AN: So...this one got a little bit out of hand. I think it'll be a 2 part AU about our favorite couple in Arlathan, but who knows? This is more different than the other two, so I've had to take certain liberties. Please let me know what you think - I'd love to get your input!

Also, please let me know if I should adjust the rating - this is a little more adult than the previous two entries.

Enjoy!

~Voi

In Arlathan, during the time of ancient elves and immortality, she is a servant to a minor noble, Lady Rhendril of Clan Lavellan.

One of hundreds in the household, she is a master gardener of summer roses and is valued for the blooms she grows and the rich fragrances that perfume the air of her mistress' numerous villas. And though there are others like her, specialists that have carefully cultivated their craft, she is unique.

At least, that is what he tells her.

No other can make the blooms shine with such luster, nor grow generation after generation of flower with such a keen eye for desirable traits. It is an ability, a skill, she has not learned but one that is inherent to her character.

She has magic, it is true, but it is nothing compared to the power wielded by the nobles and their equals. And so her bland abilities are turned towards garden service and not entertainment. It is, perhaps a small blessing, for Lavellan (named for her mistress' clan and therefore without first name). She has never been particularly good at dealing with attention.

Still, her work is not without notice and when her mistress gains increasing popularity for her blossoms, Lavellan is gifted with a small house and an income of her own. Promised privacy and a small team of gardeners to help her work, the only other stipulation is that the fruits of her labor must remain the sole possession of her mistress.

Compared to the living of many of her peers the offer is of such unparalleled generosity that Lavellan agrees immediately. And though her home may not be as fashionable as those servants who work in the city, her country cottage is perfect.

Made of simple white stone and an unremarkable wooden roof, the addition of a private garden is a pleasant surprise that all but secures her dedication to her profession, her loyalty. And that was perhaps the point, because even though she is a slave, her worth makes her more. Almost like a servant, like a person.

Her mistress would have been a fool to not guard the source of her popularity.

"Gardener Lavellan."

Her assistant greets her at the back of the estate, by the large wrought silverite gate that guards their mistress' gardens. Two weeks she had been away, preparing her mistress' city villa for the annual winter ball, but the moment she returned it was as if she had never left.

And though the cold season had certainly come to Arlathan the estate remained warm, perfect for flowers. It was for this reason Lavellan had been given permission to live there year round, regardless of her mistress' current residence.

Another freedom allowed only by the grace of her talents.

"Gardener? I have the newest cuttings of the Coastal Whites, where should I put them?"

Removing her traveling cloak as she gestured her assistant to follow, Lavellan barely glanced at the tray of young plants as she strode towards the back of the gardens, towards her home.

"You're certain those are the Coastal whites?" Frowning, as she took a second, longer look, Lavellan shook her head, "I think they might be the Pale Floris. Yellow throated leaves, see?"

Gently touching the largest of the plants with her finger, Lavellan gestured in the direction of the large glass enclosure that dominated the southern end of the expansive gardens, "Can you please check? I'll take the Coastal Whites on my workbench when you're ready."

Her assistant was nodding a moment later, spiriting the box away with an apology that Lavellan only barely heard. She wanted to get to her home and sleep, two weeks of careful court appearances and arranging hundreds of roses for no less than a dozen events had wrung her of all energy. But there was always work to be done, and with so much relying on her roses she dared not waste even a moment.

At least the journey had been a fruitful one. Mistress Rhendril had been incredibly pleased with her newest delivery of summer roses, and had all but swooned at the increasingly large group of admirers that had come to call.

A happy mistress meant she could continue her work, could grow her esteem, could maybe one day find herself faced with true freedom rather than the illusion of it.

Closing the door of her home, Lavellan looked around the modest space to find not an item out of place. Safe, secure, everything was as she had left it.

Well, almost.

Running her hand along her rough wooden table she felt not a speck of dust, and there, in the corner of her small room she spied a flower in the small glass she kept for such small pleasures. She could only think of one person who had such private access, and the fact that he had watched over her things brought a small smile to her face.

Her lover was a thoughtful man indeed. Strange by some accounts, but sweet.

Bending down to inhale the soft fragrance of the flower, a delicate blue blossom called Wolf's Moon, Lavellan indulged for only a moment. It smelled like him, the flower, delicate but woodsy, deceptively rich. Indeed, the scent was a comfort, and she smiled when she realized the small blossom had perfumed her entire home. Given that he was a gardener of equal renown, his gift to her was made all the more precious for its rare appointment outside his master's garden.

A small bit of rebellion from a quiet man.

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her face.

They did not see each other often, and so even the smallest reminder of him was cherished. But still she did not wish him to get in trouble. There was no telling who might have seen him carry such a precious gift to her.

Sighing as she changed from her formal court livery to the more functional garb of gardener, Lavellan stole one last moment to enjoy her home before heading back outdoors.

