The Inquisitor could not leave Redcliffe soon enough.
Politics had never been her strong suit, and she imagined it was unlikely ever to be. With her Dalish roots, she had little experience with the bureaucratic nuance that was so often required to navigate the more delicate negotiations of trade, lands, and power. Nor, honestly, did she care to cultivate it. Every time she attended one of these meets, it was the same song and dance.
The players: over-dressed, over-stuffed nobles with too much money and not enough sense. The pandering: arguing where they could be agreeing. So completely dependent on playing out their absurd little charades – introductions, rules about when to offer meals, how to properly accept an offer to take a seat – that the whole thing would take ten times longer than it had any right to. Hours upon hours of wholly ridiculous, unnecessary, posturing.
Yet somehow, every blighted step in these political dances was absolutely mandatory!
One slip here, the wrong word there, and suddenly the whole thing would devolve into a shouting match between petulant children. All sense lost to the wind! The layers of finery and lies cast aside in an instant in favour of arguing over some imagined slight. She had no patience for it. Much of her time instead spent grinding her teeth and trying to resist the urge to hit something.
The noblemen and women positively oozed contempt, and made no effort to hide their distaste for the Inquisitor's race, and the position she had acquired in "spite" of it. She entered every meet at an immediate disadvantage – forced to work twice as hard to earn half as much respect. Relying upon her cunning and wit, instead of power and money; something the nobles were all too eager to throw around, and responded better to.
Josephine had spent hours – months, if she was honest with herself – teaching Ellana the ways of The Game and all of its sophisticated machinations. How to talk in circles and lace your words with subtle threats and clever ploys. Strategies she had some background in already, having spent much of her life with her clan in and out of conflict with the humans that lived in Wycome; attempting to broker trade or tentative promises of peace. Being a particularly skilled archer in her clan, it was necessary for her to accompany her Keeper on many such meets; witness the interactions first hand, learn how to play that 'game'. However, she came into her position as Inquisitor lacking the certain finesse required to navigate such situations from the perspective of someone in power rather than someone persecuted.
That was where Josie's lessons came into play.
And so, Ellana left for each meet with a mental list of who responded best to what kind of manipulation, whose name was worth mentioning in casual conversation, and who had secrets worth exploiting. Where her power scored an advantage and where it was a handicap. All the while holding her own cards close to her chest, never giving too much away. Allowing her opponents to believe they had the upper hand.
That part, at least, was never terribly difficult.
She was, after all, a mere knife-ear. Shem racism was easy to leverage, and she used it well. Playing on their misconceptions and low expectations just long enough to weave little traps that she could spring when they began to get lazy and overconfident – remind them who among them all had the most power at the end of the day.
And she never did tire of the wonderful look of shock and mortification some fat noble would give her when they realized they had been outplayed by an elf.
In some ways, it was an admittedly complicated and even admirable set of skills to hone – this style of manipulation. But in most, it was a chore. And she bore no love for it. Spending a day embroiled in the painfully tedious song and dance always left her with a pounding headache and a terrible craving for hard liquor. This evening was no different.
Gratefully, the worst had finally passed.
Deals were struck, arguments settled, and documents signed. It had gone so well, in fact, that she would not even need to spend the second night in the city as they had originally planned. Instead, the party could be on their way as early as the following morning. The prospect left her in far better spirits than she was usually in following these meets. In addition, overseeing and participating in half a dozen terribly boring trade negotiations had allowed The Inquisition to acquire another merchant for Skyhold, as well as a large shipment of ore for the smithy, and enough canvas and cloth to fill the latest requisition request for tents. A harsh winter with plenty of travel had left them lacking, and many of the soldiers were beginning to complain about having to share. Loudly and frequently.
When they arrived at the next Inquisition camp, she would send a raven to Leiliana and let her know of her success. For now though, she only had eyes for the tavern. And by some miracle it was still early enough in the evening for the hope of finding solace there.
Varric and Sera had suggested they stay in Redcliffe's crowded and noisy inn for the night rather than camp outside the village as they usually did. And she strongly suspected this was for the opportunity to fit in some drinking at the Gull and Lantern. Not that she minded too terribly. At this point, she was more than eager for the reprieve. It had been far too long since she had been allowed an evening to unwind.
And wound up, she definitely was.
It wasn't the trip that did it, per se. Their journey to Redcliffe had been largely uneventful, almost boring, as nary a bandit nor bear had crossed their path. Other than a brief encounter with a small, and very angry, herd of adolescent druffalo near the southern border of the Hinterlands, they had barely needed to bother with their weapons at all. On the last day of travel, Sera had even risked riding without her armor, making a bet with Varric that she wouldn't need it by the time they reached the village. She had won a fair bit of change for her arrogance, but not before receiving several lectures about safety and responsibility from Solas. Her taunting eventually pushing him to suggest she had no need of his barrier magic, either.
Fearing that he may make good on the threat, she reluctantly agreed not to repeat the exercise.
And while her companions' bickering wasn't exactly easy on the nerves, it wasn't that which had her ire up either.
No, the truly problematic effect of the rather unremarkable journey was how often the opportunity arose to lose themselves in conversation and word games. Or, more to the point, flirtation.
On several occasions, Varric's insistence on roping Sera and Cole into several rounds of "I Spy" had granted Ellana and Solas the opportunity to slow the pace of their horse without notice of their companions. Put just enough distance between them to manage a few minutes of relative privacy. Minutes too often filled with quiet teases and dangerous innuendo. Tightly wound tension fueled by the risk of discovery that somehow always managed to give way to fevered kisses and wandering hands. Ending with the whispered promise of another night spent together upon their return. An oath that began as coy titillation, but quickly became a necessary and reassuring mantra. The hot days, long nights, and momentary dalliances having left both considerably keyed up.
The sudden, unexpected rekindling of their relationship and its abrupt shift into something physical had brought with it a fierce longing for touch. For intimacy. From the most passionate lovemaking to the quiet, casual, affection of fingers brushed across a cheek. Drawing tender smiles meant only for a lover. They found themselves reaching for it far more often, and with more need, than they ever had previously. The single night – and following morning – spent together having done little to slake what had built over the previous year.
Additionally, the emotional weight Ellana carried as she struggled to come to terms with Solas' confessions only served to complicate the feelings. Every time the world began spin off its axis, she found herself craving the warmth of his touch. The safety of his arms around her body to hold her in place. Hold her down. Remind her where reality lay. A heated kiss and firm grasp to lose herself in. To push away that strange, needling, discomfort that came with having your worldview turned so dramatically upside down.
