Technically I already translated everything in here - but I'll translate it all again, at the bottom.
Restraint
I find her, after considerable searching, on the very edge of camp, half-hidden by several tents housing some of our supplies. She is so still that, in the moonlight, I take her at first for an armor stand or training dummy unwisely left to the elements. Though she fails to acknowledge my approach, she also shows no sign of surprise when I speak: "It's nearly dawn." She gives a barely-perceptible nod, her gaze still fixed on the unvaried sweep of desert laid out before us. "What are you looking at?" I wonder.
"Nothing," she answers with something that sounds suspiciously like reverence. "Everything," she adds in the same tone.
Her tone raises my eyebrows, and I search for a way to ask about her apparent engagement with this hostile land without it coming across as critical or dismissive.
She continues of her own accord before I can find the words I seek: "Save perhaps Skyhold, I think this is my favorite of all the places I have seen since leaving my clan." Her voice is a murmur, and I am not even certain she means me to hear.
"This?" I ask, looking around to make certain we have not somehow relocated to some more hospitable clime. "Why?"
"I don't know," she whispers, only just audible over the hissing of the wind through the dunes. "It's - pure, somehow. Vast - like the sea, only less forgiving to life. Not that the sea would be forgiving for us, of course, but it teems with other kinds of life. This is - itself, without compromise. Not for anyone, or anything."
Her words paint a picture of inflexibility, ruthlessness, and loneliness - and in it I see myself. "And you admire that?" I ask, wondering if I have finally found the root of her love for me.
"I am in awe of it." Her voice is again hushed with reverence. "This might almost be - an expression of a creator. If I spent enough time here, perhaps I would even accept the possibility of the Maker."
"I advise you not to mention it to Cassandra." I can hear a caustic undertone in my own voice, and only hope it isn't as obvious to other ears.
As is usual - so usual I should likely stop hoping for it to be otherwise - Silea hears all I had hoped to conceal. She finally turns to look at me, her gaze earnest as she studies my face. I cannot meet her eyes for more than a moment, and the longer she remains silent, the more certain I am that I have deeply offended her. "What?" I ask at last, finding it necessary to make her say something.
To my surprise, I feel her fingers brush my jaw and find my eyes drawn helplessly to hers. "You're just...lovely," she says.
For a moment, I can only stare at her in astonishment. "Why - ?" I begin, but she is already turning away.
"Not unlike this place, I suppose," she says, not hearing me.
I look out over the vista again, trying to understand her fascination. "Perhaps you are attracted to grim, harsh things," I propose, finding another similarity between myself and this landscape she can hardly tear herself away from. I force a lightness I don't feel into my voice: "An unfortunate character flaw, indeed, ma vhenan."
She laughs, which I suppose is something. "Of all the things I have done and all the difficult decisions I have made - some with terrible consequences - you are choosing to take issue with my aesthetics?"
Now she must be willfully misunderstanding me. As grim and harsh as my appearance is, it only reflects the deeper reality of my nature. She turns to look at me, her smile playful - and I feel like a villain as it fades away at the sight of my expression.
"Perhaps," she says quietly, "I have the sense to temper my natural optimism and confidence with people - and places - that remind me the stakes are real. Perhaps I also need to be reminded on occasion that no one can win all the time."
The suggestion that I have had any part in harming her optimism or confidence leaves me feeling savage. "You are not giddy, nor flighty, nor arrogant - certainly not so much of any of them that you require someone like me to teach you restraint," I growl at her.
She takes my hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Maybe not, but I might appreciate you reminding me when restraint is called for."
I nearly want to laugh at how thoroughly she has missed the point - as though I could teach anyone restraint, except perhaps through the consequences of my terrible example.
As I struggle with the animosity I harbor for myself, trying not to subject her to any of it, she looks away, and I do not doubt I have hurt her.
Or, at least, I don't doubt it until she says: "You might also take the more direct route and restrain me yourself. I doubt I would object - at least not beyond what is necessary to make it...enjoyable."
