No translations because technically this entire interaction occurs in Elven. Or, rather, Elvhen. Well, I guess there's juleal, but it's a mash-up of words into a new one. "Shimmer" and "cloth" are in there. And now you know. Translation finished.
A Hypothetical
The garden is all but deserted as afternoon fades into evening. The only one left is Solas, still occupying the same bench, staring out into the middle distance with a dissatisfied look on his face.
In terms of appearance, this Solas is quite different from his older counterpart. Most noticeably, he has hair - a glorious cascade of chestnut-colored hair. He has chosen a style that appears popular in Nehnadahlen: the top has been left long, and then his hair cut short beneath and shaved into intricate patterns. Half of his head is done up in braids laid close to his scalp, revealing the designs below and keeping his hair out of his face. The braids are twined with gold and copper wire, with pale wooden beads decorating the ends - simple and slightly rustic compared to some of the styles around the city, but attractive all the same. Beyond his hair, though, his face is also smooth, unmarked by bitterness or suffering, and in some ways that difference is much more striking. His expressions are different, too. Cold. Haughty. Imperious. I have yet to see a smile reach his eyes.
He's beautiful. And more than a little intimidating.
Earlier today, he was surrounded by women. He bragged about his audience with Falon'Din, and I saw no way to get close to him without joining the throng - which I categorically didn't want to do. Now he is alone, following the disappointment of that interview, but I have only just worked up the courage to approach him, and that only because evening draws close and I may or may not be able to reach Nehnadahlen tomorrow night, depending on how far my procession manages to travel during the day.
I take a breath and turn toward a path that will lead me to the bench Solas occupies. I am carrying a heavy sack of various foodstuffs, presumably from a market, though I actually just conjured it from the stuff of the Fade. It gives me an excuse to sit beside him, anyway.
I don't look at him as I approach, at least not directly, and he initially gives me only a cursory glance as I set down the sack and sink onto the bench. I don't know how something so entirely unreal can feel so heavy, but it does, and it makes a good excuse to stop. Now I need to come up with a reason to speak.
I feel Solas's eyes on me again.
"Good afternoon," he says.
His voice is - well, familiar, of course, and yet also not. There is something almost predatory about the way he says the words. It puts me on edge as I glance at him warily. "Good afternoon," I reply, my tone guarded. I believe I read something like admiration in his gaze, but it, too, is uncomfortable - somehow both dismissive and possessive at the same time, as though he has a right to my time and attention, but he is doing me some sort of favor by demanding both. Were I wearing a knife at my belt as I usually do, my hand would be seeking it instinctively.
"You are not from this area," he observes.
The banality of this statement is so at odds with the way he is watching me that I nearly laugh. "What gave me away?" I ask, hearing the dour amusement in my own voice. "My clothing or my speech?" Fashions in Elvhenan don't appear quite a regionally varied as they are in my own time and place - perhaps because it is so much easier to cover vast distances at a step with the aid of eluvians - but there are differences. My own dress I have modeled on that from the southern reaches of the continent, because the full, scalloped sleeves are good at hiding my missing arm.
Solas's eyes narrow in something like appreciation or acknowledgment at my tone. "First one, and then the other," he replies. "Though, but for your attire, I wouldn't have guessed you didn't belong by looking at you. You appear to suit the city well enough."
He hasn't noticed the lack of symmetry that so disgusts most of the residents of Nehnadahlen. I have, after all, chosen my clothing specifically to hide it, and my right side is more visible to him. Technically, I suppose he has complimented me, but his tone is so cold that it sounds, at best, back-handed. I am momentarily at a loss for something to say, but then I note his own attire - simple robes of plain linen and fustian rather than the shimmering cloth they call juleal here, and made up in dull, practical colors. "It seems to me you are no more at home within this city than I am," I tell him as I complete my perusal.
"True," he allows, "though I live in the region. Are you enjoying your visit to Nehnadahlen?" he adds, and I am somewhat surprised he is bothering to continue the conversation. Had it occurred to me that he might speak with me, I would have resolved to be inviting - but his forwardness caught me off guard, and I have only just managed to remain polite. I find his manner off-putting. From what I have seen, he has little patience for anyone who remains stubbornly unimpressed by him and his skill as a mage, and so I wonder that he isn't more irritated by my coolness.
