem. The world was broken because of him and it was his responsibility to fix it. And beyond that, he had a responsibility to fix what he had done to her.

As it was now, the anchor posed no immediate danger. But over time it would spread, becoming more and more unstable. The wards would not hold forever. If he did not find a way to stop it, the anchor would kill her. And he could not let that happen. She was never supposed to have gone anywhere near the orb, but it was his ill-planning and weakness that had led her to the magic that was slowly killing her. He was the villain in this story: in her story, no matter the intention. To continue with the charade would only cause her more pain. He had to end this. Before she fell too far into love. Before he slipped and fell further in love with her. Already he ached with longing for the future she painted, in all her hopeful idealism. But he could not create that future with her. His path required sacrifice for his mistakes. Now that he knew what it was he was sacrificing, he hated himself all the more. He would hurt her. He would destroy her world. He would betray her. He would become Fen'Harel: the betrayer, in truth.

No. He would have to end it. To continue, even though his feelings for her were genuine, was too cruel. Tonight, he decided. Only a day's ride from Skyhold and they would be back to the way things used to be before his feelings had led him astray.

After the evening's meal he approached her and asked for a private word. She agreed and stood to follow him away from their camp.

"Enjoy the leeches!" Sera called after them.

They followed a small footpath to the edge of a cliff where they had a stunning view of the surrounding mountains. The chill in the air here cut like a razor in his throat as he prepared himself to say what he had to say. They stood in silence as he summoned the words he had been mentally rehearsing all day. "I have something I wish to say," he began, straightening his posture to help brace himself.

"So I gathered," she said, an amused expression tugging at her lips.

He cleared his throat in an effort to remove the lump forming there. "I believe I made a mistake the other night in the ruins. It was wrong of me to-"

She cut him off with a kiss. He looked at her, confused, as she pressed her fingertips gently to his lips to silence him. The heat of her body stirred his heart and he forced himself to be still, to retain the little remaining distance between them even though a part of him longed to reach out and take her in his arms. She smiled up at him, as if he hadn't been about to break her heart. "No, vhenan. You will not take that night from me. You will not taint the most perfect night of my life with apologies and regrets. Because I do not regret it and I am not sorry that it happened. I hope it does not hurt you to hear that, but I have not felt such peace and joy and bliss such as that in my entire life. I will cherish that memory of you, of us, together, for as long as I live. If that is the only night I have with you, I will cherish it all the more. But I hope…" she paused and removed something small, wrapped in a handkerchief and pressed it into his hand. "I hope," she repeated, looking into his eyes, "That it is not the only night of passion and love that I share with you, vhenan." And then she left him there, holding the small object in its cloth wrapping.

How had she done it once again? How had she disarmed him so skillfully and with such tact that she had anticipated his every move? He wondered briefly what it might be like to play chess or Wicked Grace with her. Based on her skill so far, he would likely end up destitute and naked. Which probably fit in perfectly with her plan.

Unwrapping the cloth, he stared down at the small key. Despite himself, he smiled. For he knew instantly two important things from this gift: one was that she was handing him both a physical key to her bedroom and the symbolic key to her heart; and the second was that if this life was a game of cards or chess, he would quite possibly find himself outmatched by her.