In him, churned a torrid mix of relief, joy, and anxiety, as he grappled between his newfound passion and the fear that gripped him when he worried on how to tell her the rest of his truth. It propelled him to seek out as many stolen moments as he could possibly find. Lest he lose the opportunity for good.
The shifting of boundaries between them emboldened him in a way he had not felt since he was a young man. Taking far too much joy in finding opportunities to whisper and tease. Satisfaction, when a stolen kiss left her reeling and dizzied. Unsteady on her feet. He watched with a smug smile as she stumbled over her words and struggled to recompose herself, trying to clear the telling blush from her cheeks. He found a rather perverse pleasure in how readily she succumbed to his seduction. How easily he gained the upper hand in these brief dalliances, even as she attempted to wrest the power back by tempting him in return. Thus far, she had yet to bring him to his knees the way he had done to her. However, it was not for lack of want. Every night of their journey so far he had struggled to fall asleep alone in his tent, mind racing and body aching for the relief he could only find with hers. He simply had much more practice in both resisting temptation and concealing his desire. However, she was getting far too close to finding, and inevitably exploiting, his weaknesses. With her, he had far too many. And it was frightfully easy to lose himself in the moment when he was so very much enjoying this game. It had been too long since he had played it, and the thrill of secrecy made it as dangerous as it was intoxicating.
In this game, the last point had – unintentionally – been awarded to her. During a fleeting moment before she left to attend to her duties as Inquisitor, wherein he originally had thought to gain the upper hand. He offered to walk her to the meeting location as a curtesy, using the excuse of visiting the nearby shops to restock their dry rations for the journey back to Skyhold. As they walked, they made light conversation about the negotiations. A few questions about the nobles she was speaking with. A few suggestions about the foodstuffs that would be best to pack. The gleam in her eye that he noticed as they traveled told him she was becoming wise to his ruse. But he found it only encouraged him. When they passed an alley, and there was no one nearby to witness a sudden disappearance, he took her by the wrist and pulled her in. Pushed her against the side of a building, their bodies hidden behind a stack of crates, and kissed her fiercely. With her hands pinned to the wall at her sides, he kissed her jaw, her neck; grazed his teeth along the edge of one ear, down her throat, all the way to a bared shoulder. Working until he had her gasping. Writhing against the wall.
Then she upped the ante by grinding her hips against his own when he made the mistake of leaning a little too close in the heat of the moment. A wicked smile curled her lips when she felt the stirring of his arousal. The pleasured groan he could not quite catch as his traitorous hips thrust against her in return, desperately seeking friction. She knew she had him then. He released her wrists, and they were lost to passion. Forgetting for a few moments that they were only barely hidden from passers-by. Struggling to stifle the soft moans and quiet whines that threatened to give them away.
It was the longest they had managed to steal away since they left Skyhold, and they were loath to end it.
When they finally parted, she left him leaning heavily against the alley wall with his face in his hands. Flushed from chest to ears and breathing hard. As he so often left her. Trying to recover from the momentary dalliance and recompose himself. Smiling, for how eager and greedy he had become in so short a time. Laughing, for how much he enjoyed it.
The encounter was still at the forefront of Ellana's mind when she entered the Gull and Lantern, immediately spying her friends seated around a table at the far end of the darkened tavern. They had purposefully picked a protected corner to sit in, she noticed. Perhaps out of habit: for its defensibility in the event of a confrontation. Perhaps just for privacy. Either way, she was grateful.
She had barely a moment to begin adjusting to the new environment – the dark, sunken, candle-lit room reeking of spilled beer and sweaty bodies – before Sera's voice suddenly rose up above the din.
"Lady Inquisitits!" she drawled, far too loudly. The shrill edge of her voice nearly echoing off the walls. A few of the other patrons glanced up at the disturbance, watching Ellana's entrance curiously, only to lose interest a moment later, once it was clear she had little to offer in the way of entertainment. A good thing, too, as she was in no mood to attract any more attention than she'd already earned that day. Simply existing as the Herald of Andraste tended to draw more ogles and stares than she was entirely comfortable with, and after a day like this one, all she wanted to do was slip into obscurity. At least for a few hours. And a crowded, stuffy tavern was the perfect opportunity. At this hour, most patrons were well into their cups. Washing away the grime and toil of a day's work with a purse's worth of ale and hard liquor. They had little care for her now.
As she approached the corner table, Sera announced, only slightly quieter, "You finally joined us!" Tongue just a little too thick around her words. The subtle slur betraying the valiant effort she was making to appear sober. She straightened her back, rolled her shoulders and attempted to school her expression into something resembling casual disinterest as Ellana took a seat across from her.
It failed miserably.
Ignoring her, Varric lifted his tankard in greeting, smiling wide. He, at least, seemed to be faring much better. "We were hoping you'd arrive before we were finished for the night. The game just hasn't been as fun without you."
After offering a friendly smile to both she then glanced at Solas, who sat off to one side of the table. Close enough to be included in the group, yet far enough away to have clearly distanced himself from whatever it was they were up to. A bottle idled at his mouth, a slight curl to his lips as he nodded a greeting to her. The glass was near empty, but there were no others near him, indicating it was likely his first. Though the slightest hint of pink on the apples of his cheeks made her wonder.
He was always careful with his drink the few times she had ever seen him imbibe. Something she had previously attributed to an aversion to alcohol, but now understood on a more intimate level. He was deliberately over cautious. Never consuming enough to risk loosening his tongue. With how carefully he wove his words, it would be far too easy to let something slip, if pushed. And so he sipped slowly at his drinks.
Sera and Varric, however, had managed to accumulate more than half a dozen empty tankards and bottles on the table between them. That, and the rosy flush of Sera's face, told her they had clearly been enjoying their free time before her arrival.
Turning her attention back to Varric, "What game?" she inquired. More than a mite suspicious. "Do I even want to know?"
He laughed, taking another long drag from his cup before answering. "Mm, it's a good one. Buttercup's idea. Think of it as a 'getting to know you better' exercise."
In response, Sera lifted her own drink into the air, spilling some onto the table in her enthusiasm. "I have great ideas."