Well - I suppose he hasn't found an opportunity to slip boasts about his skill into this conversation yet, so perhaps that is what he is aiming for. All at once I pity him - he would pursue a woman he evidently finds attractive, in spite of her apparent lack of interest, merely because he has been trained to believe she will take an interest in him when she learns he is a powerful mage.
His question hangs in the air as I consider all of this. "I...have enjoyed aspects of my visit, and of the city," I answer honestly.
"Aspects?" he echoes, and I think there is a note of real surprise in his voice. It may be the first real emotion I have heard him express. Then his tone becomes equal parts bored and mocking: "Do you find some fault in the Jewel of the Midlands?"
"The city is lovely," I assure him, and then hesitate. "If only I could say the same for its inhabitants," I add after the pause. I don't know what this younger Solas will think of my missing arm, but I suppose - since there is an opening - I may as well acquaint him with it. If he walks away in disgust, then that is that. If he doesn't...
I don't let myself finish the thought, but raise the remains of my left arm so that he can see most of the sleeve is empty.
His eyes widen. "What happened?" he asks, clearly too shocked to maintain his cultivated detachment, and then he blushes furiously. "Please do me the favor of pretending I have manners enough not to immediately say what I think when startled," he mutters.
This pulls a genuine laugh from me - his change in attitude is so immediate, and such a profound relief, regardless of his manners or lack of them. "Very well," I agree, flashing him a smile. "Do you intend to run away from me now that you know?"
He is silent for a beat too long, and I realize he's staring at me. "Run?" he says, blinking and giving his head a brief shake. "Ah. No."
"Well then. Poor manners notwithstanding, I may already like you better than anyone else I have met here," I tell him dryly.
"You agreed to take no notice of my poor manners," he reminds me, and it sounds as though he is struggling to sound - offended? Or perhaps just detached and vaguely bored again. He fails, thankfully.
"I agreed to pretend to take no notice of your poor manners," I correct him.
He arches one eyebrow, though a smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. "You aren't pretending if you remind me of them," he points out.
"Not doing a very good job of it, anyway," I allow, relieved this conversation has made such a dramatic improvement. Now I am willing to continue it. "Very well - what of you? Do you visit the city often?"
The near-smile on his face fades away. "No," he says shortly.
"Ah, so you also find some fault with the Jewel of the Midlands?" I reply. "You don't appear to have my disadvantages. What have they done to offend you?"
He hesitates. "Someone denied me a position I wanted, not on my merits, but for entirely superficial reasons," he replies after a moment. "I will get another, somewhere else," he hastens to add, "and quickly. But I resent the rejection."
Though I know exactly why Falon'Din rejected him, I can fathom it even less now than I could when my Solas told me - and it was utterly absurd then. I look over the Solas sitting in front of me. "I suppose superficial reasons must have to do with your appearance, but the only thing I can see wrong with you is your clothing, and that seems as though it would be easily remedied. Unless you're particularly stubborn about your lamentable taste."
His eyes narrow, and I know he suspects I am mocking him - beyond his clothing, I mean, which I am quite openly mocking.
"Well," I say as the moment becomes tense, "either you are stubborn about it, or I am missing something you think obvious. Is it your voice? Did you refuse to sing your words?" I shrug. "My apologies - it's difficult to pinpoint things that come down to taste, especially when I am not native to this city or its preferences."
"You know juleal fares poorly when it becomes wet," he tells me at last. "Outside of the cities, we don't spend magic on diverting the rain to keep our robes dry, or on cleaning those robes without soap or water when they become dirty. It is less a matter of taste than of practicality."
"I stand corrected," I reply lightly. "In that case, whoever rejected you based on your clothing is a fool."
For a moment, I wonder if he will set me right, but Solas lets my assumption pass. "He is certainly a fool - a greater fool than I would have believed prior to our meeting," Solas says. "This appears to be a city full of fools, though, because I cannot imagine someone looking at you and managing only to count your hands."
