Fun translations at the bottom.
The Past
The door scrapes a little as it opens, and I am instantly alert, already readying a spell. Habit - but not a bad one to retain, even with Skyhold's walls around me. I relax, though, before she even comes into view, though I cannot pinpoint how I know. Perhaps the cadence of her footsteps gives her away, or maybe her scent precedes her into the room. Whatever the reason, I am not surprised when Lisell steps into view.
Though she is covered from neck to ankles in a belted robe stiff with embroidery, still there is something intimate in seeing her this way. Her hair tumbles about her shoulders, and her feet, for some reason, are completely bare. She hugs a book to her chest, and that is unusual. Though she doesn't actively avoid books, she rarely has time for them - even desperately-needed research is usually better passed off to someone else. There are too many things only she can do, too many places that need her particular set of skills.
She colors a little under my gaze, but smiles at me. "I need your help," she says, her tone delightfully conspiratorial.
"Oh?" I reply, my interest piqued. The book she clutches is not familiar to me, though even I have not had time to peruse all the books in Skyhold's library. "A new course of study? Perhaps one unapproved by the Chantry?"
The questions make her laugh. "Perhaps in a - very strained - manner of speaking. It's just a novel. Varric's publisher sent it - an advance copy, whatever that means. Varric said they want him to read it and say something nice, but he gave it to me instead."
"So you can read it and say something nice?" I hazard.
"Why would they care what I think? I'm not a writer," she says.
I am charmed anew by how easily she forgets her position and its import. "Then why doesn't Varric read it?" I ask, deciding not to point out what would probably be obvious to anyone else in Thedas.
"I let him rant for a while without asking questions, so I don't understand all the details. Apparently surface dwarves don't buy books? And somehow Varric's shining review is supposed to change that?" She shrugs. "In any case, he gave it to me, and I love it. I can't go to sleep not knowing what happens, but if I stay up reading someone is bound to notice my light. Then, not only will I be tired tomorrow, but Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana will all fuss about it."
"So you came to me because no one is surprised to see a light in my room at any hour," I say, understanding at last.
"You'll let me stay, won't you? Sathan? I just need a few hours to think of something else - to get invested in some problems no one expects me to fix." Her shoulders drop slightly, earning her my sympathy.
"I trust you don't have a great deal happening tomorrow?" I ask with mock-severity, already knowing I will agree to let her stay.
"Practically nothing." She counts off the tasks for her day on her fingers. "Just several hours of officially greeting dignitaries, which I could do in my sleep by now, a formal dinner, and a final review and approval of troop movements that I already looked over in the bath this afternoon. Cullen will make me go through every detail of it again, but I've already decided, so there's no harm in nodding along."
"For you, that does sound like it constitutes a light workload," I agree with a smile and a slight shake of my head. "Very well, you may take the sofa. There is a quilt on the back if your feet are cold."
"Thank you, they are," she says, settling herself and pulling the quilt over her legs.
"Why aren't you wearing slippers?" I wonder.
"All of mine have hard soles," she explains as she opens her book. "No good for sneaking through a hall where guards are stationed. If anyone saw me, it would get back to Cullen, and then - same problem as reading in my room."
Her robe, I note for the first time, is predominantly embroidered in dark blue and purple, with a few hints of green. "They might conclude you are coming for a tryst," I suggest, enjoying her blush.
"That wouldn't be any better. Then Leliana would chide me for getting caught," she retorts. "Now, are you going to let me read?"
I laugh and leave her to her book, and for some time the room is silent but for the scratch of my pen and the occasional soft flutter of turning pages.
At last I finish making my notes, and I take the book I intended to lull myself to sleep with - a history of the Alamarri tribespeople - to the sofa. Lisell does not notice my approach - her eyes are wide, skimming the page as though she cannot bear to wait to read the next word, and her fingers are pressed to her lips. When I say her name, she starts with a stifled squeak of alarm.