Ellana didn't notice a drink had been ordered for her until a full tankard was suddenly thrust into her empty hands. With a nod, she thanked the server and handed her a sovereign for her trouble. Then, waited patiently for Varric to elaborate. All he offered for her silence, however, was a sweeping gesture of encouragement toward the cup she had yet to drink from.
She rolled her eyes, and made a show of quaffing the drink. Once finished, she wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, and then placed the cup back down upon the table with a heavy clunk.
Varric nodded, satisfied.
"So are you going to tell me the rules of this game, or do I have to guess?"
Across from her, Sera snorted, but it was Varric who supplied the explanation. "We're telling secrets." His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
Her eyes flicked to Solas. His expression offering her nothing as he lifted his own drink to his mouth.
"And you roped him into this?" she probed, gesturing with her cup.
Solas swallowed. Scoffed. "Hardly," he muttered into his bottle. "I am here because they insisted upon my company. Not to play."
"Ah," she replied carefully. Narrowing her eyes.
It was not just the apples of his cheeks that were pink, she noted, but the very tips of his ears, too. His words were clear and concise, but spoken a bit more readily than was typical for him. It was possible he had imbibed enough to be slightly off his guard, at least. It was unlikely he would still be here at all otherwise.
It was then that she realized she'd been toying with her tankard while lost to thought. Idly stroking the rounded handle between her fingers. Solas' eyes followed the movement. One brow slightly lifted. She bit the inside of her cheek to supress a grin. Clearly, she was not the only one distracted by passing fancy. And he was not being near as subtle about it as he would if sober, she imagined.
That sent a little twist of a smile to her lips. It was so rare to see him in less than perfect form.
Sera broke into her reverie. "He's no fun." With a sloppy jerk of her cup, she added, "But you? You're better. It'll be your turn next!"
Ellana laughed, threading her fingers around the handle of her tankard. "I'm not even sure what that means at this point! You've yet to explain it to me."
Varric chuckled and drained his cup. Nodding at a passing server to get him another almost immediately. "It's a simple game," he explained with a cheeky grin. "Someone supplies a truth about themselves, and everyone else drinks once if it's also true for them." When she offered nothing in reply but a curiously raised brow, he elaborated. "So, if I was to say, 'I've served in the Inquisition' and take a drink, everyone else has to because that's also true for them. But, if I said, 'I'm a dwarf' and drink, nobody else does, because I'm the only dwarf here. Got it?"
"But it's got to be more interesting than that shite!" Sera quickly added.
Slowly, Ellana nodded. Hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup, held against her lips. "I think so." Turning, she asked Sera, "And it's my turn now? To tell a truth?"
"No! I have one more go!" answered the girl quickly. Then, clearing her throat, she leveled Ellana with a penetrating look and announced, "I have slept with women." And as she drank, a bit too deeply, she peered over her cup. Eager for the answer.
Ellana rolled her eyes and took a sip.
"I knew it," Sera slurred. A triumphant smile on her face. "You are a lady lover! That's why you two never got 'round to smashing bits when you were friendly, eh?" In emphasis, she thrust her now-empty cup in Solas' direction. For his part, he offered no reaction.
A sigh. "No, that's—" Ellana began rather curtly, but stopped. Cleared her throat, and rephrased. "I'm fine with either."
Sera didn't miss a beat, quipping, "So he's just that ugly, then?" A slow, sly grin bloomed on her lips until she was all teeth and plump, flushed cheeks. A look so positively wicked it could not be said she wasn't plotting something.
For that, The Herald regarded her suspiciously. Somehow, she got the distinct impression that Sera was – rather inelegantly – trying to probe her for the answer to a slightly different question. She'd been on this track for days now: ferreting out hints on her love life. It was becoming clear that she was – for whatever reason – trying to trick Ellana into revealing personal details she normally would not.
While some of her inner circle may have suspected her and Solas' flirtation had developed into an affair, it was never something either had confirmed. Most knew they were close, and had witnessed incidences of passing flirtation, but never anything further. They had been excruciatingly careful about privacy and appearances during the few, tenuous, months they were together. Before everything dissolved. And other than Dorian, who seemed to know everything about her personal life by osmosis, Ellana had not confided the truth of it to anyone.
Curiosity was expected, particularly once things became rather icy between the two of them, but no one had the gall to ask her outright. Though, it seemed unlikely that Sera was pulling at this particular thread for the gossip. Despite appearances, she generally didn't engage in much… instead, she generally just acquired knowledge. With that in mind, it seemed unlikely she would want to know about the Inquisitor's private life for any reason other than fodder for teasing. Or, perhaps to win a bet she had made with someone.
With a groan, Ellana wrest the conversation away from her sex life and back to the heart of the game. "I have slept with men," she announced pointedly. Taking a long pull from her tankard. No one else drank. A huff. "That's what I thought."
Eyebrows went up, and there was a brief, awkward silence before Sera broke it with a rude noise. "Touchy, touchy! Fine, then. You go, Varric!"
"Hm," the dwarf murmured, scratching his chin. "I have pick-pocketed someone."
Everyone drank.
Sera gave a loud, frustrated moan. Banging her cup on the table and shouting, "Boring!" The word made its way across her tongue in stages, drawing out the vowels as if each where its own sentence. "Nobody wants to hear about your tragic past on the streets, yeah? Back to the exciting shite."
Varric chuckled, holding up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, let me try that again." With a dramatic flourish of one wrist and a wistful sigh, he lilted, "I have made love under the light of the moon, and a blanket of stars."
He and Ellana both drank. As she put her cup down, Varric gave her an appraising look. "Really?"
"I'm Dalish," she reminded him. "All we have is under the stars. Nobody has sex in the aravels. Our families sleep there."
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a single word in, Sera interrupted. "You mean you just wander off and find a nice patch of grass when the mood strikes you? Every time?" Her nose wrinkled, eyes blinking unevenly. Looking as though she could not quite decide whether to be horrified or impressed by this knowledge.
Nodding, "Every time," Ellana confirmed.
"Have you ever had sex in a bed?"
She laughed, spluttering a little on her drink. "Of course I have!"
Immediately, the girl's eyes widened. She thrust a finger, accusing and unsteady, toward the Inquisitor's chest. "A-ha!" she yelled. Loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby patrons. She was positively jubilant, as though she had just won a great victory. "So you have been with someone since becoming a Heraldy person! Only beds you've ever known were at Haven and Skyhold! Who—?"