For a moment, I cannot seem to take in her meaning - and even once I do, I cannot quite believe she knows what she is implying. Only...then she casts a sidelong glance at me, and I realize that, despite the moonlight stealing its color, her skin - and particularly her cheeks - are considerably less pale than they were moments ago. "That - " I nearly choke on the word as visions of Silea restrained rise unbidden in my mind, and I almost instantly go from burning with anger and shame to burning with lust. "That is not playing fair, Silea," I manage.
My response does nothing to quell her mischief. "So what you're saying is…" her voice is low and brazenly seductive, "I do need to learn restraint."
I realize for the first time - and disgracefully late - that though Silea has, to an extent, deferred to my greater experience in these matters, she is not by nature a meek or deferential woman. I release her hand, shaking my head at my own foolishness, and instead take her beautiful face in my hands, leaning in to kiss her lightly, hoping some of my remorse communicates itself to her through the gesture. "Sathan - tel'tuas," I request.
Her eyes narrow. "Tel'jutuan - if you stop trying to convince me I shouldn't be in love with you."
Is that what she hears? I realize now that I have hurt her - just not the way I had supposed. Her care for me means she feels the need to spring to my defense - even when I am the one she must defend against. "I - that was hardly my intention," I try to reassure her, and step away to give my mind space to reel, with one revelation coming on the heels of another. "Ir abelas. I suppose it sounded - although you do deserve better, I - "
Her fingers on my lips silence me. "And here I thought you wanted me to stop," she says, the seductive lilt returning to her voice. "So tell me, ma vhenan, do you want me to start discussing specific restraints, or should I just start removing clothing?"
"The cold makes clothing removal inadvisable," I point out, breathless, in part because I don't know what I will do if she tries, and in part because I truly am concerned for her safety - and I don't entirely trust her not to put herself in harm's way to prove a point if sufficiently provoked.
"Very well," she concedes, wrinkling her nose at me in minor irritation, though her laugh is good-natured. "Solas, I'm sorry if you got the impression I was comparing you to the desert, and if it bothered you for...any reason. I wasn't." She gives me a sparkling smile. "It must be clear to anyone that you are much more like the sea, if one must choose a terrain to compare you to."
"Vast and...teeming with life?" I ask, admittedly skeptical. Silea's metaphors are somewhat odd at times.
"Exactly," she says. "Wouldn't you describe your intellect as vast?"
I breathe out a surprised laugh. "Likely not," I tell her. "My experience, perhaps."
She stabs a finger at my chest as she says, "False modesty? From you?"
Does she believe my intellect is vast, or does she believe that I believe it? "Not false," I insist. "I know my own limits - now more than ever." Intellect - information - how worthless these are without the wisdom to use them well. I have never possessed that wisdom. "Experience can make up some of the difference, so perhaps you have overestimated me."
A knowing smile stretches her lips, but she declines to clarify whether or not she was offering me a compliment. "All right, then - vast experience and a sizable intellect." In spite of my frustrated desire to know her opinion, the amendment makes me laugh. "As for teeming with life, I suppose I can't know your thoughts and feelings firsthand, but you certainly make me feel more alive." Her glance is appreciative, and I fear I am blushing. "Besides - all those memories you hold from your exploration of the Fade - "
"I - suppose there is that," I allow.
"Also like the sea," she continues playfully, "you don't seem to get on well with everyone."
"Are you implying I make people sick?" I ought to be offended; I have little respect for the fanciful. If the points she made in the midst of these absurdities were less clever - but they are not. She is always clever, and she makes me laugh. The undertone of mirth is present in my voice, and it makes her smile.
"There's your disregard for fashion, which seems to make Dorian queasy," she reminds me. "Vivienne also appears unimpressed - but your mere existence throws Vivienne off-balance."
"True," I agree, smiling - but also wondering, for the first time, whether she has an opinion on what I wear. Perhaps not. The Dalish are, above all, practical, and practicality dictates using any clothing available for as long as it remains useful - and then just as often repurposing its remains to perform some other service. Mine may not be attractive, but it is still functional.