"Oh," she gasps, returning to reality with a quick glance around my room. "Oh! I'm sorry, let me make room for you." I settle beside her, and she spreads the quilt across both of us before leaning against my shoulder with a contented sigh. I can tell she bathed earlier - the tang of smoke that usually surrounds her, surrounds all of us, has been washed away, and she smells of the herbs used in her soap, and of citrus.
"What is your book about?" I ask, not quite ready to lose her attention.
She regards me warily for a moment. "I'm not sure I want to tell you."
"Why not?" I cannot begin to guess her objection. We have never had an in-depth conversation about fiction. I have too much to study to indulge in reading it, and Skyhold boasts no theaters.
"There's a great deal of magic in it, if you must know, and I don't want you to ruin it by telling me it's all wrong."
"And if I promise only to tell you about the parts that are a little wrong?" I offer, aware I sound unbearably smug - but Lisell not only bears me, she laughs.
"If you mean it, I can accept that proposal," she says.
"Well?" I ask as she stares at me expectantly.
"You haven't actually promised anything yet," she points out.
"I...promise I will not expose the foundations of your story as fraudulent?" I begin.
"Yes, and?" she prompts me. I think of telling her I have nothing else to add, but she is smiling at me and her eyes are shining. It comes to me that even if this is a waste of time, having time to waste is a delightful novelty.
"And...I will endeavor to otherwise leave the plot unspoiled, no matter how many holes it contains," I tell her as solemnly as I can manage - which isn't very, as the entire conversation borders on nonsense.
She leans nearer. The tip of her nose traces my jaw, and then she places a kiss just below my ear. "Enaste, Solas," she murmurs, sending shivers up my spine. "I have some idea of how much it will cost you to keep that promise."
Her breath against my ear is too tempting. I slide my arm around her so that I can more easily turn and capture her mouth with mine, but she ducks away from the kiss.
"I can't talk - or read - while I'm busy kissing you," she points out far too reasonably.
"Y isalan dhava ma," I murmur in an attempt at convincing her to change her mind.
"Y isalan dava...halam or'era," she retorts with a wicked smile, putting to rest any doubts I might have had regarding the ability of Dalish Elven to support word-play.
I chuckle at her cleverness, trying my level best to ignore the immediate effect her words have on my body. "Then go on, before you tempt me any further."
She pauses for a moment. "The main character is Ladana, First to her Clan's Keeper. Their range covers the area around gates of Orzammar - "
"So an entirely fictional Clan," I comment. She glares at me. "That wasn't a criticism," I defend myself quickly. "Just an observation."
"An unnecessary one," she counters. "It had hardly escaped my notice. This is fiction, Solas - there isn't much point to it if at least parts of it aren't imaginary. Besides, as I was about to say, it is set in the historical period when Ferelden was breaking free of Orlais. It's implied that the Clan has been driven from their normal range by the fighting."
"Ir abelas, ara avin," I apologize, resolving not to interrupt again.
She sniffs, imitating one of Josephine's most disdainful expressions. I can see she has been practicing, and hide a smile. "Because of the war between Ferelden and Orlais, when Orzammar discovers an ancient means for creating golems, and that they need a mage to help with it, they ask the Dalish rather than either of the human nations. Besides, it turns out the process isn't one the Chantry would probably look kindly on - it involves moving a dwarf's spirit into the prepared body of the golem."
"That is appalling," I interrupt in spite of myself.
"So are darkspawn, as Ladana's smith-caste contact points out," she says, arching an eyebrow at me. "Still, Ladana has her doubts, but agrees to abide by the treaty made with her Clan as long as only volunteers are being used. Many members of the Legion of the Dead have already volunteered, and a few Wardens, too, though so far Orzammar has rejected them, since golems are made from the Stone and giving a dwarf's spirit - well, you know about dwarves and the Stone," she says, waving away the rest of the details.
"It sounds like the sort of rationalization dwarves would use," I allow.