"Or inns," supplied Solas dryly. The answer drew everyone's attention, and all eyes turned to him. It was the first time he'd deigned to contribute to the conversation. Taking a sip from his drink, he continued, "Unless I am mistaken, the Dalish do use them from time to time."
It was not entirely true, and she imagined that Solas knew that perfectly well. The Dalish almost never stayed at inns, preferring to keep out of shem cities as much as possible. In fact, she was certain she had never heard of anyone from clan Lavellan staying at any inn. And certainly never for that reason. But, "Yes," she agreed. Casually. "They do."
Solas had given her a set up just vague enough to encourage Sera to draw her own, incorrect, conclusion without requiring Ellana to outright lie. It was wickedly clever. Wryly, she realized this style of double-talk was something he was exceptionally skilled at.
Sera huffed, but ultimately conceded the point. Grumbling under her breath as she sipped at her ale. "Fine then, my turn, yeah?" She hummed as she considered her tankard. A moment of quiet passing before she finally decided on something that would allow her to drink deeply. "I know absolutely no elfy language!" she announced with pride. Then drained her cup completely, patting the bottom of it with the flat of her palm to ensure she got every drop before she slammed it down upon the table with enough force to shake it a little.
Varric gave a quiet hum of his own before taking a very small sip. When Ellana caught his eye and raised a curious brow, he smirked. "I think I might know one word. A bad one," he clarified, inclining his chin toward Solas. "I've heard him say it a few times."
"Fenedhis?" she inquired.
He pointed at her. "That's the one. What's it mean anyway?"
"It, ah, loses something in translation," Ellana answered, keeping her tone even.
Sera snorted. Then, after a pause, gave the Inquisitor a look down her nose. "You know," she began in a tone that was anything but innocent. Running her finger along the side of her mug, she drew a line through the fog of condensation that had gathered on the outside. "For a people so stuck up about retaining their elfy language, you sure don't use much of it."
Narrowing her eyes, Ellana replied, "It's a dead language. We may not possess fluency anymore, but we try. What remains varies from clan to clan."
From across the table, Varric eyed the two of them apprehensively. Then turned to Solas, who was watching the pair intently from over the edge of his cup. Quiet. Seemingly content to stay out of it. For once.
For a moment, neither said anything. Intent to stare at each other with steadily increasing ferocity.
Sensing they were dangerously close to a confrontation, Varric decided that someone should intervene. He coughed. And, with a practiced chuckle, leaned forward onto the table and flexed his fingers. Drawing their attention. "Well, what do you know?" he asked the Inquisitor. Grinning. "All the dirty words, I'm sure. Those always survive."
The elves' gaze held another moment before the tension around them finally dissolved, and Ellana turned to Varric. "Enough to pick out the gist of something spoken, but not enough to be conversational," she answered. Then, with a little smile, "And the dirty words," she conceded.
The grin widened. "Like?" At her incredulous look, he lifted his hands, palms up, and prompted, "Indulge me! I could always use more curses. And I don't truly know any Elvish."
She considered this. And, feigning an expression of deep thought, she tapped her chin. "Fenedhis, pala, etunash," Ellana listed, counting on her fingers. "Ar'isalathe ma'pala fra min'nivhellan."
Across from her, in mid-drink, Solas choked.
The sudden, loud, sputter drew everyone's attention. Staring in surprise as he struggled to catch his breath between pained coughs into his fist. Once he had recovered, and realizing that everyone was now staring at him expectantly, he supplied, "That is not a curse." Voice still rasping from the fit.
Ellana frowned, confused. "No?" She cocked her head. With a shrug, she pondered aloud, "Perhaps the meaning has changed over time, then."
The picture of innocence.
He met her eye. Catching the smallest twinkle of mischief there before she blinked it away. With her gaze still locked on his own, she took a long pull of her drink. Slowly drumming her fingers on the table. Just once.
The corner of Solas' lips twitched upward as he shook the last remnants of spilled ale from his jacket.
She smiled.
Point number two.
It was near to midnight, and the tavern largely empty, when the party had finally imbibed enough to render the game unplayable. Or rather, render them unable to play it. Their corner table now covered in an array of empty tankards, bottles, and the odd puddle of spilled liquor. Their purses, and heads, considerably lighter for it.
It was not often that members of the Inquisition were granted the chance to spend an evening gathered for drink and merriment. And so were eager to seize the opportunity when it presented itself. Over-eager, if their level of intoxication was any indication. Normally, they would not risk delving quite so deep into their cups, but time spent in a village meant time spent protected. Inquisition coffers easily covered the luxury of a night or two at an inn. Warm beds in comfortable rooms, surrounded by high, sturdy, walls. Guards patrolling just outside. An assurance of safety that granted them a rare chance to relax; to not have to worry about who had the next watch and whether or not they should take their armour off to sleep that night, or keep their leathers laced up just in case. It was nice to let loose every once in a while.
…Some more than others.
"Do you need help?"
Ellana eyed Varric warily as he worked to hoist Sera out of her seat. An arm wrapped snug around her waist for support, forcing her to stand, though she wobbled on unsteady feet. She had been fading in and out for the last twenty minutes, at least. And for nearly double that, the party had been struggling to convince her to retire to the room she and the Inquisitor were sharing on the second floor. Unfortunately, Sera proved to be a belligerent drunk and the task was far more challenging than it had any right to be.
Each time someone successfully managed to urge her out of the chair, she would immediately launch into a loud and angry tirade about whether or not she was as drunk as she appeared. Insisting that she remain, and they all continue the game. This, even after she had lost the ability to string a single coherent sentence together. Her answers long ago having descended into a stream of incomprehensible mumbling broken up by the odd peal of drunken laughter.
While she lay on top of the table, either snoring or quietly murmuring to herself, the remaining three abandoned the game and drifted into casual conversation about their return trip.
Though not without the occasional lurid joke or shared "secret", largely at Varric's prompting.
It wasn't until Sera had – rather miraculously – managed to down yet another half-bottle of mead that the slurry of exhaustion and inebriation finally won out over her stubborn streak, and Varric was able to convince her to accompany him to their rooms.
