1 year later (2 years since the start of the Breach)
"Maker's tit, what is wrong with that elf?" Dorian asked exasperatedly as he leaned up against the stacks of books in his favorite spot in the library.
Neria looked up at him from a velvet chair. She was curled up with her legs hanging over the arm of the chair. Dorian laughed to himself silently, if she had been anyone other than the Herald she would have been scolded.
"Solas? Or Sara? You have to be more specific my friend," she said without pausing. She was always very careful in the words she chose, speaking with thought.
It was one of the things Dorian most liked about his friend. Still, he was irritated. He had been trying to talk to her about Solas over the last month. He knew she was hiding something. She had a giddy lightness to her step whenever the older mage was around.
He had once shared his thoughts with Iron Bull over a late night drink only to have the quinari quickly dismiss them: She just looks up to him, what does she call him? Teacher? Sara called out to them then from across the table, spilling her ale on the floor drunkenly, He probably just inspires her lady Hearld to be more…elfy! Elfy Elfy Elfy! The conversation had ended as Sara took out a dagger and repeatedly stabled the table muttering Elfy! Elfy! Elfy! with each thrust of the knife until all three drunken friends had been kicked out in with an undignified push out the door.
''Oh come on Neria," Dorian scolded, "You know what I am talking about. Solas practically turns into a beet when you are around, a ghastly red."
"He does not Dorian," Neria retorted with anger-pursed lips. "Dorian, you know I look up to him, he's so knowledgeable."
"know-ledge-able…" Dorian mocked, stressing each syllable.
Neria ignored him continuing seriously, "and he cares so much about…the Inquisition…we wouldn't have survived without him, he brought us here to Skyhold. I recommend you stop making fun of his outfit."
"You're right, you're right. Oh my darling Neria, my best friend in the entire world. Let's drop this subject. How about a leisurely afternoon looking at the arriving nobles with a glass of red wine…or several…I have a few bottles!"
Neria laughed. "Fine, my friend, you've talked me into it!"
Maker knew they needed a break. They had survived the winter at their new Stronghold thanks only to Josephine's connections, and Cullen's ability to manage there small resources. Fortunately, as summer broke things had gotten better. Renovations had started on the castle, and supply shipments were regularly being delivered. With the return of each away mission, he was always surprised at how much more….organized…everything seemed. He had even helped Neria and Josephine pick out tapestries and other decorations for the castle.
Still, they were not quite safe. Rumors circled around the war table, Corypheus and the Red Templers were amassing an army. The Inquisition had plans, certainly, to defend any onslaught of force, but they still had to find more support. He knew Neria was tired most of the time, days like this were rare. She was normally travelling, negotiating, and unraveling the unknown.
Dorian felt like the one thing he could give to his friend was levity. He often joked with her, teased her, just as though she were a younger sister. He felt lucky for their bond, especially after surviving a rather scaring trip through time at Redcliff. They had spoken about this over the last year. He knew that she confided to him the most, especially her more candid thoughts.
He thought this might have to do with their closeness in age. Even though Dorian was 10 years older, that was the closest out of all the other companions. He knew that at 22 she would have been enjoying her young adulthood with her clan. She had told him about some of the suitors she left behind, how much she had missed some of the intrigue of flirting, and dreaming of her potential lovers.
Sometimes he caught her on their trips weaving flower crowns, singing to herself in romantic sounding elvish tunes.
This week in particular she had a demonstrated a nostalgia for her clan, for those lovers she had left behind. She seemed withdrawn, lingering with Cassandra to talk about a trashy romance novel, or taking extra time to gossip with Josephine about court intrigue.
He knew what would cheer her up.
"Neria, my friend, will you accompany me later this week to the Harvest Ball! I just can't imagine a better date."
Neria blushed, even though she knew Dorian had no interest in women, she still enjoyed the attention. She turned to him beaming.
Dorian couldn't resist, he got down on one knee, "Oh, famed Hearld," he continued in an exaggerated tone, ''Please, join this unworthy vint to the Harvest ball. They will speak of this for ages! The scandal."
Neria covered her mouth giggling. "Dorian…I would love to…only I don't know what to wear!"
"That my dear," Dorian paused, "Is easy."
1 Week Later
Solas was attending the Harvest Ball grudgingly. He was also terribly late. While he was not a complete recluse, he spent most of his time at Skyhold in his study either looking over old elven manuscripts or painting elaborate frescos on the wall. Still, he knew as one of the Hearld's companions he had to make an appearance. Besides it was a chance to see her…
While he had continued to grow closer to Neria, he had done so under the guise of a teacher. It was appropriate considering their age difference, as well as his…well… his history. He couldn't imagine telling her who he really was…
Still, sometimes he slipped. The Tevinter mage often teased him of this when no one else was around. Besides Solas' rags, which was one of Dorian's favorite subjects, Solas' blush whenever Neria was present was a common discussion. Still, the mage knew his boundaries, it was only when the two mages were alone that it was brought up. No scowl on Solas' part could make Dorian stop.
Tonight, though, he was free to enjoy himself without his companion's judgements. The Harvest Ball was perhaps one of his favorite holidays. While it was nothing compared to ancient festivals he had experienced in the fast, he enjoyed the over-the-top pageantry. He could smell the burning of hay in the distance of Skyhold's cavernous garden, a melody of dancing, laughter and music. Casks of hard cider had been broken open and even early in the night he could tell that most of the attendees to the party were drunk. This was common. He knew that tonight was considered a release of rules, a night to be wild. The best tradition, he thought, was the costume.
