One translation at the bottom.
Lessons
After a quarter hour spent asking about and searching, it is their laughter that reveals them, ensconced in a tree just outside the kitchens. I plant myself beneath the branches with my staff and look up. Silea spots me immediately and flashes me a smile before nudging Enansal, who is too wrapped up in the tart he is eating to notice my arrival. His fingers, mouth, and cheeks are all stained by the berries I surmise must fill their pastries. In spite of the greater care she has no doubt taken, Silea's lips are also a deep red - almost purple - from eating.
Her appearance is - enticing, leaving me to wonder if her lips and mouth would taste of berries were I to kiss her. A few kisses, stolen within a dream, are far from satisfying. On the contrary, I am haunted by the memory, unable to escape the thought that I have never actually touched her. Well - other than, occasionally and very briefly, in my capacity as a healer, when we are on the trail and no one more skilled is available. But that is different - deliberately impersonal, for one thing.
For another, healing has never involved taking a woman in my arms and kissing her until we are both breathless, which is the way I want to touch Silea.
"Are you here for something in particular, or just to envy the spoils we earned hunting pigeons this morning?" Silea calls down, and the eats the last bite of her pastry, her tongue darting out to clean her fingers of a few crumbs.
I am forced to look away and hope that the heat I feel isn't obvious on my face. "You are detaining my apprentice," I tell her, managing to keep my tone light as I focus on Enansal.
"No," she replies cheerfully, "I am rewarding my archery student for landing more than half his shots, and making three kills."
Enansal sits up a bit straighter, blushing, but also smiling happily as he basks in Silea's praise. "We're also practicing climbing trees, like the Dalish do," he adds with a glance at her for confirmation.
"Tara'syl re eth'el o alas," she agrees.
"'The sky is safer than the ground,'" Enansal translates proudly. "The Dalish say that."
I find myself smiling at them both. "As worthy as those pursuits undeniably are - it is still time for a magic lesson."
Silea gives Enansal a conspiratorial grin as she says to me: "All right, what will you give me for him?"
"Excuse me?" I reply, laughter audible in my voice.
"I have something you want - Enansal's company - and I am enjoying it very much - far too much to give it up merely because you demand it. So: what will you give me?" She leans over to the boy, who is trying to contain his own delighted laughter. "See? I told you being Inquisitor was useful for things. He can't force me to give you up. I'm in charge."
I feel as though I ought to be irritated, but her playfulness is irresistible. Besides, Enansal is clearly pleased to be at the center of this dispute, wanted by two people he admires. "Well, as the two of you seem fond of fruit, I had been thinking we ought to do a lesson on plants. Perhaps we could work on coaxing some of the berries and peaches in the garden to ripen?"
The two of them exchange a look, Silea's a silent query while Enansal looks gleeful. "All right, I think we can agree to that," Silea tells me, and then returns her attention to the boy. "Can you make it down? Do you remember how I showed you?"
He nods a little uneasily. "Will you help me anyway?"
"You just like watching me hang upside-down," she accuses him playfully, and I wonder exactly what she has been showing him.
He seems to appreciate the cover, in any case, and ducks his head, grinning. "Well...Solas hasn't seen it." He looks at me, suddenly less certain. "Have you?"
Truthfully, I try not to watch Silea when she climbs. Her thorough lack of concern only serves to make me more concerned for her. "I don't believe so," I tell Enansal.
Silea slides down to a lower limb without even holding on, fingers trailing lightly against the tree trunk as her only safeguard, and I wince. She doesn't see, but immediately turns back toward Enansal holding one hand up to him - and now she does loop her other arm around a convenient branch. He accepts her hand, though he moves confidently enough, stepping from branch to branch without trouble, sliding down to meet her with only slightly more caution than she used. Only then does Silea glance down at me. "Just to be clear, this isn't the best or safest way to do this, though it's safe enough. We always did it this way when I was learning because it's good practice in a relatively low-stakes situation."
My eyebrows go up, but I don't comment as she sits on the limb and wraps her legs around it, tilting sideways and stretching out her arm for Enansal to use in his descent. He climbs to the next limb and then grins down at me. "She's as good as the acrobat that came - that - that had a show in town once."
I am gripping my staff so tightly that my fingers ache. "Better, I hope," I reply in a tone that I also hope doesn't betray my unease, though I fear the desire is futile. Thankfully, neither of them seems to notice.
"I can stay here for a considerable period," Silea tells Enansal, "but it isn't the most comfortable position. You can enthuse to Solas once you're safely on the ground."
He ducks his head sheepishly and immediately begins descending once more. "Sorry, Silea."
"It's fine. You're still new to this - soon it will be habit to remain constantly aware of what your climbing partner is doing," she replies, adjusting the angle of her body as he moves so that she is always within reach.
