Chapters are likely going to be longer, on average, from now on. There aren't as many obvious places for a break.

Lots of translations below, and some things I unfortunately won't fully translate.

Rules and Suggestions

Solas smiled, clearly pleased with himself, as I took in his reconstruction. "It's perfect," I told him, taking his hand and breathing in Skyhold's crisp mountain air. He had given us a sunny day, with the doors to both my balconies open.

Then I remembered Skyhold's current state, and felt a sharp stab of grief. "It reminds me, though - your paintings, in the rotunda? They were destroyed."

He blinked. Apparently word hadn't reached him. "Oh?"

"A demon," I said. "Another demon, actually, that you created. You...should probably be more careful about that." I swallowed, and then admitted: "I haven't gone back to look. I loved those frescoes, and the thought of never seeing them again…" I shook my head.

"I took pleasure in painting them for you, though I readily admit that I am no great artist," Solas replied. "Ir abelas, vhenan." A concerned look crossed his face. "But a demon? How did I create a demon?"

"It was Regret," I told him.

"Ah. Regret," he murmured, "yes."

"You wildly underestimate both your skill and creativity as an artist," I informed him. "Every one of your works I have had the chance to see, I have found at least striking, and frequently breathtaking."

He smiled fondly, but shook his head. "I have lived many ages longer than you have, so forgive me if I consider my opinion better-informed on the subject of art."

"That is exactly why I don't trust your opinion," I retorted. "You have probably seen the works of the greatest talents who ever lived. Just because you don't measure up to that standard doesn't mean you aren't an artist - and a good one - in your own right."

He looked away from me, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he scanned Skyhold's horizon. "I had forgotten what it was like, arguing with you," he said.

"What is it like?" I asked, and then grinned, unable to pass up the chance to tease him. "Enlightening?"

"Occasionally," he conceded. "More often frustrating - which is not a criticism. You are merely - persuasive. Extremely - frighteningly - persuasive." He turned his gaze on me, affection warring with irritation in his eyes. "You must organize your thoughts remarkably well, for them to emerge with as much force and clarity as they so often do."

"I...wouldn't know," I replied. "Does this mean you also admit you keep me away for the good of your plans rather than because it provides any benefit to me?"

"I don't even remember admitting I was a good artist," he protested mildly.

"You did, tacitly, by changing the subject," I informed him.

"Is that right? I wasn't aware those were the rules we played by." He stepped a little closer to stroke my cheek with his thumb. "I am flattered you think so - that I am any kind of artist - in any case."

"Why?" I asked, slightly charmed but unwilling to admit it. "You already decided my taste in art is inferior. I don't even disagree. It isn't anything I've made a study of."

"Because I enjoy your admiration, of course," he replied, "no matter how little deserved it may be. Would you like to sit down now?"

I looked at the sofa in the re-creation of my chamber, and then down at myself. "My armor came in contact with lyrium-tainted water," I remembered. "I intended to burn it once I finished my mission. I...don't suppose you have any real clothing I could borrow?"

"Nothing that would have any hope of fitting you," he replied, "but as long as you are in the Fade, real and not real are concepts with limited use." He paused a moment before refocusing on me. "There, your wardrobe is filled with the sorts of outfits you used to wear around Skyhold. I will send orders for someone to acquire something for you to wear beyond the Veil before you leave."

He turned toward the staircase, and I wondered if it actually led to a full reconstruction of Skyhold. "You could just wait on the balcony," I told him. "I trust you not to peek - and honestly wouldn't care all that much even if you did."

Solas averted his gaze as though I had already started stripping off my armor, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. "It is easier to give in to temptation in the Fade. And I would also like to replace my own armor, if you intend to replace yours."

I had to admit, that did sound more comfortable, though I hated the idea of missing even a single moment with him. Still, I didn't protest as he turned to leave again, and instead went to inspect the wardrobe.