"You throw Sera off, too," she adds.
"Sera is already off-balance," I point out, though she isn't entirely wrong.
"But, then…" She takes a step nearer, and I look down at her, finding she is now close enough to kiss. "There are those of us who take to you immediately, like me."
Her eyes shine with admiration as she looks up at me, and I swallow. "Immediately?" I echo, finding my gaze drawn to her lips. Her tongue darts out to touch them, and suddenly all I can think of is how desperately I want to kiss her. She is speaking, and I know I ought to be listening, but I am at war with myself over whether this spot is private enough. Discretion will be - and will have been - important, once she understands who I am. It will be even more important if the world should learn my identity before my work is complete. I would save the Inquisition as well as its Inquisitor, if I can - at least for as long as I can.
Silea frowns slightly, recalling my attention to her words. "I have spent my entire life wondering what is wrong with me and why I don't want the things everyone else wants. Finding you was finding home."
Home. I well know how it feels to belong nowhere, and the sensation of being seen and understood is as novel for me as for her. Even so, I marvel at her wisdom. It took me centuries to discover the source of my dissatisfaction. She has known since childhood that her desires do not match what she has been told she ought to seek.
She looks up at me again, and I cannot even begin to locate words to tell her how grateful I am for her love and her faith - and her ease in my presence, as well. No one has laughed at me as often as she does since Mythal, and that was different - more irritation and less delight, among other things. But of course I cannot yet speak of Mythal, or the true length of my life, or a thousand other details she deserves to know at least as much as I long to share them.
Whatever she reads in my face prompts her to give me a reassuring smile. "It turns out I was a fish this entire time," she tells me lightly, "and I wasn't supposed to be living on land at all."
What will she think, when she learns the Dread Wolf is her home, her sea? I bend down before she can read my thoughts on my face, resting my forehead against hers as my hand finds its way to her hip. "Vis isalan manlava, ame sha ea nar'manaan."
"Good," she replies quietly, "because I don't know if I could find another. I somehow doubt it," she adds, a note of humor entering her voice. "You are a singular sort of person."
I cannot myself say whether the sound I swallow is a despairing laugh or something altogether more desperate.
The sun rises as we stand together, its rays already far too warm. Soon it will become blistering as it heats the air. I intend to be safely ensconced in my tent before that occurs, with cooling spells woven through the canvas. Though I have a watch later, I rarely spend a moment longer than necessary outside, particularly during the day.
My tent will no doubt be more comfortable than Silea's. I could invite her to join me. The question is: do I have the self-control to resist taking her to my bed if she accepts? Or perhaps an even more important question: do I want to resist? A spell of silence would be only a little more taxing than the spell to keep my tent cool. Or I might draw her with me into the Fade and conduct a tryst there. "Time to sleep," I point out in a whisper, still trying to decide how much I care for her comfort versus how desperately I want a reason to relax the grip on self-control I have somehow maintained all these months.
"Not for me," she sighs, lifting the decision from my hands. "I have first watch."
"Ah." I release her immediately, smothering my disappointment.
"Eras son," she says, prompting a rueful smile from me. Dreaming, it seems, is the only option available to me. I lean in and kiss her cheek lightly, to reassure her in case she noticed the edge to my smile.
"Amas son," I murmur into her ear, and then pull away, leaving her to get on with her duties.
The image of Silea restrained again rises unbidden to my mind as I return to my tent, and I reflect that a spell to reduce noise may be of use after all. If I imagine how things might have gone differently, I can see to my own needs and perhaps shore up my faltering self-control at the same time.
Now the only question is: if I were to restrain her, would Silea respond with playful defiance or would she feign docility? And - which would I enjoy more?
Sathan - tel'tuas: Please, stop
Tel'jutuan: I will stop
Vis isalan manlava, ame sha ea nar'manaan: If you need to swim, I am happy to be your sea
Eras son: Dream well
Amas son: Guard well