AN: Also, holy crap there are lot of seriously hot Solas fanfics out there. I'm going to start writing a modern-day Blight shortly. Keep your eyes peeled for that one, it will be an epic!
Disclaimer:
I own nothing you recognise. This is all completely un-beta'd and totally fresh off the top of my brain!
He sees her later that night sitting on the roof of her tiny cottage, rough woollen blankets swaddling her shoulders as she gazes at the sickly breach in the sky. Her had drops viridescent tendrils, illuminating the blankets covering her knees and throwing her face into shadow.
He backtracks and takes the long way to his own cottage, leaving her to her peace.
The next day she appears at the training yards, moving stiffly in over-large warm leathers. Her shoulder, stomach and thigh bulge slightly from the bandages. She has even been stuffed into a hat, which hides her short-cropped blonde hair, and gloves. Green oozes from the seams on her plagued hand.
Her eyes flick to him first, but she veers away to have a quiet discussion with Cassandra. Later, when he is least expecting it, she appears at his side and they stand for a moment, he totally unsure as what to say or do, her just watching the soldiers train in peace.
"As you are one of my advisors," she begins and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Her voice is quieter than he is used to, more lyrical than in the War Room, where she projects her inner strength through the words that issue from her lips. "I would like to get to know you better." Her eyes flick to him then back to the training soldiers.
"I … er … what would you like to know, Herald?" he stutters out. Curses to his damnable tongue! It trips over words and halts over consonants like a nervous child would wring their fingers.
"I understand you are training our soldiers," she says. Pays no mind to his stumbling voice. "You are a Templar, are you not?" she tilts her head to look at him and he is once again arrested by the force of will behind those pale eyes.
"I am. I was recruited in Kirkwall. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause," he explains.
"Do Templars take vows?" she asks. "I have never met a Templar, we tend to … avoid them where we can."
"There is a vigil first. You're meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it's over, you give yourself over to a life of service. That's when you're given a philter – your first draught of lyrium – and its power. As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen."
Her eyes flash and a sly grin flits across her lips. His stomach drops. "Vows of poverty and obedience, but what of the physical temptations?" She watches him intently, teeth flashing as a flush hits his cheekbones and scorches the tips of his ears.
"Physical? Why ..." he shifts and clears his throat, eyes sliding away from hers. "Why would you..." Her grin turns positively wolfish and he steels his spine against it and her teasing. Blush still spreading, he levels his gaze on her and struggles on. "That's not expected. Templars can marry – although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission... some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion but it's … um, not required."
"And you?" she asks, sweetly, eyes growing wide with feigned innocence. The flush continues down his neck and he shuffles again.
"Me? Err ..." his voice stumbles for a moment, hitches in the back of his throat. "No, I've taken no such vows." He clears his throat again. "Maker's breath, can we speak of something else?" Her smile is all sweetness and light, as if she had not mercilessly been drilling him on his … chastity.
"How are our soldiers coming along, Ser?" she consents, and he gratefully throws himself into a discussion on what they are covering and how much more they have yet to cover. How much more needs doing.
The redness of his embarrassment takes some time to dissipate. Later, when he remembers how her lips spread and teeth flashed, it returns.
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