There was a great deal to choose from, but the problem, of course, was that I no longer had two hands and couldn't entirely dress myself. Here in the Fade there were no servants to call for help. Solas hadn't taken these realities into account when outfitting me. The breeches laced, the boots laced, the jumps and stays laced - even the shirts laced at the neck, though this was less vital than any of the other lacings. I struggled with a few items, to see if I could make them work without being laced, but it was hopeless. Finally I pulled on a chemise and covered it with a quilted robe. At least he had considered sleeping attire when giving me clothing, so I wouldn't have to ask him to help me dress.

Though - I might have to when I readied myself to leave the Fade.

That was a problem for later, so I put it aside.

Once I was covered, my armor left in a heap on the balcony to be disposed of later, I had to try to put away everything I had pulled out to inspect, and neatly folding clothing with one hand is no pleasure jaunt. Solas returned to find me muttering curses at a silk shirt that simply would not stop sliding and slithering across itself as I tried to arrange it into something that resembled order. "Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher!" I growled as it slid out from under my hand, off the bed, and became a shiny pool of foiled intent mocking me from the floor.

Solas chuckled from the top of the stairs. "Silea, what are you doing?" He had also chosen garments similar to what he had worn at Skyhold, though in finer fabrics that showed less wear.

"I am attempting to be tidy!" I snapped stomping one - bare - foot against the rug soundlessly. The selection of footwear was more limited than anything else, consisting, as it did, entirely of boots.

"This is the Fade, arasha," he reminded me. "Your will is enough." And, so saying, he glowered at the wardrobe for a brief moment - and everything I had pulled out disappeared, apparently tucked away neatly again.

I made a wordless sound of frustration and fell back onto the bed.

"Are you tired?" he asked, approaching slowly - almost warily - as I tried to bring my temper back under control.

"No," I said, making an effort not to snarl at him. It wasn't his fault that the rules of the Fade were occasionally infuriating, though I supposed it was technically his fault I only had one hand with which to navigate them.

I sat up abruptly. "Did I even need to actually put this on?" I asked, realizing that if all the Fade required was will, perhaps merely willing myself into a set of garments would be sufficient.

Solas seemed taken aback by the question. "I didn't intend to proposition you," he said.

I stared at him, confused, and he stared back at me with equal consternation, though over what I had no idea. "What have propositions to do with anything?" I demanded.

"Your manner of dress - it is...suggestive," he said with a shrug, as thought stating the obvious.

"It's - " I couldn't even finish. It was a quilted robe, covering me from my neck to my ankles. How could he possibly find that suggestive? I groaned and fell back again. "Arulin'sil mala? I only have one hand, Solas." He continued to watch me with wary confusion. "Pala mar'len," I snapped, curling up on my side and giving him a view of my back. Let him work out what that suggested.

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat down, and I heard him sigh. "Lealath ar dirthem delath. Ir abelas. Or'judirthas em ra?"

"I only have one hand," I repeated, and then laughed bitterly. "Ironically, I can still kill things with considerable efficiency - but everyone had better hope the fate of the world never hinges on lacing anything up, or we are all doomed."

"Laces," he echoed. "Ah." I could hear him thinking back over my words. "You are correct - you didn't need to physically dress yourself the way you are accustomed to in the waking world. I thought attempting to master such mental skills would be more difficult than simply treating the items as normal, physical items. I hadn't considered - ma delathe."

"Solast masa," I sniffed.

"Not an inaccurate assessment," he allowed. The bed moved as he shifted position, and I could feel the warmth from his body along my back, though he wasn't quite touching me. One of his hands smoothed from my face hair that had escaped my braid over the course of the night.

For a moment, I let him - but I was still angry about both his assumption for why I had dressed as I had, and his seeming unwillingness to even entertain the idea. "'I would not lay with you under false pretenses,'" I quoted, and his hand froze. "You seemed proud of it, at the time."

"Proud? No," he replied. "Satisfied, perhaps. And entirely unsatisfied, of course."

"You shouldn't be," I informed him.

"Oh?" he asked. "I have never been known for my self-control. Why should I not be satisfied to find I can exercise it when it matters?"