By the time distance begins making Enansal's grip on Silea's hand tenuous, she is indeed hanging upside-down, holding on to her tree limb with only her legs. "Ready?" she asks Enansal as he finds his footing on a limb almost directly below her. He nods and flattens himself against the trunk of the tree while she lifts her upper body and catches hold of her limb with her hands. She then releases it with her legs, lowering herself in one smooth, carefully-controlled motion.
I release a long breath at the same time - I hadn't realized I had stopped breathing. She is undeniably beautiful. Graceful. Fearless. Stronger than I had reckoned. For the barest moment, I picture her legs wrapped around me before shoving the image away.
I cannot. I should not. I - am trying very hard not to.
She and Enansal are repeating the performance, and this time - to my relief - he will likely end up on the ground.
"Why do you practice this?" I ask Silea as Enansal drops from the lowest branch several moments later, his feet landing in the grass with a rustle and a muffled thump.
She is upside-down again, giving her furrowed brow and tilted head a somewhat comical appearance, though I am also entirely too conscious that her mouth is on a level with mine, and I could kiss her without needing to bend at all.
"Because trees don't always grow in ways that allow people to conveniently traverse them," she answers. "Sometimes you need a partner, and you need to have the strength and training to be able to rely on each other. Also, while it's not a faster way to move in general, it is a fast way to get one person to another position - presumably a better position - should it be needed for taking a shot or - anything else. Besides," she continues, "things happen in trees. Branches break. Sudden gusts of wind knock you off balance. Every once in a while, raiders shoot arrows at you. Getting yourself into difficult and uncomfortable positions before circumstances are dire makes it easier not to panic when you're dangling one-handed from a branch you can tell isn't going to take your weight for long, and there are ten other things happening that you have to pay attention to."
"Dosan rahnen dala shem'el o gaelaan," Enansal tells me proudly, and Silea shoots him a smile before lowering herself to the ground.
"Something else the Dalish say," I guess with tolerant amusement.
"Something true the Dalish say," she corrects me, and then looks at Enansal. "Have fun with your lesson, and bring me a peach when you're done."
"I will!" he promises, and we part ways.
Enansal tells me about his morning hunting pigeons as we make our way toward the garden, beginning with scattering seed strategically to lure the flocks to specific places around Skyhold. "Silea let me take the first shot whenever a flock settled somewhere, although sometimes we had to scare them and make them go somewhere else, so we weren't shooting towards any people," he continues. "She took her shots while they were flying away. She killed nine! And didn't miss once! Although - one of the ones she killed did land on the edge of the wall and then tumbled down the cliff. She said she shouldn't have taken that shot."
"Some scavenger will appreciate the meal, I imagine," I tell him as he pauses to take a breath.
"Maybe a wolf. Do you think a wolf might find it? Silea says that this time of year, the pups are starting to go out hunting with the rest of the pack. She says even though the Dalish don't like the Dread Wolf, and sometimes wolves hunt their halla, they don't hunt wolves like humans do. She said wolves are important, because otherwise there are too many deer, and they eat all the plants." I find myself smiling in spite of the comment about the Dread Wolf, and wonder how many times per day, on average, Fiona and the other mages hear sentences beginning with "Silea says."
"A pigeon would make but a poor meal for a wolf," I tell the boy. "More likely birds will find it first, though perhaps a lucky fox will get there before the birds have eaten all of it."
Enansal stops walking abruptly, and when I turn I find him staring at a patch of cup-of-gold poppies. "My m - girls - girls like flowers, don't they? Do you think Silea does?"
"There are few people, I think, who do not appreciate flowers," I reply. "But, yes, Silea seems fond of them." She helps in the garden on occasion, and often returns with a flower or two tucked into her hair. "Did your mother enjoy receiving them?" I ask, not missing the way he stumbled over the first part of his initial statement.
He gives a sharp nod, eyes still focused on the flowers. "Most of these haven't bloomed yet," he observes.
"Coaxing flowers into bloom is the same principle as coaxing fruit to ripen," I tell him, "though it does require more finesse. Let us come to an agreement: apply yourself in the garden, and I will gladly manipulate some flowers for you to pick for Silea. You can observe, and see how the process differs from what you will be doing. Does that seem a fair proposal?"
"Yes!" He smiles at me, eyes shining with excitement.
After that he is more intent on reaching the garden, and so we arrive in short order and begin our lesson. Enansal has not yet been given even an apprentice's staff, but I hand him a small piece of crystal as a focus, to aid him in drawing energies across the Veil. It isn't enchanted as a staff would be, and though it is magically resonant, that has little to do with its purpose. Having something to look at - something to imagine drawing the energy into - helps keep his mind from straying from the task.
Then - I demonstrate.