And as she walked she hummed softly, crossing the modest path from her home to where the her private garden lay tucked behind a short stone wall.

Hers was not as flamboyant as the country gardens of her mistress, and it was certainly nothing like the gardens kept in the center of the city. But as she gazed at the tidy beds of flowers, there was a peace, a contentedness.

It was hers, this garden. And her heart was in every carefully tended bloom, every fragile leaf, root and tuber. She would live very happily indeed if she could tend just this little space for the rest of her days.

"Lavellan?"

A voice, distant and melodic gently drew her away from her thoughts. There were few people at the country estate because of all the winter festivities that were held in the city's heart, but even she did not recognize this voice as a one of the household.

Turning towards the speaker, she looked up and felt the surprise paint itself across her features as she realized the person she was talking to was most certainly not her assistant.

Pale, unmarked face, blue eyes with that same sort of somber intelligence that reminded her of Lady Rhendril, Lavellan felt her heart give a little thrill in her chest at the sight of him.

"Has it truly been so long that you no longer recognize me?" Teasing her in his own quiet way, he drew close and gently settled himself on the wall beside her.

His voice was gentle, the touch of his hand upon her chin equally so as he canted her face upwards, bestowing a slow, melting kiss upon her lips a moment later. Slow, languid, he luxuriated in the heat of her lips just as she reveled in the firm pressure of his mouth, the sizzle of a very different kind of heat that came when his tongue delved deeper.

She had almost forgotten what it had felt like, to be in his arms, to feel the rush of pleasure of his hands upon her back, coaxing her closer.

In the end, he drew away only when they were both flushed, short of breath and she was shy with it.

"I am sorry if I startled you."

She didn't know if he was talking about the kiss or his unexpected appearance so she said only, "I'm glad you're here."

Her cheeks flushed a charming pink as she admitted softly, "I...I missed you."

The look he gave her told her that he shared the sentiment, and she did not protest when he leaned down a second time to give her a shorter, but infinitely sweeter kiss.

"Vhenan." His voice was husky with pleasure, "I have missed you as well."

His words made her blush a deeper scarlet, but her lips, however tender from his kisses, curved upwards in a contented smile, "How long can you stay?"

His handsome face lit with a muted smile, "A week, so we need not rush." Eying the rows of flowers awaiting her meticulous care, he turned back to her, "We are both committed to the land are we not?"

"Indeed." She nodded, leaned against his shoulder for only a moment before sighing, "I have a few hours of work that need doing."

His hand settled against the nape of her neck, squeezed her shoulder in support before stepping back.

"I will let you go then, as you must do your duty. But I will be waiting for you when you finish."

"Waiting?" Her lips parted, eyes slowly opening to give him a considering look.

His smile, warm and friendly became just that bit more suggestive and in his eyes she saw the lick of a fire banked by only the smallest of margins. Scorching, he looked at her in that moment as if he might like to unclothe her where she stood, push her against the rough wall and take their pleasure with an immediacy that had her heart racing.

"Wait for me?" she asked, voice a little too breathless to sound firm.

He chuckled, and the sound was every bit as seductive as the slow careful way he brushed his thumb along her lower lip.

"I will do my best."

The remaining hours of work were the longest she had ever had to endure.

Lavellan enjoyed her work. The feel of the soil in her hands, the satisfaction of nurturing life and watching it grow under her protective care, she thrived on the cycles of air, sunlight and water. But whereas she usually found such work calming, a time for reflection, this particular day proved to be the oppostie.

Gone was the exhaustion of her journey, replaced instead by the buzz of excitement, expectation. And the thought of it all kept her energized through the physically demanding rigors of the garden.

Still, by the time she was finished, the sky was dark with expectant rain, and evening had fallen. The day had taken its toll, and she returned to her home weary but content, hands and face smudged with no small amount of dirt.

"Tired?"

He gave her a knowing look as he met her at the door of her home, eyes dancing with the smile already upon his lips.

"A little." Her muscles ached from the exertion of the day, but thoughts of him had kept her occupied, "I could use a bath."

"Indeed?" His smile broadened, "Then it is a good thing there is one waiting for you."

"Oh?" Her lips quirked as she took one small, sultry step closer, "Just a bath?"

He closed the distance between them as he drew her further inside the house and shut out the rest of the world. Then, without a word of warning, his hands found their way to her waist, pausing only momentarily before smoothly slipping beneath the rough fabric of her shirt. Slowly, so slowly, he eased the dressing off her shoulders, letting her feel the heat of his fingers as they brushed over her belly, the tips of her breasts.

He followed suit a moment later, removing his own top with the sort of economical grace that had Lavellan stepping closer so as to touch the skin his bared so readily. Tall and leanly muscled, she was reminded in that moment of how handsome he was.

Feeling her heart beat frantically, she placed the palm on her hand upon his chest and smiled at the feel of his heart.