I thought of the raspberries Sera blew whenever she encountered anything she deemed unworthy of a more sophisticated response, and wished she were here to lend me one. "What did I gain from your self-control?" I asked Solas. "Did you lie to me any less? Was my heart any less broken? Were you any less gone?"

"Well, in part - I hoped you weren't as attached to me as you might otherwise have been," he answered, as though it were even a real answer, and resumed stroking my hair.

"And?" I prodded. "Did it work?"

"I...am not certain that is for me to say," he deflected.

I sat up abruptly and pinned him with a glare as he reclined on my bed, supported by one elbow. "You know exactly how attached to you I am," I pointed out. "Did. It. Work?"

"Likely not," he allowed, his gaze sliding away from mine. "Not well, in any case."

"Was it ever really for me? Or did lying make you feel less guilty if you were preemptively punishing yourself for it?" I demanded.

"Insightful, as ever," he murmured, in what I took as a tacit acknowledgment that I had hit on the truth - or something close to it.

"I always had my doubts, but your reluctance now was a fairly unequivocal confirmation," I told him. "It isn't as though I remain unaware of the general shape of your plans. I know who and what you are. What possible objection can you make now?"

He was quiet for a long moment and then sat up slowly, his chest brushing my shoulder as he leaned towards me. He was so close that my nose bumped his lightly when I turned my head to look at him, and I could feel his breath on my lips as he sighed. "I am not at all certain I wish to know what I have missed - and will miss again, when you are gone," he said.

That - I could understand. A little.

Even so - "What I am wearing is not suggestive," I informed him.

He smiled. "Stand up," he urged me.

I was curious enough to obey. He reached out and pulled at the admittedly loose knot I had managed to tie in the belt of my robe. One solid tug was all it took for it to come undone entirely, and the front of the robe parted slightly, allowing the filmy fabric of my chemise to spill out. He reached toward me, stopping short of actually touching me, and rubbed a fold of the chemise between two fingers, drawing my attention to exactly how insubstantial it was - or would be, without a robe covering it. "Easily removed, lightweight, translucent - suggestive," he concluded, carefully closing my robe again before reaching for the belt to secure it in place.

"Wait," I said, a thought coming to me in the wake of his expressed reason for continuing to avoid sex. He pulled his hands away. "I told Dorian not long ago that you knew exactly what you were throwing away when you rejected me. But that isn't true, is it?" I saw him swallow and went on: "Perhaps it should be."

"Vhenan - do you truly want that to be the reason we take this step?" he asked, sounding slightly desperate, though I wasn't certain what he was desperate for. I watched as his hands twitched, as though he were restraining himself from reaching for me, and then balled into tight fists.

"You're presenting a false dichotomy," I admonished him. "Do I want it to be the reason? No. Am I comfortable with it being a reason? Well...why not? There are a lot of reasons, aren't there? They begin with I love you, and end somewhere around we both want to."

"And the reasons not to? How much weight have you assigned those?" he asked, breathless.

"The reasons for me not to, or the reasons for you not to?" I retorted. "Solas, I'm tired of my unhappiness being the instrument you use to torture yourself, as though the mere fact of being tortured justifies anything you do." I turned away from him slightly, weighing my options. "Perhaps I should make this choice simple. Sex was the only thing that drew me to romantic relationships before I met you, so I would like to experience it before you end the world. My preference would be to have that experience with you, but if you would rather be tortured, I can offer you an entirely new means by instead letting you drive me to someone else. Cassandra mentioned someone I'm close to might have an interest, which - "

He leapt to his feet with a growl before I could finish, and his arms crushed me against his body. His lips, though, were unexpectedly gentle as he brushed mine with a kiss. "Tell me you wouldn't. Not with him."

"Not with - whom?" I asked. He knew whom Cassandra had been referring to?

He seemed to think the question was a coy deflection rather than honest ignorance, and growled again, kissing me harder this time, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I quickly found I didn't actually care about the answer, anyway. I might not have recognized the names of those formerly in my inner circle even if he had offered one, because his unusually aggressive advances were quickly leaving me unable to think beyond simple concepts like yes and more.