He glances sidelong at me as he says this, an arrogant smirk touching his lips - and yet there is something vulnerable in his eyes. This time the compliment feels like a real one, and I respond with a blush. "Thank you. It never occurred to me that missing an arm was shameful or embarrassing until I came here. Frustrating, certainly, but - " I laugh softly, "but I lost it fair and square and wouldn't take back a single one of my own actions leading up to it. All of them were right and necessary, given the circumstances."
"Now you are provoking me to curiosity on purpose," he accuses me, smiling.
"Just testing your good manners," I retort.
"Then allow me to introduce myself, as I perhaps ought to have done several minutes ago," he says. "I am Solas."
"Silea," I reply, amused.
"Your parents were optimists, I see," he teases me, a little of the haughtiness returning to his voice, though it's tempered by enough warmth that I don't take serious offense.
"I think parental optimism is superior to parental pessimism," I tell him pointedly.
He laughs. "Perhaps those housed by magically-resonant materials ought not throw spells," he acknowledges, "but my own parents were labelling their pride in me, not predicting my character."
I study him, eyes narrowed. "And how did that work out?" Even if it is half a cultivated façade, everything about his manner shouts that he thinks very highly of himself.
"Well." He pauses. "I have some reason for pride. A considerable talent for magic, paired with reasonable skill."
"Reasonable skill?" I repeat, teasing him in return. "I should think you would avoid indulging in pride until you can boast unreasonable skill."
"Ah, the voice of wisdom," he replies sagely, and I laugh.
"We may be of a similar age, but don't dismiss my wisdom so easily," I advise him, still smiling. "I had unreasonable skill with a bow, and now have reasonable skill with a dagger, so I know what is due the difference between the two. I am pleased and grateful to be able to defend myself effectively - effectively in most circumstances - but resigning myself to reasonable skill has been a humbling experience."
His eyes rest briefly on the space my left arm should occupy. "Bow and dagger," he says, his tone bordering on dismissive. "I would have thought wisdom should dictate not neglecting your skill as a mage."
"I have little talent to neglect," I assure him. "And I spend what talent I do have on exploration rather than either defensive or offensive arts. In those, I am better served by - and my time is better spent mastering - a physical weapon."
He jumps on my implied magical interests without hesitation. "Exploration?" he echoes, clearly hoping I will elaborate.
"Of the Fade, of course," I reply. "I like spirits, and most of those I have met have been kind to me."
"You are a Fade mage," he says, just as pleased as the real Solas likely was when he realized I was pursuing the discipline.
"At best a novice," I hasten to clarify, "and who can say whether I will ever progress to anything more impressive? To tell the truth, I had no thought of studying magic when I first started exploring the Fade. I just liked talking to spirits and seeing new things."
He smiles at me, and the fondness in it seems to pierce me with its sweetness. "That path can be accessed in no other way, as far as I am aware," he tells me. "My own introduction was similar. I felt constrained by village life, and the Fade offered opportunities to encounter new ideas - new ways to construct ideas. I apologize," he adds. "I misjudged you a moment ago."
I study him thoughtfully. "Apology rejected," I decide, though I say it lightly. He looks surprised, and more so as I lean towards him. "My choices aren't justified by my interest in the Fade. They are justified because they were mine to make, and I did considerable good in making them."
For a moment, he's taken aback, his eyes searching my face as he tries to frame a response. He also appears a little breathless, and it occurs to me that he finds my nearness disorienting. For some reason, it amuses me to learn that my appearance has apparently always been to Solas's taste. "How did you lose your arm?" he asks at last, and then shrugs ruefully, acknowledging that the question still isn't precisely polite. "You did say you weren't ashamed or embarrassed."
"I spent some time hunting high dragons and other monsters as part of a skilled team," I tell him, picking out carefully-chosen details that, while entirely true, will still lead him to a largely-false impression. His eyes widen slightly at the mention of dragons, and I let some of my amusement show on my face. "At one point, the choice was losing my arm or losing my life. I wasn't actually in a position to choose at that moment, but of course I'm happy enough with the choice that was made for me. I still encounter the occasional monster that needs to be put down - but I fear reasonable skill, with any weapon, is not going to kill a high dragon, so those days are behind me."
He blinks at me, stunned. "It...seems I did dismiss your wisdom entirely too easily. And perhaps you were right to refuse my apology," he says quietly, and then offers me a small, almost shy smile. "I seemingly misjudged you from the very beginning. I'm sorry."
