Chapter 3 – Mourning the Living
He had yet to reach his agents, but he also hadn't exactly been in a rush. Solas knew what he needed to do, but everything would take time and patience. It was easier to travel alone with his mind a jumble of thoughts and doubts. Solas struggled to justify how he could have any relationship with her with what he needed to do. Was it loneliness or weakness?
Solas tried to forget her, but she seemed unforgettable. How could he possibly forget all that she was? The way the sunlight made her hair look like it was made of flames, the way her smile took his breath away, and – Solas hissed in pain as he drew the blade away from his scalp. A small red rivulet trailed from the nick in his skin. His reflection scowled in the small mirror. Tsk. He rinsed the blade in a bowl of water before resuming his shave. Afterwards, he dried his scalp with a cloth and sighed heavily. Healing the small cut would be no feat, no effort at all, and yet he didn't want to. Let it bleed.
Solas finished dressing and ate a meager breakfast before sitting at a desk to plan his next moves. The ramshackle house that he temporarily called home was rather barren, with old worn furniture, a small fireplace, and a creaky door. It was clean and functional, though a draft chilled him each night. He had suffered worse accommodations. Solas liked to think of himself as practical and a minimalist as he had aged.
In his youth, he had wanted for much and his drive, hunger, and greed often got the better of him. When the opportunities presented, he would wear fineries. He had a desire for women, men, drink, food, possessions, and anything that he saw of value. He toyed with lovers' hearts and thought it all a game. He was reckless. Gambling was nearly addictive; he was a thrill seeker. It was common for him to lose it all in a risky gamble. His skills were developed over centuries. He had to lose to learn how to win.
Ages ago, he loved to feel the rush of dominating another or being dominated to fulfill his sexual appetites. He would sometimes have an urgent need, but sometimes his preferred method was to drag out sensual acts over days, weeks, months, years… It would be hard for any mortal to understand the pleasure derived from sex that lasted for a good portion of their short lives. His sexual wants and needs were not greatly changed with age, but he suppressed them best he could. He had hidden his urges and darker appetites from Lavellan, worried he could hurt her, break her, or scare her away. Sometimes he watched her with the eyes of a predator, of a wolf. Sometimes after a particularly fierce battle he would look at her and hunger shone in his eyes. Lavellan would never know the wonderous torture that her body could feel if she were like him, and the world was right again. This world could never compare to the world he'd destroyed.
He took risks because the reward was worthwhile, but the risk itself was exciting. It was why he was such a good rebel, a brave and fearless fighter. He lived for the risk of the game, and the higher the risk the more he felt the thrill of it all. The visit to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral had stirred up old urges, old desires. It was difficult to live in the moment when so much of his past felt like it was at his fingertips. Not whisking her off her feet during their private dance on the balcony took every bit of his effort. He wanted to taste her and make her scream. Instead, he was ever the gentleman and did not lead with their physical relationship. He let her initiate, and even then, he was hesitant. It would be all to easy for him to get carried away. They would never have years together to explore each other's bodies, so he needed to be as chaste as he could manage – They had pressing matters and time was a factor; They had to save the world. They had to save the world so he could destroy it. Even though their time was short, their intimate moments a blip in time considering his lifespan, he had loved her. It was a mistake.
Solas had learned to be who he was now by being that hot-blooded elf when he was young and his people paying the price for it. I was a fool, but no more. There was a pride in him that he had learned from his past mistakes. He would rebuild the elvhen empire despite the odds. Nothing and no one could stop him. He had his clothes, his bedroll, supplies, a few trinkets, some paper, ink, and quills. Solas pulled out a roll of parchment, chose a favored writing quill, and carefully unscrewed the lid to the bottle of ink. He dipped the quill into the ink, careful not to overfill the reservoir in the tip. Then he prepared to write and found himself drawing a blank.
Things would be easier if he could keep his mind focused on the task at hand, but instead his mind drifted again and again to his beloved. He lived as true to himself as he could by her side, as Solas and not the Dread Wolf. He told what truths he could. It was difficult, but he tried not to mislead her unless she got too close to his truth. Even when he was happy with her, fear and doubt nagged him. Purpose was why he was still living, and he needed to save his people – his love life ultimately didn't matter.