After a few moments spent stroking my back, his hands found their way inside my robe and pushed it from my shoulders - and a thought managed to pierce the haze clouding my mind.

I pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss. "Solas, if I could just will myself into clothes, couldn't I just will myself out of them again? Couldn't you?"

"Yes," he admitted, sounding breathless and perhaps a bit impatient. "All constructs of the Fade are equally open to influence - whoever wills a thing to behave a certain way with the most force wins the ability to dictate its behavior."

"So then this robe isn't really more suggestive than any Fade...construct...I could wear, because you could remove any of them with equal ease, so long as I had no objections," I concluded.

"If you like," he conceded, much more easily than I expected. Then I felt his hands on my waist, through the thin fabric of my chemise, and his lips on my neck, and realized that for once he didn't care about the implications of how things worked in the Fade.

"Mmm," I hummed, biting my lip and thinking about how much nicer this would be if he were wearing less. I ran my hand over his shoulder, imagining what it might feel like if his skin were bare - and then, all at once, it was. "Oh!" I gasped, pulling my hand away in surprise before recalling myself and tentatively replacing it.

He straightened and laughed at my reaction. "Yes, like that," he told me.

"You...could do the same," I offered - or perhaps merely reminded.

"I am aware, but I have been imagining this for a long time, and I intend to savor every step of the journey." His breath tickled my ear as he leaned in and whispered: "Including the chance to undress you myself."

"Oh. Good." Warmth spread through my chest - and with it spread the realization that I had lied. I hadn't meant to, my frustration had been so great I really thought I would take nearly anyone if he wouldn't have me, but it wasn't true. I didn't just want to experience this - I wanted it with him. It wouldn't mean anything without him. "Vhenan'ara..."

"Yes, arasha?" he replied, brushing kisses against my ear and jaw.

"I...I don't think I would have - with anyone else," I whispered. "And if I had, it would have been out of resentment, and I would have regretted it. Ir abelas. I…"

"Eolasan. The resentment would have been well-placed, in any case." He pulled away slightly to study my face, and then kissed me lightly. "Silea, ma vhenan, I make terrible mistakes. I rush in where I ought to hold and observe. I stall where I ought to simply act. I would like to say that the more consequential the decision, the more mired I become in indecisiveness, because at least then I could claim consistency - but my reasons for acting, or not, are never so straightforward. I have no clarity on this matter, even now - I have simply decided to trust in yours."

"While it is true that you are wrong quite a lot more often than I am," I began, and he laughed, as I had intended, "this time I was wrong. Avy nera nar'lanaste."

"Lasan ra shathe. Now, if we might refocus on more immediate matters…"

I felt him take hold of my chemise. "Finished savoring?" I asked.

"I have never been known for my self-control," he repeated, lifting it off me. Then he stepped back to look, and I giggled as he ran into the bed and nearly lost his balance. I wasn't even certain he noticed. "Perfect," he whispered.

"I don't know about that," I replied, stepping a little closer. The breeze coming in through the open balcony doors was cool against my bare skin, and I missed his warmth. "I have quite a number of scars, just to start."

His fingers found a few of those he was familiar with from patching me up: the one on my left shoulder from the arrow I had taken in the Western Approach; the long one on my right forearm where I had used it and my bow to deflect a blade aimed at Dorian's throat; the large discolored one on my rear where a dragonling had caught me with a tongue of flame while I was busy with its mother. There were others. The one on my ribs where I would have been impaled on a Qunari spear had I been a hair less fast would be unfamiliar to him - that one was also slightly discolored, thanks to the poisons they used on their blades.

And then, of course, there was my missing left arm.

Solas smiled, though, and wrapped me in his arms, running his hands down my back. "All your scars are honorably won, and therefore incapable of being imperfections." I shivered - not from cold this time - and then gasped when he brought one up to cup my breast. He groaned and gave me one brief, desperate kiss before releasing me completely. "I may be able to avoid hurting you, if I am slow and careful enough - but it means I cannot draw this out."