"Accepted," I tell him. "Perhaps in the future you won't be so quick to judge."
"Perhaps. I can promise to try, though I cannot promise to succeed," he replies. "I doubt, at least, I will make the mistake of underestimating you again."
Only my training in the Game allows me to smile sweetly, as opposed to finding myself overcome with laughter. Perhaps it isn't fair to this younger Solas, anyway: he may be more easily impressed than his older counterpart, and more inclined to hope for the best in others. "If it makes you feel better, I misjudged you, too. I thought you intimidating at first, but it turns out you're personable and quite charming."
This almost seems to surprise him more than hearing I hunted dragons. "Am I?"
"You didn't run away from my terrifying missing arm," I offer with a shrug.
"That is a hurdle so easily cleared that I believe it rests on the ground," he replies. "Perhaps your stay in Nehnadahlen has made you...easier to please."
I laugh. "I don't believe so, but even if you're correct...are you inclined to complain?" I glance up at him and then away, feeling my cheeks warm.
His hand moves to hover above mine, resting on the bench between us, but he hesitates for a moment before briefly allowing his fingers to brush its back. "No," he says softly, a smile evident in his voice. "I believe I am grateful, if that is the case. You are making me wish I were staying longer in the city."
"It wouldn't do you any good," I tell him, not needing to feign regret. "I leave late tonight."
He draws back slightly. "Tonight?"
"I'm afraid so," I confirm. I nod toward the end of the bench where I left the sack that was my excuse to sit down. "I will give this to my hostess as a parting gift, and then - well, then I suppose I have a few hours to do what I will, and then I will be headed west."
"To Manlaveth?" he asks. "I have heard there is considerable unrest in the city." He leans a little closer. "They say Andruil hired the assassins who killed the king and his heir."
Manlaveth translates to "water-tail," which may refer to the narrow western end of the Waking Sea, or possibly a spot somewhere on the shores of Lake Celestine - or somewhere else entirely, of course. Regardless, it is a lead I didn't have a moment ago: the name of an ancient city paired with a general direction. "It ought to be safe enough if one is careful," I reply. "Nothing marks me as hailing from Andruil's holdings," I add, hoping it is true. Certainly my accent doesn't mark me as coming from anywhere in particular, because it is entirely singular. And if Manlaveth once stood in the west, and Andruil interfered in its affairs, it stands to reason that her own realm was located nearby. My clothing I drew from the south, where I hope Mythal held sway, given that I know her temple will one day be located in the Arbor Wilds.
"True," Solas agrees to my immense - and entirely invisible - relief. "Andruil's tithe might be hard, but the king was a fool to speak against it, even in whispers."
"I heard the whispers came from his advisors," I offer, pushing a bit to see if there is anything else I can learn. "Though in that case, I suppose he was a fool for not keeping them in check."
"Or they conspired against him," Solas says with a shrug. "In any event, I hope you will take care."
"I am quite reasonably good with a dagger," I reassure him, disappointed not to gain any other insights, but pleased by his concern.
"I would be more comforted if you were unreasonably good with it," he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, "but I suppose reasonably good will have to suffice." He pauses, glancing at me, and then says: "If you only have a few hours left, perhaps I am keeping you from something you would rather be doing."
"Certainly," I agree with a raised eyebrow, "because I so enjoy the disdain I have encountered everywhere in this city other than right here."
"Well," he says, and then stops, apparently uncertain what he wants to say next.
There is one thing I would likely rather be doing - kissing him - but I know affection is rarely displayed publicly here, where the preferred pose is one of detachment and serenity. And though Solas is clearly attracted to me, I don't know how he feels about brief, futureless affairs at this point in his life.
"Would you like to come with me while I deliver this?" I ask, nodding toward the sack. "After - well, all my belongings have been sent ahead, so we might do anything you like. Perhaps have a meal together, or...talk more. In private."
"Talk?" he repeats with a look that makes me want to do considerably more than just kiss him.