Presently, the dwarf shook his head. He regretted it immediately. Blinking unevenly as the world spun a little. He coughed, and swallowed hard to drive back the wave of nausea that threatened him. Slowly, he walked a lurching, unsteady path toward the stairs that led up to the rooms. All but dragging Sera along with him. On the next step, her feet crossed and tangled together. They tripped, careening off to one side. Solas made to stand and offer assistance to the pair, but Varric managed to right himself before they hit the ground, and waved off the help.
"Nah, I'm good," he said, his tongue catching on the words a little. A testament to his own level of inebriation. "We're good. We'll make it."
With a nod, Solas lowered himself back into his chair. A little too quickly. His hand flew out to grasp the edge of the table for support, and he gave a hard blink.
Ellana raised a brow at the stumbling pair. "You're sure you're okay?" she pushed.
"Ask me again tomorrow and I'll have a different answer!" Varric called over his shoulder.
Somehow, he managed to climb the first few steps of the staircase. Then, taking Sera's hand in his, he placed it on the banister and gave it a hard few pats. Encouraging her to take hold and brace some of her weight on it instead of his head. Gratefully, she did so. And once he had cleared the landing he gave a wave and a final, "Goodnight."
Sera giggled, nuzzling her cheek against the top of Varric's head as they walked. Lumbered. "You're short," she slurred.
He snorted. "That I am."
They disappeared up the stairs.
And, finally, Ellana was left alone with Solas.
At first, they said nothing. Seated around the edge of the table, coy and quiet, watching each other expectantly. Eyes soft and cheeks flushed from drink. The tension was palpable, and they were painfully aware of it. All pretense gone after days spent yearning for opportunities to be alone. Though, now that they finally had one, any enjoyment to be had from the moment was somewhat complicated by the choice of location. As sparsely populated as the tavern was at this hour, it was still public enough to restrict them to heated glances and clever words.
After a long moment of silence, Solas took a generous pull from his bottle. "You should consider retiring as well," he informed. "Best not suffer a hangover come tomorrow, if you can avoid it." In emphasis, he gestured to a pitcher of water and some cups that a passing barmaid had placed upon the table some time ago. It was largely untouched.
Ellana snorted. "Too late for that, I imagine. Besides…" she purred before taking a long drink from her own bottle, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Now that I've got you alone, I can finally convince you to play."
His brows went up. A hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Oh?"
She grinned. "Yes. Though I think, in the interest of learning more—" She tapped the glass bottle with a nail thoughtfully, giving him a flirtatious smile. "—I'll have to change the rules a bit. Ask you 'yes' or 'no' questions, instead. You'll take a drink if the answer is 'yes'."
A quiet chuckle shook his shoulders. Humming, he noted, "I've some years on you," with a touch of playfulness in his tone. Long fingers drummed against the side of his bottle absently. "A long life leads to many experiences. Changing the rules thus would likely result in alcohol poisoning."
Ellana couldn't help but take note that, while he teased, he also wasn't saying 'no'. And her grin only widened. Resting her chin on folded hands, she challenged him. "Then I'll just have to try and stump you, won't I?"
Solas quieted. His gaze held hers. Slightly unfocused, on account of the tipsy flush of his cheeks. After a moment, he gave her a slight nod. "Alright," he allowed, smiling. "Ask your questions."
A rush of excitement surged in her chest, and she bit her lip. Uncertain if it was the prospect of peppering him with questions he may actually answer, or perhaps the alcohol, that had her so eager.
With a predatory look, she cajoled, "An easy one to start, since you're so behind." Gesturing to the three empty bottles he had placed in a neat line on the table before him. Paltry, by comparison to the five she had arranged in a more haphazard pattern. Or, was six now? Not including the half-drunk one in her hand. And the tankard of weak ale she'd had when she first sat down that was now on the floor somewhere by her feet. The longer the night wore on, the more difficult it was to keep an accurate count. Her lips twisted into a sly grin. "Did you ever lay in your bed at night and wish I was in it with you?"
He laughed. A full, rich sound that bubbled from him freely. Shoulders shaking, and cheeks flushing even deeper in his mirth. She could not help the way her smile widened at the display. "That," he said breathlessly. "Is not a fair question."
"And why not?"
There was the slightest pause before he answered her. Eyes glinting with mischief. "Because there is not enough alcohol in this establishment to answer it duly."
With a smirk, she took a sip of her mead. "Sweet talker." He chuckled again, making a point to take a deliberately long pull from his own bottle.
Yes.
Once finished, he regarded her curiously, tilting his head. "Is it my turn?"
The question took her off guard, and she stilled. Blinked. "You want to ask me something?" He nodded. "What could you possibly want to ask?" she wondered, incredulous. There was little about her he did not already know. Being a part of the Inquisition, and her inner circle, meant he was privy to nearly all of her personal history. Most of it became public knowledge once the story of the Herald of Andraste spread, anyway. And what little she had that constituted a "private" life centered around him.
Of course, there was her younger years, prior to coming to the Inquisition – but there was not much about her time spent with the Dalish that she imagined would interest him, given his opinion of her people.
He raised a brow, and pursed his lips. "To find out, I suppose you'll have to grant me a turn," Solas intoned. Fingers drumming against his bottle again.
She gave him an appraising look. Trying her best to school her expression into one of cautious concern, but in her state of inebriation, she only managed to narrow her eyes playfully. The look drew an amused chuckle from him. "Alright," she allowed. Then leaned back in her chair and lifted her chin, a mirror of his posture.
He wasted no time in thought. The question already prepared. "Were you bonded to anyone, before you were sent to the conclave?"
The sudden bark of laughter that burst from her gave him a start. His brow furrowed. It was clearly not a reaction he was expecting. "Are you asking me if I have a cuckold back in my clan?" she blurted, amused.
A flush of red crept into his cheeks and neck, and he shifted in his seat. She grinned. He was ever so charming when flustered, and she thoroughly enjoyed the rare moments of it.
"That's not quite what I meant," he replied haltingly. Clearing his throat, he made a second attempt at the question. "I have heard the Dalish often favour arranged bonds. I had only wondered if you had endur—" he paused, and a brow twitched in thought. Carefully considering his words so not to offend her. A breath, and he continued, "If you had been arranged for someone prior to leaving for the conclave."
Briefly, wickedly, she considered creating a fiction for him. Some grandiose, romantic tragedy the kind Varric would write. Just to see how far she could push before he realized she was teasing. Take advantage of his disdain. He knew well enough that she did not care for his opinions on the Dalish. They had never clashed over anything as often – or as hard – as they did over the subject of her people.