"Oh, well, about the hurting - I don't think you need to worry about it," I told him, feeling my cheeks heat. "I've spent a lot of time on horseback the last few years, you know, and - I believe that problem...took care of itself."

When I risked a glance at him, he seemed amused and perhaps a bit relieved. "Is that so?"

"Do you remember that Venatori ambush as we were entering the Hissing Wastes for the first time?" I asked. "The one with the fire-throwing mage who had the bright idea to aim at our horses' feet?"

"I do," he replied.

"My mount did not appreciate her creativity, especially when my boot caught fire - I managed to keep my seat, but it was a near thing, and I think it happened somewhere in there. I barely noticed at the time, with - you know, my boot on fire and arrows zipping past my head, but after that…" I shrugged, hoping I wouldn't have to explain further.

"Well, that does simplify things," he acknowledged. "Still - even leaving aside the ages during which I slept, I - it has been a very long time, possibly more years than you have been alive, and I don't want to risk leaving you unsatisfied."

I laid my hand against his face. "You don't have to worry about that, either - making things perfect. I'm with you, ma'haurasha. Garahnen re minsha gaelathe."

He dropped his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. "Enaste, arasha. Come." And with that he wrapped me in his arms again and pulled me onto the bed.

His bare chest sliding against mine as we made ourselves comfortable was delicious, but it did draw my attention to a problem. "You're overdressed," I informed him as I pressed myself closer, wondering if I had the audacity to preemptively remove the rest of what he was wearing.

"Don't," he said as though reading my thoughts. "Think of it as an aid for my self-control." I laughed, but allowed him to keep his clothes. "Mala - nuvenas ma'miren y ma'av'in?"

"Nuvenan na'amahn - dhava i ematha. Isalan," and here I blushed, though I managed to say the words, "na'inana la'var tuas sylviran."

"Shathe," he whispered, brushing his fingers across my cheek. "Every time I believe I have learned what I can expect from you - that I understand every happiness you can offer, every means you have to soothe the jagged pieces of what I have become - you find some new way to delight or comfort me."

"What about new ways to irritate you with arguments?" I teased him before he could lose himself in the sorrow I knew would follow this reflection, when he remembered that he had excluded me from whatever future remained to him.

He laughed softly. "A little pain can be pleasurable as well - and it is an undeniable pleasure to watch your intelligent and thoughtful assaults on whatever stands in your way. Even when I am the object standing in your way. In fact, being the object under assault may provide me with - a unique appreciation for the workings of your mind."

How was I ever supposed to stop loving him? "Tela dirthas minen rahnen i iselenas em vasrea na. Solas - "

"Eolasan." He kissed me and one of his hands trailed down my side and over my hip, finding its way between our bodies. I made a little satisfied sound as he touched me, and felt his lips stretch into a smile. "On?" he whispered.

"Vin, on'ala," I replied with a sigh.

He gave a little satisfied hum. "I intend to make you say the first part of that a great many more times."

"Do you mind if I vary it a little? Perhaps occasionally change lang - oh." I lost track of what I had been about to say as his fingers found their way inside me. "Ohh."

"That is also an acceptable syllable," he whispered.

There might have been more, but I stopped having any attention to spare.

His focus was - formidable. Enthralling. I likely ought to have been intimidated, but I wasn't. For what was certainly the first time in our history together, I had every last shred of his regard, and I reveled in it. Besides, he was not only skilled, but responsive to cues I was only half aware of myself. It seemed only moments before I was balanced on the edge - and then pleasure speared through me and I was so far beyond the edge that I didn't recall there ever being one. Or much of anything else, for that matter.

I wasn't ready when he withdrew his fingers and whimpered a protest, but for the first time the rules of the Fade worked entirely in my favor. Laborious undressing was unnecessary; he simply wished the rest of his clothing away and then was right there, pressing into me far more slowly and carefully than I wanted. It was different - I hadn't known how different it would be - more and deeper. There were places I hadn't even known existed that ached to be touched, each one a unique pleasure as he slid in - only, then, when he was finally all the way in, he stopped.