Which - was never my intention. This may only be a dream, and the real Solas may be entirely at fault for making himself unavailable to me, but I am still a little uncomfortable having dream-sex with a spirit representing him. Leaving aside my own complicated feelings on the subject, there is a certain amount of danger to the spirit. True, this situation is very different from the one I found myself in with Latha. This spirit isn't trying to be anything for me specifically, nor is it reflecting the Solas I know. Love isn't even a distant possibility. Still, there is always a danger in desire.
"I wouldn't want to presume - " I begin, looking away modestly.
His fingers find my jaw, and just that small, unexpected touch makes me feel as though I can't breathe properly. He slides his fingers down to my chin and tilts it up, so that I am looking at him again. "Presume. Please."
"Perhaps you might kiss me a great deal. In private," I whisper. "And - perhaps once or twice in public."
"Gladly," he whispers in return, his lips descending to meet mine.
It's possible I whimper.
He trails his fingers down my neck and then my back, before wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer. His tongue touches my lips, seeking access to my mouth, and I grant it eagerly, though inside I am laughing.
You say that, but you're the one who started with tongue.
I did no such thing.
Oh, does it not count if it's only Fade tongue?
Fade tongue counts, I decide. It absolutely counts.
I lay my hand on this Solas's cheek. The texture of his skin is so familiar, and yet the caress of his hair against my knuckles is so entirely foreign. This isn't my Solas. The foundation is there, and he has all the materials to become my Solas, but he isn't - not yet. I like him anyway. I can't say if I would have liked him as well had I not known the man he would become - his pose of detached superiority was not at all reassuring, and I might not have made it past had we met in other circumstances. But, well, we didn't meet in those circumstances. I sought him out to find out if I like him now, as me - and I do.
My hand slides into Solas's hair, fingers burying themselves in the soft strands. The sound he makes is mingled satisfaction and pleasure. His arms tighten around me for a brief moment, and then he releases me abruptly, breathing hard. "Silea, I - "
"No, I know - I was rather carried away myself," I hasten to reassure him, letting my fingers trail down the side of his face.
"You are...I confess myself uncertain whether I desperately regret the end of our acquaintance in a few hours, or whether I am somewhat relieved." He smiles apologetically. "In a few weeks, I am likely to attain what I have spent nearly a decade working toward - and I have the feeling that knowing you better would upend all my priorities."
"I understand the feeling," I tell him with a small laugh. I saved this meeting for the night before I left Cumberland for a remarkably similar reason. "Perhaps we may have the good fortune to meet again in a few years or decades, and things will be different."
He touches my cheek. "Not too different, I hope." He goes on before I can find a response. "I believe you have a delivery to make?"
"I do," I agree, rising to my feet before I can become distracted again.
He insists on carrying the sack. "What did you buy - rocks?" he asks as he lifts it.
"Turnips and potatoes - so the the vegetable equivalent," I reply. "We can take turns."
We don't - he refuses to give my load of vegetables back until we reach the house I have chosen for my "rented" room. I chose it mostly because no one was going through the motions of living there. Some of the spirit-citizens do "live" in houses in the city, but many sink below the level of consciousness the moment they cease to be observed by mortals or others of their kind. Thus, they don't ape the private lives of mortals at all, and many of the houses are essentially unlived-in.
If I were to remain long enough, the spirits who belong there might coalesce out of the energies of the Fade, as I would be present to observe them - but I have no intention of waiting that long.
I leave the sack on a table and return to Solas, who remains just outside the door. "Now what?" I ask as I rejoin him.
"I have a room at a nearby inn, if you would care to...make use of it," he replies, gesturing toward the road.
"I would," I agree, smiling, and let him take my hand as he leads me to the road. "Solas," I say a few moments later, keeping my eyes trained on the path ahead as we walk, "there is...likely something I should clarify before we find ourselves...well..." I glance sidelong at him and find him watching me with curiosity and a little apprehension. It has occurred to me that perhaps asking to be kissed in private implies more than the words state. I am making a valiant attempt to both pursue temptation and not actually fall prey to it. "I am very experienced at killing things, considering my age, but similarly inexperienced in romance. To be precise, there has only been one man, and it was serious, and then he...decided his duty lay elsewhere and ended things. I haven't even been tempted to look at anyone else. Until now." Which isn't entirely true, considering this Solas isn't entirely someone else - but it's near enough the truth. I steal a glance at him again to see how he takes what I have said so far.