Dorian couldn't mock him tonight. He wore a velvet doublet and pantaloons, with a bronze cast wolf mask. He covered his easily identified baldness with a matching velvet scarf, something that Josie had informed him was incredibly fashionable at the capital of Val Rouyeux.
He walked towards the center of the celebration, picking up a cold tankard of cider. He sipped it slowly…until with a short audible gasp he saw her.
It had to be her.
And she was beautiful.
He couldn't stop looking.
Neria was laughing playfully in the center of several younger men. Her dress was alluring, suggestive. Made out of a sheer sort of white silk it fell in layers around her curves, clinging to them as he moved. While the skirt was full, a deep plunge revealed the outlines of her small breasts, barely covering them except for elaborately tied strands of weaved ribbon. The lines of her vallaslin poked out like lines of embroidery.
What made her stand out, perhaps most, was her hair. Artfully, her white blonde locks were tied around what had to be small halla antlers. Small strands fell down her back. A gold Orleasian mask covered half of her face.
Solas started walking towards her slowly. He couldn't resist, he knew he would regret this later.
"Lady Hearld," he elegantly bowed, extending his hand.
Neria looked up, a sly smile covering his face, reaching out she shyly reached for his hand.
Who had to be Dorian in a ridiculous slashed red velvet and leather outfit (with a-yes had to be-stuffed cod piece), stopped laughing. He looked over playfully. Covering his mouth as though to keep from giggling self-rightously.
"May I have this dance," Solas asked boldly.
"Of course."
He spun her into his arms, escorting her over to the dancing with a hand on her lower back. Solas felt almost indecent, even though that was the customary norm—nothing illicit about it. The music had turned to a slow real, the strings playing rather mournfully. Without delay he took Neria's marked hand in his own, turning her about gracefully in a slow waltz.
"Solas," she whispered in his ear, "I didn't know you were this adept…at dancing."
He was glad for the mask, for he could feel his face burning.
"I'm full of surprises. What can I say? I see so much in the Fade."
"Solas, I'm afraid I'm very…horribly…drunk." Neria confessed rather bluntly, pulling away to look up at him almost quizzically. "It was an accident."
"Ah," He raised his eyebrows over his mask. His blue eyes gleefully, "Our young friend Dorian's influence I supposed."
"Yes, well…she stammered…I didn't know how…much…" she began to hiccup. "I've never had so much to drink...before."
He knew this had to be true. The Dalish were supportive of freedom, allowing their young clans people to experiment, but drunk behavior while not forbidden was not encouraged.
Solas drew her back into his chest. He knew this was too far, but with her admission, he could feel her unable to hold herself up straight. Looking back he had been too excited to notice how she swayed as they walked rather unsurely. She fell into his embrace resting her head on his chest.
"It's not Dorian's fault…he's just too drunk….to…be helpful." Neria continued.
"Oh da'len" he whispered, stroking her hair. "Whatever will we do with you?"
"Solas, I think I need to go to bed, but I can't get there myself. Can you help I think I'm going to be sick."
Oh yes…he would regret this.
Twenty minutes later he had carried Neria to her room. All the other companions, including Cassandra, were too drunk to stop him. He certainly wasn't planning anything untoward, but on any other night an apostate mage carrying a young Dalish girl in his arms up to her private quarters would be met with rumors. He had to be careful.
Neria wasn't doing so well physically, but she seemed to be rather optimistic over her complaints of nausea trying to teach him lyrics of some song with the line "Sara was never..."
"Just a little bit longer, we are almost to your room." He had told her quietly.
Upon arrival he had set her down and she flung herself onto the bed like a pile of rags. He proactively grabbed a bucket. Without delay he helped her aim away from her dress as she retched into the bucket.
"This is so embarrassing." She muttered.
"No worries, young one, we don't have to tell anyone."
"Solas, I need to get these antlers out of my hair they are so heavy...I am not a deeeeer." She began to pull at the pins in exaggerated motions, her hair was falling down and both antlers fell to the floor with a resounding thud. He didn't intervene, except to pull back her hair as she threw up in the bucket again.
"I'm going to ruin my dress…"
Solas stopped. He certainly didn't want to put her into an uncomfortable position.
"Neria," he stopped, "You must do that yourself."
She looked up as though struggling to remember what was going on.
He groaned, she had obviously blacked out.
"Solas…I don't know how to untie it" she began to demand.
"Even so…shall I get a maid?"
''No, just, grab my robe from the chair."
He did promptly returning it to her. She wrapped it around her body, squirming underneath, the silken folds of the dress pushed to the floor. She sighed in relief as everything was undone and her dress laid on the floor.
...Solas sighed in relief that she hadn't stripped in front of him.
"Are you going to be sick again?" He asked.
"No, no. I think…I'll be fine…I just need sleep."
He knew she was too sick to leave alone unattended. He thought briefly of seeing if there was anyone else that could sit with her, but he didn't want to take the risk of leaving her for even an hour. He had certainly remembered partners in his youth just as drunk, who had not faired so well after a nightlong party. He knew that she drank rarely, and this certainly had to have hit her system hard. Still, he did not blame her, such a mistake only needed to be made once.
Solas gently pushed Neria's body over in the bed, pulling down the stuffed coverlet of the bed, picking her up again, he placed in the folds, sweetly wrapping her body in the brocade cover.
"Solas…" Neria began trailing off…
"Yes?" he asked curiously.
"Dorian thinks…Dorian thinks you have…feelings."
That blasted mage! He thought to himself.
"Solas," she continued, "We've never talked about that time….that time in the Fade."
He had known this conversation was coming for a while...