Strong, steady, just like him.

If he was nervous or shy there was no indicator, and she envied his control.

Smoothing her hands down the strong planes of his front, she leaned down to press her mouth against one of the few scars that bisected his body. They had spoken of his injuries in the past, but never had she found them anything less than beautiful, part of who he was.

"Vhenan."

She looked up to find his blue eyes filled with something so soft, so tender that she dared not speak, less it disappear.

"I love you."

His words were spoken fiercely, like a declaration, like truth itself, and she cannot help but repeat them back to him with equal passion. In all the world they have found their perfect other, and to have this moment together is so precious a gift they dare not waste a moment.

Their trip to the bathroom in a haze of soft kisses, and they spend the next few hours in delirious pleasure amidst the steam and scented oils.

He woke her in the middle of the night to make love to her a second time.

Half dazed, she had risen from sleep to the feel of hot flesh brushing her belly, her flank, the tenderness between her legs. Murmuring her mouth tilted upwards to meet his in a slow seductive mating that set fire to the blood in their veins, a slow burn that seemed to grow with each second.

Hands trailing along his strong back, her hands tightened when his found what he had been looking for.

"Solas."

Breathless, she drew back to see that amused look in his eye, that dark glint that had everything to do with his ability to make her gasp.

"Yes, Vhenan?"

His voice, infuriatingly steady to her own distracted one, seemed to laugh at her. But when she opened her mouth to say something he moved his hands in so scandalizing a way that her brain all but turned to mush.

Stuttering his name as she arched, ached, her fingers dug into the strong muscles of back as she tried to ride out the cresting wave of pleasure he had just wrung from her. But he was not done with her yet, and as he slid lower, the lovely curve of her body invited him to taste, to tease.

His laughter, his chuckle of amusement, was lost as he fixed his mouth upon her breast and sent them both spiraling towards even sweeter pleasure.

Later, after they had both collapsed with the pleasure of their joining, Lavellan found herself in the warm circle of his arms, nestled close to his chest, his heart. It was comfortable there, safe, and she had no intention of ever leaving.

But the evening was cold upon their fevered skin, and it was not long before Solas' mild shiver had her scrounging around for the blanket they had lost somewhere in the darkness.

Roused herself just long enough to pull the blankets up, she settled back beside him with a contented sigh, enjoying the way he shifted her closer so that he could burry his noise in the silky soft of her hair.

"Sleep well, my love."

She whispered the words so that he might hear but he was already asleep, lost to the beauty of his dreams and the mysteries of what lay beyond. And as she gently traced the elegant lines of his features, the silvery light played across the entwined shape of their bodies until it felt at once as if it must be a dream.

She fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and the feel of his heart beating beneath her open palm.

It was morning the next time she woke. Though this time it was not tender touches that roused her but the sound of raised voices, of shouting so close it seemed as if they were in the bedroom.

Eyes snapping open, she sat up to find herself alone but covered by the long length of Solas' coat. The owner of said coat was nowhere in the small room, but touching the sheets where he had slept revealed them to still be warm.

Perhaps he had gone to investigate the source of the noise?

Outside the voices seemed to grow even louder, building to a crescendo.

What was going on?

Worried, Lavellan sprang from the bed, pausing only for a moment to slip Solas' large cloak around her smaller form. The sleeves hung well over her hands, and the size of it meant she felt dwarfed, but it suited her purposes well enough.

She had no intention of doing more than seeing what was happening outside.

But no sooner had she left the privacy of her room when she found herself stopped short by what she found. And the surprise, the shock, of it made her pale with such abruptness that she had to tightly grasp the door frame to avoid losing her sense entirely.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Her mistress, furious and nearly scarlet with emotion, scowled at her gardener and demanded again, "What is the meaning of this?"

Flanked by her two personal guards in the middle of Lavellan's kitchen, the noble woman had never looked more imposing, more dangerous. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes as she surveyed the couple that stood before her, the tightlipped rage that burned as she stared at the man who even now remained unbowed by her temper .

Solas.

Face set in an equally grim expression, he glanced back at where his lover was standing. Pale and frightened she might have been, but remained where she was, her eyes never leaving his own.

"Go back to the room, vhenan."

Calm, there was no hint of anger or temper in his serene tone. Gently he directed her to the safety of the other room, to the place that had, just hours before, been filled with such tenderness and love. She wanted nothing more to return to that time, but she could not, would not, leave him to face her mistress alone.

Hesitating, she opened her mouth to tell him just that. But the look her gave her made her choke on her words.

"Please." He tried to smile for her, but his lips could barely counter the look of grief in his eyes, "Go to the room and close the door. I'll explain everything when this is over."

"Explain yourself?!" Her mistress hissed as her bright eyes sliced from Solas to where Lavellan remained trembling, "Oh believe me, I will have explanations for you both."

And that was the day Lavellan's world changed forever.