He catches me at it, and I feel myself blush as he smiles. "Foremost, I suppose I ought to mention how flattered I am." His thumb strokes the back of my hand as he slows his pace so that he can study me. "Are you somehow unaware of how utterly beautiful you are?"
"No," I sigh. "I'm not allowed to be unaware. It's too useful." I glance at him. "You are attracted to me. I am attracted to you. As far as I can tell, that puts us on equal footing."
"I...hadn't ever considered it in that light," he says. "As a secondary matter, I think I also ought to express my surprise at anyone winning you and then voluntarily giving you up."
"Yes, well, some things are more important than love." I shrug. "And people sometimes draw those lines in different places. I wasn't asking for your sympathy or misplaced sense of obligation. I simply - asked to be kissed, and I meant that, but perhaps I implied I wanted considerably more than that. And - well, I don't believe that I do want a great deal more. Perhaps a little more."
He stops walking so that he can turn and look at me. "I am beginning to believe you are entirely unlike anyone I have ever met," he chuckles. "You are from the south, are you not? Are all your people so direct?"
"No," I sigh, "they are as fond of whispers and insinuation as any other set of people. It's...just me, I fear. I can be indirect when I must, but my personal relationships have...almost uniformly gone poorly when I allowed unfounded beliefs and assumptions to proliferate." First there was Terys, and my initial efforts to tell him "no" without having to say it outright, and then there was the real Solas, whose secrets I didn't insist on knowing before I let myself fall entirely in love with him.
This Solas lifts one hand to my face, fingers brushing my cheek as he smooths a bit of my hair back. Though not especially busy, there are a few people hurrying along this thoroughfare, and that is likely why he doesn't kiss me. "I appreciate the efficiency. Perhaps one must learn to be efficient, when one hunts dragons."
"Efficiency helps," I allow with a smile, "but dodging breath attacks helps more."
He laughs and tugs me along as he begins walking again. "I thank you for being clear, but I have very few expectations. I might have predicted almost none of what has happened so far today, so I have given up trying."
"I'm not that unpredictable," I protest. "Didn't I just give you an idea of what to expect?"
"But I didn't expect you to tell me what to expect," Solas retorts, smiling broadly.
I shake my head and follow him, not arguing the matter further.
The inn isn't very far. We have a brief conversation about sharing a meal, but eating while dreaming in the Fade is neither effective nor very enjoyable, so I leave the decision to him, and he claims not to be hungry.
He leads me up to his room, closing the door behind us as we enter. Then he looks at me, and I can tell he is again having trouble believing that I am real - which is ironic considering I am the only real thing here. "Perhaps you have made a terrible mistake, and I have brought you here to rob you," he jokes, clearly nervous.
"In that case, you would find I make a poor mark," I tell him lightly. "First, do you really think I'm not armed? I am only alive because I am professionally paranoid. Second, I am authorized to draw the money I need from my patrons' holdings in various cities - I don't carry coin." Talking with the spirits of Falon'Din's court has given me insights into all sorts of mundane matters that it wouldn't have otherwise occurred to me to ask about. Money - how to handle it, invest it, transfer it, and make use of it - is as much an obsession for the aristocrats of Elvhenan as it is for aristocrats in any other time and place.
"Patrons?" Solas repeats curiously.
I have this explanation ready - had Solas been more forthcoming about his attempt to gain a place in Falon'Din's court, I would have already needed to reciprocate by telling him what I have been doing in Nehnadahlen. "My patrons have divergent interests which all require travel. One wishes me to learn all I can about the magic here and in other far-flung places - for that I generally have a partner who is more skilled than I am, and though both of us observe, my role is more one of companion and guardian. Another of my patrons is concerned with the condition of slaves, and what might be done to better it. A third wants me to talk to spirits and make note of the variations I find among them." I shrug philosophically. "It keeps me busy. And paid."
"It seems you have been clever in leveraging the inevitable contacts you made among the aristocracy as a dragon hunter," Solas says approvingly.
"What of you?" I ask after the briefest hesitation, deciding that it would be strange not to ask, no matter how reticent he has been. "What are these plans you have dedicated yourself to for a decade?"