But in the end, the truth proved easier. Moreover, she was too drunk to try to construct a convincing tale.
And so, pointedly, she took a sip.
At this, Solas' brows went up, chin tilting slightly to one side. A subtle, hopeful little movement. Inviting her to elaborate.
"I'm a little old for such traditions," she explained. "And clan Lavellan didn't honour them as faithfully as others did. But we hadn't had a mage born in a while, and so if I remained unattached by my 30th winter Keeper Deshanna was going to have me bonded to a childhood friend – a mage – in the hopes of rectifying that. The idea being that we'd be more likely to have magic-using children. A kindness, all things considered."
His reaction was not unexpected. "A kindness?" he repeated, unable to hide his distaste. The curl of his lip threatened a sneer. "To force you into a bonding with someone you had no romantic interest in?"
Dark eyes flashed as they trained on him. "To guide me into a mutually beneficial relationship with someone I already had a friendship with," she corrected. Firmly but gently. "Rather than ship me off to another clan and deliver me to a stranger, as so many others might have. I can think of worse fates." The warning in her words was clear: do not push. And she allowed a pause for the sentiment to sink in before she tactfully shifted the conversation away from the topic of her people's customs. A brow lifted, appraising. And her eyes worked a trail down his body. With a soft hum, she concluded, "sharing my bed with the greatest adversary of my people, for instance."
For a moment, he just looked stunned. The quick shift leaving him unsure whether she had intended the remark as barb or jest. But then, the tension left his shoulders, and his eyes made a similar pass over her. The corner of his lips pulled upward in a crooked smile.
"Indeed."
Both drank.
Eager to continue, and grateful to be off the subject of her people's culture, "Next question," Ellana prompted, gesturing with her bottle. The motion a little too clumsy, causing her to splash a bit of mead upon the table. "Have you truly been wandering around Thedas for the last two thousand years? Exploring ruins? Harassing the Dalish?"
Shaking his head, he chuckled. "No. I slept."
"Slept?"
"Uthenera." A wistful note touched his voice as he explained. "I entered it shortly after the Fall, and awoke one year before the conclave. In sleep, I wandered the Fade. Watched empires rise and fall. Wars, the Blights, countless ages past."
Ellana hummed thoughtfully, turning the answer over in her mind. She knew nothing of uthenera outside whispers and legends. Stories of ancients laid to rest half-alive and dreaming on stone beds, prepared and tended by ritual. Lips brushed with mixtures of tea, honey, and sweetened milk on each new moon to keep their bodies nourished while they wandered the Fade. Some never to return, their physical forms left to crumble into dust and return to the earth while their spirits sought the dreaming.
Somehow, she could not imagine the man sitting before her being cared for in that manner for millennia. By whom? And where? Were there more like him? Still asleep? Or had they already awakened long ago? Was he unique in being a former Evanuris, and so received a treatment others were denied? Did he have grand temples dedicated to his name somewhere that no one had yet found? Full of faithful priests and supplicants?
She trusted that he was telling the truth – the way he spoke since their first night, after he confessed, was markedly different from the vague, winding speech he normally used. Yet the stories he told seemed all the more remarkable, and bizarre, when framed by all she'd learned in these last few days.
There were a hundred, thousand, questions she wanted to ask now that she had the opportunity. Countless legends and myths to test. Stories to prompt. But the drink made her slow and fuzzy. And a long day spent embroiled in talks of mindless politics left her struggling to arrange her thoughts in any vaguely coherent order.
And the way his lips were quirked at one corner was terribly distracting.
So, instead of pulling one of the many thoughtful, curious, and intelligent questions from the torrent, she wrinkled up her nose and asked, "The common tongue wasn't spoken until rather recently in history, did you learn it while sleeping, as well? In the Fade?"
"Ah," he said. Suddenly a bit sheepish. "No."
When she offered nothing but curious silence in response, he sighed. Shifted a little in his chair. "As you've surmised, only Elvish was spoken in Elvhenan. While in the Fade, I could communicate to others by altering their perception of the language when necessary. Therefore, acquisition of the trade tongue was not a priority until I woke to a world where it was virtually the only language used. It did not take long for me to realize I would not blend in as easily while speaking a dead tongue."
"As you do," she quipped.
A small smile. He continued, "And so, I took it from a man in a tavern, in a small village. Near to where I woke."
His choice of words gave her pause. A brow raised. "You… took it?" she repeated. Rolling the words over her tongue curiously, wondering at the implications of his careful phrasing.
"Yes. There are—" His lip twitched a little. The slightly sheepish look returning. "—certain ways to acquire language from fluent speakers. Spells, as it were."
Suddenly, she was struck by the rather distinct impression that there was a very specific act a language acquisition spell would require.
Grinning, she teased, "I'm getting the idea this man may not have thought that's what you were doing."
Solas pursed his lips. "No," he admitted, clearly trying to bite back a smile, and failing miserably at it. "I imagine he did not. However, in my defense, he was not terribly opposed. He was quite drunk at the time."
And then she was giggling. A tipsy, bubbling titter that she tried – unsuccessfully – to muffle into the back of her hand. Cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. His own laughter joined hers as he downed his mead, draining it to the last drop before adding the empty bottle to its kin in front of him. This addition notably crooked next to the otherwise even row.
It took several moments for the mirth to subside, and it was only once they had settled into a companionable quiet that Solas deigned to resume the game.
There was a notable shift in his demeanor before he began again. A tension in his brow and a depth to his gaze that seemed to bore into her; searching for what she might offer in reply beyond her words. "You have never spoken of your family, to my memory." He spoke with great care – his quiet, cautious, manner giving her the impression he was not entirely confident broaching the subject. "Do they fare well in your absence?"
Pointedly, Ellana placed her bottle on the table before her, and folded her hands in her lap. The answer clearly communicated without having to speak a word aloud.
No.
"My apologies," offered Solas quickly, averting his eyes. "I would not want you to visit bad memories on my account."
"It's alright," she replied, shrugging. "I do not have much of a family. I was a foundling."
"You are an orphan?" He seemed genuinely surprised by this revelation.
The follow-up question was not part of the game, but in the interest of trying to keep the mood light, she took a deliberate sip of her drink just the same. Nodding. "My parents were killed by bandits. Humans. I was three or four at the time, too young to remember them, nor anything of their death. All I can recall is that someone put me in the bushes before the attack – told me to stay still and be very quiet. And so there I remained.