His first few attempts are failures, but precisely the kind of failures I am best pleased by. He draws in too much energy, and the fruit is overripe. The first, indeed, disintegrates before our eyes, and its pit falls to the ground. This is good, though - it shows me he has overcome his fear of his own power. If he hesitated, he would not draw enough power, and the fruit would remain green. Better that he start by drawing too much, and learn how it feels to deliberately moderate his pull. That is also why this makes a good early lesson - the worst case scenario if it takes time for him to learn that control is a great deal of spoiled fruit. Once learned, though, the control will remain no matter what he turns his attention to doing - even tasks where too much power would have much more dire consequences.
By the end of an hour, Enansal has made excellent progress, and I let him choose a peach to give Silea before acting on my promise and leading him back to the courtyard to pick flowers. In addition to the poppies, we find daisies, wild sunflowers, and wild carrots. I show him the bare breath of magic needed to open the buds as he looks on with interest.
"Can you make the plant put out more flowers? If you wanted to harvest them for something, or wanted more fruit or seeds?" he asks.
"You could," I allow, plucking several daisies and handing them to him. "But you might overtax the plant and kill it, if you didn't know what you were doing. Still - it is a good question, and will be relevant as you learn to aid your new clan. The Dalish may not farm, but it doesn't mean they practice no cultivation of plants."
He gives a decisive nod, but looks conflicted.
"You will miss Skyhold," I tell him, "but Silea and her Keeper will do their best to find a clan to suit you, and if for any reason it does not, you will only need to write her - or me, or Cassandra, or Blackwall. If all else fails, Fiona would be glad to count you among her apprentices."
"I know," he replies, perhaps with a touch of impatience. He has likely heard similar reassurances from all of us more than once. "I do want to be Dalish, like Silea, and I can't be that here, can I?"
"No," I agree. "Even if Silea could devote all her time to teaching you, it isn't the same as living in a clan."
He nods again. "I want to go."
I drop the subject. The Dalish are far from perfect, but I am pleased by how much this child wishes to learn about and participate in elven culture - such as it is.
Once Enansal has acquired a substantial bouquet, we go find Silea. She is easy enough to locate - I take Enansal in through my study, intending to leave my staff there, and instead find Silea sitting on my floor, surrounded by books and papers. "Ir abelas," she says without looking up. "I didn't want to disappear on you by going up to my chamber, and Josephine all but ordered me to review heraldry, family trees, and current alliances and rivalries between the nobles coming to tonight's dinner. It's my first real diplomatic affair, and I want to do it right." She finally puts down her book and looks at us, rubbing her forehead with the back of her wrist. Her fingers are stained with ink. "You're right below the library, no one comes in here, and there's space to spread out."
"If you labor under the impression I object to finding lovely young women pursuing research in my room, you are very much mistaken," I tell her lightly as I rest my staff against my desk, and she smiles at the compliment, her cheeks perhaps going a little pink. "Please feel free to make use of my space as often as you have need."
"Ma serannas," she tells me, and then turns her attention to the boy beside me, finding a rag among her papers which is clean enough to take some of the ink off her fingers, before she rises to her feet and hops over everything she has spread out on the floor. "How was your lesson?" she asks. "It looks like you found some flowers, anyway."
"They're for you," he explains, suddenly shy, as he holds out the bouquet. "And so is this." He holds out the peach with his other hand.
"Enaste. They're beautiful." She accepts both gifts, but sets the peach on my desk to focus on the flowers. Her fingertips brush a few of the poppies, ruffling the petals. "You likely didn't know these are my favorite flower," she tells Enansal.
"They are?" he asks, finally looking at her.
"They are," she confirms. "They grow wild on the plains my clan visits every summer, and I think they are just...beautiful." She bends and catches him in a hug, and then kisses his cheek for good measure. He squirms, equal parts pleased and embarrassed.
"Solas helped," he tells her, either out of a sense of scrupulous fairness or to redirect her attention elsewhere as he composes himself. Perhaps both.
"The idea was his," I tell her with a nod at Enansal as she turns to look at me. "I merely provided the skill to make them bloom."
She places her hand on my arm, and before I understand what she is about, she has leaned in to kiss my cheek, as well. For a single breath, I am surrounded by her scent - lemon balm, or perhaps bergamot, lavender, and...something sweet. Honey? Her breast brushes my arm as her lips graze my skin. And then it is over.
"Enaste." She blushes, but she also meets my eyes without hesitation.
"Sathem," I reply, almost as disconcerted as Enansal. We have now touched in a purely personal context - but I don't believe I will be any less haunted for having had the experience.
She returns her attention to Enansal. "Do you remember the small gift I told you Varric and I were getting for you? Apparently it arrived today. Fiona has it, if you would like to go up to the library and find her."
He bounces at the news, looking at me for confirmation. "By all means," I agree, and he immediately runs off.