Lisell nods her acknowledgement. "Interwoven with all these...political and military maneuverings, is the story of Ladana's dreams. After she was traded to her current Clan when her mage abilities manifested, she met a spirit that befriended her, and by this point they spend every night together in the Fade. She's never decided quite what name to put to it, but she thinks of it as a spirit of integrity or personal identity - "
"Perhaps too complex an idea for a single spirit to embody," I muse, "but perhaps not. The idea is interesting, in any case."
"Talking with it helps her to find a place in her new Clan, and through their conversations it begins to form a more durable personality," she explains. "That part seems more or less accurate, given our experiences with Coleā¦"
"Far more accurate than I would give the average mage - let alone a non-mage - credit for realizing," I say. "Who did you say wrote this?"
"I don't know - Varric says half the authors he knows don't even write under their own names," she tells me impatiently.
"A question for later," I agree, gesturing for her to go on.
"Everything blows up when an agent from Tevinter trying to take advantage of the fighting between Orlais and Ferelden discovers what's going on in Orzammar. He realizes that Ladana's spirit friend knows a great deal about the process, because she has spent all these nights discussing with it whether or not she should break the treaty - so he decides to bind the spirit and force it to serve him. He is already in the process of binding it when Ladana realizes what is happening, so she activates the one golem she has readied for a dwarven spirit, and pulls her spirit friend into that instead."
"If it were already being bound," I point out, "she could do nothing short of physically disrupting the spell to avert it."
Lisell makes a face at me. "Solas? That's exactly the kind of commentary I don't need from you. I know talking about how the waiting golem is 'thirstier' than whatever the Tevinter is doing is probably fen'etunash, but it makes a good story. So let it go."
"For you, arasha," I tease - or half-tease. I do find the idea worthy of ridicule, and would likely have more to say about it if my complaints bothered her less.
"I've just come to the part where Orzammar works out that perhaps they can use Fade spirits in their golem army, and now they are trying to get Elgar'len - that's what Ladana names her friend now that a name is useful - back, while the Tevinter spy has already been chasing them for a couple of chapters. Ladana and Elgar'len have also started falling in love as they traverse the Deep Roads, searching for a way back to the surface."
The last part makes me raise my eyebrows. "You know that can't possibly end well," I tell Lisell.
"Oh, yes," she replies with obvious relish. "I've been counting on it ever since I realized they were being set up as a couple a hundred pages ago. I had all my handkerchiefs laundered and borrowed two extra from Josephine so I'll be ready."
Something about her gleeful anticipation of fictional tragedy strikes me as irresistibly funny, and I find myself leaning weakly against the arm of the sofa as I laugh.
"What?" she asks, smiling but quizzical.
I manage to quiet my laughter, but cannot explain beyond a shake of my head. "I truly hope the ending lives up to your expectations, vhenan."
"It had better," she grumbles, opening the book again. "If I am subjected to implausible bliss and rejoicing at the end of all this, I will dictate a strongly-worded letter for Varric to send to his publisher."
I can't decide which is funnier - the thought of Varric's publisher opening a letter from the Inquisitor complaining about the ending of one of their books, or that the Inquisitor might feel the need to conceal her opinions behind the dubious reputation of Master Tethras. She ignores me as I laugh this time, though, intent on finishing her book.
Elven translations:
Sathan: Please
Enaste: Grace or blessings - used to thank someone
Y isalan dhava ma: But I desire to kiss you
Y isalan dava...halam or'era: Lit. "But I desire to taste...the end of the story," but the translation loses so much. To begin with, isala (to desire, to lust, to long for) is more for abstractions like romance or ideals, concrete desires like "I want to finish my book" would use nuvena. So Lisell is playing with the longing to finish a good story by equating it too the longing for romance. Then there's the dhava/dava pun, which both references a good story as food, nourishment, or a good meal, while also suggesting she's going to go somewhere completely different with her sentence. She's teasing him, while also emphasizing, no, she's really invested in finishing this book.
Ir abelas: I'm sorry
Ara avin: The nearly untranslatable "mouth" endearment again
Fen'etunash: Wolf droppings or wolf shit
Arasha: My joy
Vhenan: Heart/home