"A member of clan Lavellan discovered me before I starved to death. A hunter who was checking traps in the area. He brought me back to the clan, and they decided to take me in. Keeper Deshanna effectively raised me, though our relationship has always been more one of student and hahren, rather than anything remotely familial. Motherhood is not her strong suit." Her eyes passed between him and the bottle in her hand. "So, to answer your question more succinctly: I have no family to 'fare well'. I assume Keeper Deshanna is fine, though I cannot know for certain as she has not written since I was elevated to venerated leader of the shems." Scoffing, she added under her breath, "I don't think she took it well."
A tense silence settled over them once she had finished her story. Solas had gone very still, watching her with a pained expression. Hands folded across his lap with his fingers loosely twined together. The topic was not one she was in a habit of discussing openly, and certainly not often, and so was left unprepared for the vulnerability that came after revealing something so intimate, and painful. Old as it was, the wound had yet to close.
She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with his show of sympathy. It wasn't something she was accustomed to receiving from anyone. Especially Solas. And so she averted her gaze and filled the silence by taking a long pull from her bottle. When she heard him take in a sharp breath, preparing to speak, she quickly cut him off. She had no interest in platitudes.
"And what of your family?"
Frowning, he closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a tight line. And immediately, she regret asking.
Of all the things she could have said, turning the question back onto him was probably the least tactful. It was not difficult to deduce that any family he may have once had were long dead – he'd implied as much himself – and she was loath to bring such darkness into the conversation.
But strangely, it wasn't wistful sadness that she saw in his face. Instead, there was a small, worried, twitch in his brow. Tension pulling at his mouth. A shade of unease in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed back into the usual mask. The shift was so subtle and quick she nearly missed it.
Curious.
He found the question unsettling. And he was, perhaps, a bit too tipsy to hide it as easily as he usually would.
The silence seemed to go on for an uncomfortably long time while he frowned at the table, deep in thought. She'd very nearly resolved to change the subject and ask a different question before he finally caught her eye. He picked up one of the empty bottles in front of him and began turning it in his hands. An idle task to occupy nervous fingers. Then he cleared his throat. "It seems that is something we have in common," he replied. The answer was careful. Deliberately vague. And she was left with the distinct impression that she needed to ask just the right question if she wanted a completely truthful answer.
After a pause, "You didn't know your parents?" she tested.
The frown deepened. "No," he said. "I did not."
There was something odd about his manner, but it was not anything she could put her finger on just yet. And she was too drunk to be overly tactful. Clicking her tongue, she tested a joke. "Did you even have parents? Or did you just spring from the Fade fully formed?"
But when the ribbing did not draw the smile she expected, it gave her pause. She watched as he toyed with the bottle, drawing circles around the rim with his fingertips.
"Would it concern you, if I had?" came his cryptic reply.
"No," she replied honestly. His eyes snapped to hers. Fingers stilling. "I think, out of all the things you've told me, the idea that you were never a little boy would be the least surprising."
There, finally, came the barest flicker of a smile. Some of the tension falling away from his shoulders. A moment passed before he spoke again. "In Elvhenan, reproduction and birth was rather different than it is today," he began. Cautiously. "There was, of course, the more traditional method between two individuals. Though even then, gestation was carefully planned and often took years to complete, if not decades." He hesitated a moment. Shifted. "And then, there were spirits who took a body. Passing from the Dreaming into a permanent, physical form; one that lives and feels."
"Like Cole?" prompted Ellana.
He nodded, but still did not meet her eye. His gaze fixed on the bottle as he turned it round and round in his hands. "Not unlike Cole, yes. The idea is similar. Many Elvhen began their lives as spirits of Purpose, Wisdom, Curiosity—"
The idea struck her suddenly. An answer so obvious she wondered how she had never put it together before, and the words tumbled from her lips before she'd truly had the thought to speak them aloud. "Or Pride."
He went utterly still. A moment passed in tense silence. And then slowly, gradually, his fingers resumed their meandering path around the rim of his bottle, and he nodded once.
"Or Pride," he echoed. "Come adulthood, there was no discernable difference between those who chose a form over those who were given it. That said, only Elvhen-born experienced childhood, or had a family. The closest equivalent for spirit-born would be any other spirits, or Elvhen, who presided over their process of taking a body."
Perhaps it was the drink, or simply the overload of information that had temporarily broken her ability to be skeptical, but somehow she found herself not at all shocked or surprised by this revelation. Though she imagined she probably should be.
"I can see why you and Cole get along so well," she remarked.
For that, he gave her a fond smile, conceding. "We are not so far apart." His eyes found hers again. "Nor are you and I. Spirits, demons, elves and elvhen are not as dissimilar as you might believe."
"You are a treasure trove of wonder, Solas," she said, grinning.
The smile turned coy. "I aim to please."
"Speaking of pleasing…" she purred, taking the opening he'd unintentionally given her. "What kinds of wonderful experiences does someone new to a body get up to?"
He chuckled. "There is little you could ask in that regard that would stump me, if you are still looking to," came his smooth reply. Tactfully avoiding her question.
Undeterred, she teased, "Women? Men? All at once? Erotic adventures both public and private?"
Solas smirked. "Now I believe you are less playing and more attempting to determine my past sexual proclivities," he replied dryly.
She laughed, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. "I would never!" Eyeing him, she added, "Though, I have noticed you're not drinking."
He gave an exasperated sigh and, noting his own empty bottle, rose from his chair. The sudden movement causing it to scrape along the floor. Then, he reached across the table and gingerly plucked the half-full drink from Ellana's hand and brought it to his lips. Took a sip. Then placed it down in the center of the table, and sank back into his chair.
She blinked, surprised. And before she could stop herself, blurted, "Truly?"
Solas narrowed his eyes, but the little smile on his lips was positively mischievous. "I, too, was once young." His gaze lingered, assuaging her reaction. "This surprises you?"
A girlish giggle tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle any more. "Well, yes," she admitted. Then with a grin, added, "You're a bit of a prude, Solas."
That got a proper response from him.
Both brows raised, and his eyes darkened. "It was not prudishness that gave me pause to lay with you. Nor lack of want." The words were cool. Almost disquieting in his calm. But something about the way he held her gaze while he spoke told her he took the accusation as a challenge over insult.