"Don't run in the library!" Silea calls after him.
"What did you get for him?" I ask, apparently having missed this small act of generosity.
Silea glances at me and then lays her bouquet carefully on my desk. "He was never really taught to read - which is apparently true for most children who enter the Circle." She shakes her head slightly. "Human society is very odd. In any case - he has been having more trouble than most, but also loves adventure tales. I asked Varric to help me pick some of the best for a child of his age, and then ordered them last time we were in Val Royeaux. Hopefully having something he is eager to get through will make reading less of a chore."
"That seems a good idea," I tell her, mildly impressed.
She smiles. "I'm going to clean all of this up now," and she turns to gesture toward her mess of papers and books.
"You can stay, if you would prefer." There is something pleasant about the thought of sharing a space with her as we each pursue our courses of study.
"I would, likely," she replies with a laugh, "but apparently I have to be as dazzling as possible tonight, which means another bath, perfume, curlers, a headdress, cosmetics...and about eight layers of clothing." She glances at me. "I suppose you have already found a reason not to attend?"
This may be the first full diplomatic affair Skyhold has hosted, but apparently she has taken note of my failure to appear at any of the more formal meals - and perhaps some of the informal. I often forget to add meals to my list of necessary tasks. "Being an elf and an apostate is reason enough," I assure her.
She mutters something - perhaps "lucky" - and sits down to begin gathering up her papers. I sit a little distance away and help by closing and stacking books. "Returning to the subject of Enansal, I had considered creating a primer of Elven runes for him - but if he is already having trouble with reading, perhaps he ought to focus on the language he already speaks."
"Likely," Silea murmurs, and then sighs, frowning.
"What?" I ask.
"Hmm?" she responds, apparently unaware her reaction was at all out of place.
"Enansal's trouble with reading makes you uneasy?" I guess.
"Oh. No," she replies. "Fiona and then his Keeper will see to it, and he's too bright not to pick it up eventually." She pauses, stealing a few brief glances at me before going on. "Will you try not to laugh?"
I am not especially prone to laughter. "Very well," I agree, curious.
"I have always wanted to be able to read. Elven," she tells me as though confessing something vaguely shameful. "I shouldn't, but - I envy Enansal the opportunity to do it." Her eyes drop to the papers in her hand, and she refocuses on gathering them together, waiting, apparently, for my laughter, or some equally unwarranted dismissal.
"What leads you to believe I would ever mock your desire for knowledge?" I ask her carefully.
She freezes for a moment and then gives a rueful snort of laughter. "Only that everyone I have ever mentioned it to always has."
Her eyes meet mine.
I am in terrible danger. Before this moment, I still balanced on the edge of the precipice. Silea inspired lust, certainly, and respect, and a degree of affection, all of which might come together into something more perilous - but this. This. My mind flies back to every moment I have ever come upon her immersed in research, and her immediate responses upon finding someone else near - "Josephine insists," "Leliana tasked me with," "Cullen thinks I ought to," "I don't want to make any mistakes." I thought it commendable, her diligence. How often was she reflexively excusing her curiosity to avoid mockery?
I refocus on stacking books. "Tell me - who suggested you would benefit from knowing all you can about the nobility and their connections to each other?" I ask.
"Um." When I steal a glance at her, her brow is furrowed and she is more focused on gathering papers than the task requires. "I believe I mentioned the idea first, and then Josephine leapt upon it and gave me a reading list long enough to keep me occupied for several weeks."
"And how have you enjoyed learning more about the subject?" I continue, pushing to learn if what I have just guessed is true.
"Memorizing heraldry is rather dull, but the histories of the houses themselves - it does illuminate a great deal about both the internal conflicts in Orlais, and the Empire's strained relationship with Ferelden." Her smile, as she says this, reflects the fierce satisfaction of complexity newly untangled and understood. Until this moment, that same satisfaction had been the joy of my life.
Now, I -
I - believe I may have just fallen in love.
And if I remain here for many seconds more, I may well close the space between us and do my level best to claim Silea as my own. I must think. Consider. Attempt to find some other course.
I rise to my feet. "I have - only just remembered a matter that requires my attention. I must - " I gesture helplessly toward the library.
She is confused. Perhaps disappointed? I am too unsettled to parse her expression. "All right. I'll be gone in a moment or two, so you can focus."
"No, please, don't hurry on my account," I tell her quickly, fearing I have made her feel unwelcome. I pause and take a breath. "Inquisitor," I want to taste her name on my tongue, but know better than to tempt myself, "I find your desire for knowledge entirely admirable. It is a virtue shared by far too few in this world. Your ideas, thoughts, and questions - especially your questions - are safe with me."
She smiles. "Thank you, Solas."
I return her smile. Then, I flee.
Dosan rahnen dala shem'el o gaelaan: Few things kill faster than panic