"Din!" I protested, my hips coming off the bed as I tried to find the movement I required. "Sathan. Sathan, Solas."

He groaned and pressed a kiss against my mouth. "Sule'sha," he whispered, and I opened my eyes to look up at him. He offered an apologetic smile. "I am struggling to resist several millennia of unreleased sexual tension."

"Why?" I wondered. "Re minsha on'ala. Ane minsha on'ala."

"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he murmured in return, and began to move.

It was only two or three thrusts until I was right back on the edge - or perhaps a different edge. If the first time had been like getting speared, the second was more like being smashed by a boulder from a trebuchet. And - it perhaps said something about my life these last years that these were the first analogies that sprang to mind. The second time was somehow more rounded, complete, fuller, and it seemed to just go on and on, until time lost all meaning. At some point Solas groaned - and that was just another layer of pleasure, to finally see him release control and get swept away in something.

I don't know how long it lasted - not long, I suppose, but long enough that I was trembling when Solas tried to pull away. "No," I begged, wrapping my legs around him more tightly. "Stay."

"I would rather not crush you," he said, and I realized he was shaking, too.

"I've been smashed into a wall by a high dragon," I reminded him. "How much damage do you think your weight can do?"

He laughed and relented, angling his body so not all his weight was on me. "Ir abelas," he whispered, eyes closed. "That should have been - "

"Solas," I interrupted him, brushing a few kisses against his neck "I may not be capable of much movement, but I'm in a very good position to bite you - and if you try to finish that thought, I will. Anyway," I went on, not waiting for a response, "I may have to concede you were right on one point, though not for your stated reasons."

"Oh?" he cracked one eye open to look at me.

"If we had done this before, and then you had abandoned me that way - I...might have stabbed you instead of kissing you and crying into your fur," I told him.

He closed his eyes again with a little smile and buried his nose in my hair. "You were no longer in possession of your dagger," he reminded me.

"That's right," I remembered. "Well, that's a relief. I hate to think I would have even hypothetically stabbed you."

He gave a little snort of laughter. "Spirits aiding me have recovered your weapon and are holding it for the moment," he told me. "I don't know if you are attached to it."

I shrugged as well as I was able. "Not emotionally, but it is a good piece of equipment - the right heft for me. And length," I added. "And - speaking of the right heft and length - "

He chuckled.

" - can we do this again?"

"What - now?" he asked, surprise making him open both eyes this time.

"Well, not instantly," I conceded. "But - before…"

"Ah." He kissed me. "Yes. As many times as you like, as limited by the realities of physical possibility."

"Mm, good," I sighed

We fell silent, both content to simply be there, together, until I suddenly realized I was relaxing into sleep. "Solas - can I sleep in the Fade? I'm getting tired - I suppose it must be nearing dawn, and I haven't slept all night."

"Of course you can. Our people slept before the Veil, did they not?" he replied. "I expect you will find you need less - I need none here, though I occasionally sleep to help my mind reach places that are...difficult to find, otherwise."

"Will I find difficult-to-find places?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he replied. "Likely not, as you do not have a mage's control, but you will find yourself deeper within the Fade. There you will find other, stronger spirits - and would find equally powerful demons, sometimes, anywhere but here. You ought to speak with the spirits you encounter, if you can. I believe you may find topics to interest you."

"All right, I will see if any take an interest in me," I agreed.

"They will take an interest, arasha," he told me, shaking his head.

"Because I am your mate?" I asked.

"Because you are a non-mage, penetrating deep into the Fade. Because your actions in the waking world cause such reverberations through the Fade that spirits cannot help but take note." He kissed the tip of my nose. "And because you are you, with your talents and charm. When I said if, I meant that I cannot say how lucid you will remain. Perhaps perfectly, as you are here physically. Perhaps not. I hope you will tell me, when you wake."