Beneath the table, he crossed his ankles, shifting so he could lean back in the chair more comfortably. The movement caused a wrapped foot to briefly brush up against hers, and she jumped at the sudden contact. They had not touched each other since their kiss before her meeting. He stilled her with a hand pressed to her thigh, holding it there just a moment too long, and gave her a knowing look somewhere between smoulder and storm. A look that, for some damnable reason, sent a rush of warmth that prickled beneath her skin and settled in her belly. And then she was caught up of the dimple on his chin and the curve of his ears.
That inviting cleft in his lower lip that begged to be kissed.
She swallowed, suddenly aware of how tight her throat had become.
I have had too much drink, she decided – now feeling far too hot – and she twisted in her seat so she could shrug out of her jacket and hang it off the side. When she turned back, she found Solas watching her with a lifted brow. Too smug for his own good, if he thought a simple touch to her thigh would be enough to undo her.
That did not count as a point in his favour.
With a smirk, "I think I would have enjoyed knowing you when you were younger," she tested, draining the last from her bottle.
His reply was immediate. "No, you would not have." The words came out a little more firmly than she'd expected, and there was a short pause before he continued. Softer. "I was a vain and cocky young man." He tilted his head. "and there are advantages to age."
"Like?"
"Patience," he answered slowly. His eyes darkening. One word wrapped in a dozen unspoken promises of desire and dare, laid by careful tongue. His eyes found her lips, just briefly, and his own parted.
The prickle was more of a rush now; spreading through her hips and coiling between her thighs.
Far, far too much to drink.
Against her better judgement, she found herself discreetly glancing about the room. Checking for any curious onlookers. There were barely half a dozen customers left. Most of them were alone, either sitting at the bar or tucked into dark corners. Staring into their cups. Half-asleep, and likely far too drunk to notice whether there was anyone else in the room at all. Let alone anyone important.
Maybe, if she was discreet, she might be able to get away with a touch or two. A brush of her hand against his body, or even an illicit kiss. But when she made to move a little closer to him, she realized his fingers were still pressed against her thigh. A touch so soft and so still she had not noticed it at all.
Except…
He was still watching her with that curious look in his eye. Desire, clearly, but something else was lurking there as well.
She narrowed her eyes. "Solas," she began. Wetting her lips with her tongue. "Are you…?"
…Doing something?
The tingling heat in her core suddenly spiked, a gasp catching in her throat when her body reflexively clenched in response. She looked at him with wide eyes as he very slowly, very deliberately – and without breaking eye contact – picked up the last bottle on the table that had any drink in it.
And took a sip.
Yes.
Ellana cast her eyes around the room again. A distinct blush rising in her cheeks. She coughed, shifted, and told herself she had no business getting so excited over such a small tease. "Is this because I called you a prude?" she whispered.
With a smirk, he took another sip.
"You do realize we're in a tavern…" she let the implication hang in the air. And in public. Truthfully, she had no idea what exactly he was doing other than making her very flushed and very sensitive, and so was unclear of the extent of which he could command this magic.
Or, what exactly he had in mind to do with it.
Still, it seemed a dangerous proposition. Especially when he replied, "Then you shall have to endure."
And no, she thought then, she most definitely had no business being this excited.
Beneath the table, his fingers traced a slow path up her thigh. Curving inward. And her legs parted in welcome. Breath growing shallow and quick as her heart pound against her ribs. When his fingers reached nearly high enough to brush the laces of her breeches, she swallowed hard. "You know," she began, dark eyes locked on his. Noting the flush rising on his neck and ears. "There are other roo—"
"INQUISITITS!"
Sera's shriek startled not just the two of them, but everyone else occupying the tavern. The girl hung off an upper railing, leaning into the room. Weaving unsteadily on her feet.
Several sharp curses floated up at the disturbance. Followed by angry, heated mumbling as drunken patrons mourned their spilled drinks and bumped knees from jumping in surprise. A few particularly furious individuals had turned an evil eye upon the Inquisitor. Silently willing her to leave, taking the obnoxious drunkard on the second floor with her, and allow them to finish their drinks in peace.
Though, 'obnoxious' was not the word Ellana favoured for Sera at that moment.
Through gritted teeth she called back, "Yes, Sera?"
"Come 'ere! Too late to be down there, still!" the archer replied. Loudly. She made a clumsy, half-hearted attempt to descend the stairs, instead stumbling over the first two or three steps. Slipping. And then landing hard on her ass with her face pressed against one of the wooden slats in the railing. The position pulling a cheek up over her eye. "Let me take you to bed!" she yelled, then snorted with laughter, and began mumbling to herself quietly.
She was clearly still very drunk, half-asleep, and determined not to leave until she'd escorted the Inquisitor to bed with her. Valiant protector of drunken companions that she was, she saw it her duty to ensure the Herald did not end up passed out on a table. It wasn't the first time she'd done something like this, after all. And now Ellana was regretting the decision to share a room with her.
She glanced at Solas, who had somehow managed to maintain his smirk in spite of the terribly timed interruption.
"Your cavalry awaits," he said smoothly, gesturing with his hand. When she gave no reply but to level him with a seething glare, he added a quiet, "Patience."
The other patrons were still staring, and Sera still giggling quietly to herself, and so Ellana was forced to admit defeat.
She shook her head and left the table, murmuring a terse "goodnight, Solas" as she ascended the stairs. She gave Sera a firm kick as she passed by, both to ensure the girl followed her, and for the personal satisfaction.
Before exiting the room, she tossed a final, lingering look at Solas. He had already turned away, but she was pleased to see that, for all his poise and professed patience, the rapid twitch of the muscles in his jaw revealed just how frustrated he truly was.
And she supposed that counted as a point to both of them.
TRANSLATIONS:
Fenedhis = A common curse, probably used as 'go fuck yourself', but half-canon translates to "wolf penis".
pala = fuck
etunash = shit
Ar'isalathe ma'pala fra min'nivhellan= I [sexual]need you fuck [me] on this table
hahren = elder/teacher
Did YOU know that "Solas" is the Elvish word for "Pride"? Because I went through most of the game without knowing that, and once I figured it out, already suspecting he was an ancient, I had a major "OH SHIT" moment where a lot of stuff made sense. Him being a spirit of Pride that took Elvhen form has so much evidence it's virtually canon at this point. Seriously, read up on that shit. It's nuts.