Solas turns his head, a shy smile touching his lips. His attitude is entirely different from the boasts I saw him making earlier, and I wonder if the difference has more to do with Falon'Din's rejection or the nature of the connection we have made. "I will have a place at court. Not here - my appearance didn't meet with Falon'Din's approval, and my specialization isn't one Dirthamen can make use of. But one of them will sponsor me at some other court of my choosing, and so gain a favor with one of the other great mages."
I smile at him. "That is an impressive accomplishment - and now it seems I have another contact among the aristocracy to one day leverage."
He laughs and approaches me, sliding one arm around my waist. "Will I have need of your skills?" he asks.
"I don't know," I reply. "I suppose that depends on what causes you choose to take up."
His hand finds mine, and he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss against my palm. "You likely ought to list your skills for me, so I can choose a cause to fit."
I laugh. "That isn't how it works - and besides, if you were ever to hire me, chances are you would be sending me far away from you."
"If you hope to have me pay you, I'm not certain you ought to tell me that," he says, dipping his head to kiss me briefly.
"Think more creatively," I advise, nearly panting the words as I try to catch my breath. "Convince an ally from some other region to hire me, and then have me sent to your court - whichever one you settle on." I can nearly picture a future of that sort with this Solas, and I can't say the idea isn't enticing - or would be, if it were possible.
"I knew you were clever," he whispers, and then he kisses me in earnest. I let the thrill of his touch wash away my vision of a partnership that is not and never was possible, focusing instead on the pleasures of the moment. His lips are soft and warm, his tongue touches mine lightly, teasing, and his hands slide across my body appreciatively, tempting me to throw off caution. This Solas may not be the one I truly want, but he is very near what I want, and I might have him for a short span of time.
I resist, though I am aware that courting temptation, as I most certainly am at this moment, is never wise.
Solas is respectful of the reservations I half-expressed earlier, and so I am the one who eventually unbuckles and removes the wide belt holding my outer robes closed, and then takes off the outermost layers. I have improvised my under-layers, uncertain what women of this time and place use for support. Solas touches the light stays visible beneath my inner robe with one finger. "I have never seen a kirtle like this before," he says, and I know I have gotten the style entirely wrong - but I am, purportedly, from very far away, and he is from a small village without a great many visitors, and so he dismisses the oddity after that single comment.
Instead, he turns his attention to baring my shoulders so that he can kiss them. He breathes in as he sees the various scars previously hidden by cloth, and then he begins kissing each, one by one, the brush of his lips making my body sing with a longing I have no intention of surrendering to.
Then one of his hands finds my breast. The pressure of his fingers is muted by the layers of cloth that make up my stays, and my chemise beneath that, but I still recognize my limit when I reach it.
"Stop," I gasp.
He releases me instantly, and I take a moment to wrestle both my breathing and my desire into submission. "I would like to do something," I tell him, weighing the idea that has just come to me to see if it will be satisfying enough. I believe it will. "I like you very much, and I would like nothing better at this moment than to push you onto that bed and make myself forget that there has ever been anyone else, and that I don't actually have the option of staying with you. But if I were to do that, I would wake up in the morning with...feelings. Thoughts. Doubts. And I am so tired of all that. I can't - well, I could, but I know I would make myself regret it."
"You need not - " he begins reaching toward me, offering comfort and reassurance.
"I know," I cut him off quickly, already feeling myself beginning to blush. "I'm not going to. But - barring what I am not going to do, the thing I would like next best would be to take you in my mouth, and make you forget everything I can't let myself forget."
He blinks, his eyes wide, and his ears go red - or at least the one I can see clearly does. "What sort of fool would ever turn down an offer like that?" he asks with a breathless laugh after a brief moment.
Though the question is clearly rhetorical, I still find myself trying to answer it as I realize that I have never done this before, and also very much want to succeed at it. "I don't know - perhaps one who sees little to admire in me - "
"So a blind fool," Solas interrupts helpfully.
I can't help laughing. "Or one who remembers my fairly profound lack of experience," I finish.
He steps closer, smiling, and then bends to place a kiss on my lips. "You learned to dodge dragon-fire quickly enough not to be killed. This is much simpler, and I have faith in you."