"Before I sleep - " I began.

"Perhaps you would like to bathe?" he offered.

"I would," I responded, a little surprised. "At least - will water in the Fade get me clean?"

"As much as a handkerchief in the Fade will wipe away your tears," he pointed out.

"Oh. Yes. I hadn't thought of that. But," I felt my brows draw together, "I can't simply will away real, physical dirt. Can I?"

"That is - complicated," he replied, "and would require an extended metaphysical discussion on the properties of the Fade. I wish there were time for such a conversation - course of study, really - but I fear there is not." He kissed me again. "I love your curiosity, and I wish I could reward it as it deserves."

I wished he would reward it as it deserved - by which I assumed he meant with knowledge, and not more time in bed, though I wouldn't have minded that as a reward, either. I didn't say it, though, as it would have led to an argument I wasn't ready for and might not be here to have, depending on how things went.

He rested his forehead against mine, and almost instantly I breathed in the scent of steam and the soap I used. I thought it odd he knew how it smelled - until I realized he knew how I smelled, and had likely just worked backwards.

"Will you join me?" I asked quietly.

For some reason the invitation surprised him. "I - yes, if you would like that."

Bathing, even together, obviously meant separating first, which didn't strike me as ideal, but the promise of hot water was undeniably attractive. I had, after all, been in two fights, had a dead mage thrown on top of me, hugged a dragon-wolf that stank of burning things, and then finally had reasonably sweaty sex. Solas helped me pin up my braid first, since I had just washed my hair before dinner, and preferred not to braid it myself - one handed - if I didn't have to. Perhaps Solas might have done it for me, but he didn't even have hair, so I was skeptical about his ability to handle mine. He certainly wasn't much good at pinning it up. I wouldn't have let him do it for anything more important than a bath. I was rather pleased that I managed to construct the pins myself, though, simply by wanting them. There were things about the Fade I could grow accustomed to, if I were spending an extended period of time here.

The water was perfect, both in temperature and in the sense that it behaved nothing like real water. My entrance into the tub didn't raise the level at all, nor did Solas's when he joined me. In fact, the water never sloshed over the sides - which turned out to be fortuitous.

Another round was inevitable, really - we were naked in a tub of hot water together. He sat behind me and started out just holding me, but soon his hands found their way to my breasts, and his renewed interest made itself known very shortly thereafter. "I confess, I wasn't expecting quite such a fast turnaround," I told him, not at all displeased as I leaned back and rubbed against him a little.

"You are certainly no more surprised than I am," he replied, releasing one of my breasts to put his fingers to my jaw, turning my head so he could capture my lips. Then - we didn't say anything for a long while. At least - not anything coherent.

Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher: May a cat eat you, and the Blight eat the cat.

Arasha: My joy

Arulinsil mala?: Seriously now?

Pala mar'len: Basically, "go fuck yourself," though that's not quite the literal translation.

Lealath ar dirthem delath. Ir abelas. Or'judirthas em ra?: Clearly I said the wrong thing. I'm sorry. Will you explain it to me?

Solast masa: Arrogant ass

Eolasan: I know

Vhenan'ara: My heart's desire

Avy nera nar'lanaste: I would like your forgiveness

Lasan ra shathe: I grant it gladly

Ma'haurasha: "My honey." It's suggestive in Elven.

Garahnen re minsha gaelathe: Everything is already perfect

Enaste: Literally "grace" or "blessings," quick, informal "thank you"

Mala, nuvenas ma'miren y ma'avin?/Nuvenan na'amahn - dhava i ematha: This is all good communication around precise acts and consent.

Isalan na'inana la'var tuas sylviran: I want you to watch while you make me fly.

Shathe: Gladly

Tela dirthas minen rahnen i iselenas em vasrea na: You can't say these things and expect me to let you go

On: Good

Vin, on'ala: Yes, wonderful

Din: No

Sathan: Please

Sule'sha: Patience

Re minsha on'ala. Ane minsha on'ala: It's already wonderful. You are already wonderful.