He particularly couldn't forget the expressions she made. The look of joy as she delighted in the subtle ways he expressed his love for her; A single flower placed in her bedroll, a seashell placed in her hand with a sleight of hand, or his gentle hands deftly removing any trace of leaves or debris from her hair. His thumb would brush over her chin and he remembered her lips in a provocative pout. He grieved what he had discarded.
The woman could be his undoing, but if this world were different he would gladly let her. Her body was crisscrossed with scars, beauty marks, freckles, and soon his kisses. After their first meeting his attraction was nearly instantaneous; Solas was not blind and his long sleep had not calmed all parts of him. It was all too easy to recall when things became more serious, when the game he thought they played was more than just playfulness. They had shared kisses in and out of the Fade. They had touched and enjoyed one another, but never had they done anything more than playful teasing with their clothes on.
"You look tired, Inquisitor", Solas remarked. Lavellan smiled that sort of exhausted smile that meant she agreed but she said nothing in response. The past few weeks had been trying and seeing the Dalish struggling so much had brought a gloom upon her that he worried she wouldn't be able to shake. He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips, "What would you give for a hot bath?" He teased her. He delighted in how her eyes lit up and she seemed to regain some of her energy, "I know better than to say anything… What would you want?", she had asked. Lavellan was careful not to be too hasty or put pressure on him after their first kisses, he said he needed time. They snuck away from their camp in the Exalted Plains to the crumbled elven ruins on the Evanuris river.
Sneaking around made him feel foolishly young again, and he took simple pleasure in her good mood at the prospects of a hot bath. He led her to the water and told her of the history of the place and traditions lost. "Men and women would bathe together, or separately in groups, or couples. They could soak for days or longer…"
Lavellan smirked at his words, "Well we don't have that much time and I prune easily."
He chuckled. Crouching by the river, he ran his fingers over the surface of the water and let his magic seep into the area he'd chosen, free of sharp rocks with a shallow sandy shore. He had thought to be subtle about his intentions and then ask to join her – because he needed to take things slowly, lest they get out of hand. He was experienced in flesh, but not courtship. With that, he felt as awkward as a young man could be. Solas wanted to be gentle and take his time – make it count. He couldn't risk hurting her, scaring her. The hungry wolf inside him would eat her alive if given the chance. When sex in the ancient kingdom could be a single act enjoyed over years, a single night seemed to pale in comparison. It made the possibility all that much more precious to him. Perhaps they would only ever be together this once and that memory would have to sustain him.
After warming the water with a spell but his Inquisitor was not one for subtleties. Unbeknownst to him, she had decided to take the initiative. Lavellan disrobed when his back was turned and then crept up behind him with all of her marvelous stealth. She really was a wonder, moving like she was a fluid creature made of Fade and nothing more. He had excellent hearing, and yet he heard no footsteps as she closed the distance. "I hope it is not too warm for you", he remembered saying as he turned only to see a flash of her skin as she leapt onto him. He was rarely surprised or startled, but he felt the hairs on the back of his skin raise. He choked on his laughter and then felt himself crashing into water in a tangle of limbs with a naked temptress.
She could surprise him like no other and made him feel like a young man again. The depth of her character, her capacity for goodness despite the odds and power dangled before her, and her heart… for that he was grateful. She was not what he expected. She was not what he would ever think he wanted. She was what he needed, but he did not deserve her.
He felt horrible. The look on her face when he told her it was over cemented in his mind that he truly was meant to be alone. He had seen millennia of pain and suffering, he had felt plenty in his long life. Seeing the pain he caused her made his breath catch in his throat and his chest feel tight. Why did it matter, really? He had known her for so little time, a year and a half perhaps? He had cast spells that lasted far longer than that. What made this relationship love? In all his years, he had never spoken the words ma vhenan. They were powerful words that expressed so much that he couldn't show her; It was not something said accidentally or flippantly. He had told her that he loved her, and he had meant it. That didn't mean that he would stop what he meant to do. He didn't even think it was possible that he could stop. He had to save the people, his people. He was promised to them first, and he made good on his promises. He would not abandon them, not even for love.
Words have meaning. He groused as he finally put quill to paper.