I don't know about simpler, but it is considerably less fraught with life-threatening danger - and, anyway, I have a guide who knows what he likes. He retrieves a pillow so that I can kneel more comfortably - sweet, if unnecessary here in the Fade where my body is only a projection of my mind. As I take him in my mouth, he smooths my hair from my face, holding it out of the way with one hand. After a little brief experimentation, I discover that a gag reflex is one of those things that doesn't translate from the real world into the dream - similarly to how I could eat forever here and never feel full.
Or kneel on a plank floor without abrading my knees.
I find, as the tempo of Solas's breathing increases and his hand tightens in my hair, that I wish the real Solas had let me do this. Though I am the one on my knees, I am also very much in control. And, well, most of the time - largely without meaning to, I believe - Solas tends to naturally take control. Not only is he ancient, wise, and powerful, but he is so tied up in knots he can't see anything clearly, including what his actions mean for me.
I enjoy feeling Solas's muscles trembling under my hand as I bring him near the edge - and then hearing him groan as I slow to prolong the experience. When he gasps my name, pleading, I decide everything about this is delightful, and if I ever see the real Solas again, this is next on my list after punching, kissing, and/or stabbing him.
That Solas, though, I fully intend to torture for hours. I have mercy on this one, who doesn't deserve my wrath, and only tease him for a few more minutes before bringing him to his climax. He pulls me to my feet when he is finished, and then wraps me in his arms and collapses on the bed, taking me with him. "I believe I may I love you," he murmurs indistinctly, burying his face in my hair.
"I promise, you don't," I reply, both amused and pleased with myself.
"I...love sex with you?" he tried again.
"Perhaps," I allow.
"Are you certain you don't want - "
"Entirely," I cut him off. "But I did enjoy that a great deal more than I can express."
"Perhaps court is overrated. I...am given to understand Manlaveth is pleasant, once one becomes accustomed to the smell of fish," he tries again, and I realize he is almost half-seriously attempting to convince himself, or me, that we might have a future.
I laugh, but sober quickly. "Solas, in case you have failed to notice - I'm still rather a mess. If we had a week or two - who can say? But we don't. And even if we did have a week or two, taking a place at court isn't overrated. There are too few people like you - good people - within the aristocracy." I run my fingers through his hair. "Trying to make things better will be a challenge worthy of your talents."
He pulls away slightly so he can look at me. "How many courts have you attended?"
"Many," I assure him. "Some greater than others. I have met Mythal, and now Falon'Din and Dirthamen. If you are angling for advice, Mythal is far from perfect, but seems to have good intentions and consistently puts thought into how best to translate those intentions into action. It's better than can be said for many people."
"I was indeed hoping for advice, thank you," he admits. He may not be my Solas, but I can still read some of his thoughts, apparently.
He kisses me a several times as we lay together quietly for a few minutes, but at last I sigh. "I need to get dressed, so I can leave."
"Then I need to get dressed as well, to walk with you." He smiles. "I wouldn't want an unfortunate criminal to mistake you for a worthwhile mark merely because you are walking alone."
"Mm, yes, I imagine the guilt would eat at you, were you forced to think of how you might have saved the life - or at least the pride; I try not to kill indiscriminately - of some hapless thief," I reply dryly, sitting up.
"I am pleased you understand," he returns, sitting up beside me.
We dress and leave the inn, both of us mostly quiet as we walk, though Solas puts his arm around my waist, holding me close to his side. Taking leave of this Solas is a strange experience - painful for all sorts of reasons that are really only tangentially related to him. I take care not to make too much of it, though I do spend several long moments in his embrace outside of the hall where the eluvians for public use are kept and maintained, and then run my fingers through his hair once more. He has beautiful hair. "Thank you for giving me a final fond memory of this city," I tell him.
"If you find yourself again in Mythal's court, look for me," he replies.
"I will," I promise, and it isn't even a lie. Should I ever find a memory of Mythal's court within the Fade, a representation of Solas will be the first thing I look for. He won't be this Solas, of course, but - I accept whatever comfort is available to me, no matter how meager and disjointed.
I release him slowly and force myself to smile, keeping all of my many regrets carefully hidden. Then I turn, and I walk away.