~ Seven ~
The tavern was dimly lit but filled with the sounds of music and laughter. On the second floor, hidden in an even dimmer corner, Varric sat nursing a pint of ale, wiping his bloody nose intermittently. Cassandra did not take the news of Hawke's impending visit very well. Serana nearly took an elbow to the face trying to pull the Seeker off of Varric. In an effort to maintain a degree of neutrality, Serana chose her words carefully so as to not favor either side. She knew what it meant for Varric to withhold the truth about Hawke, but also understood Cassandra's anger and frustration with his deception.
Varric's remark about Hawke possibly dying at the Temple of Andraste had she been there stirred an unease in Serana. She supposed she could have died, as well. For all of the forces at play, warping and wefting threads into a greater tapestry of mysteries and twisted motives, Serana could not begin to identify her place in it all.
"Varric," Serana said, handing him a clean rag. "Why did you really withhold Hawke from the Inquisition when they first came looking for her?"
He sighed, frustration evident as he roughly wiped at his weeping nose. "I don't know. I was scared for her. After Blondie lost his damn mind and blew up the Chantry, I wasn't sure what kind of consequences Hawke would have to face."
"But, she didn't support him in his endeavor, did she?" she asked.
"Guess you haven't been reading, huh? Too busy taking your little late-night walks with Egghead," he muttered into his mug.
Serana punched his arm, earning herself a glare. She arched a brow in response, daring him to test her again. After a few seconds of glaring daggers at one another, Varric broke first, laughing raucously and slamming his pint on the table. Serana grinned, taking a long swig of her ale.
"You remind me of her a lot sometimes," he said wistfully. "To answer your question: she did… and she didn't support him."
Serana's surprised and confused expression elicited a weary sigh from the dwarf.
"Anders was a manipulative shit. He used Hawke's friendship and kind nature to his advantage, tricking her into helping him gather the materials he needed to blow up the Chantry. She had no idea he was going to go rogue. When we found his manifesto, she cried for days before hunting him down and sticking a knife in his throat."
"Well," Serana gasped, her hand on her throat, "that's certainly one way to handle the matter."
"Oh, believe me, she didn't want to kill him… at first," Varric said. "The chaos that night… it was basically impossible for Hawke to think clearly enough to make that kind of decision right then and there. Choir Boy just about birthed a cow, even left the city without lending any more aid because he thought Hawke was siding with Anders." His eyes seemed distant, as though vividly reliving that night.
"After the manifesto, Hawke knew Anders had gone mad, and would most likely cause more unnecessary deaths and damage to an already fucked system. She said it was the only act of mercy she could show him." He took a deep chug from his pint before plopping it down unceremoniously on the table.
"I agree," Serana said, staring off, memories of betrayal niggling at her mind.
"Me, too, Lucky," he said gruffly. "Me, too."
Feeling the heaviness in the air becoming too much for her, Serana smiled at the dwarf, patting his shoulder. She felt relieved when he mustered a small smile in return.
"I'll be alright," he smirked, his mood becoming lighter. "Plus, I'm actually excited to see Hawke and you together. It's not every day you get two legends in one room."
"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "Should I finish your book before she arrives?" Serana quipped playfully, nudging him with her elbow.
"She would probably hate that," he laughed. "I would wait," he said with a mischievous grin.
"A prickleberry for your thoughts?" Solas said, holding out a plump red berry between his thumb and middle finger.
Serana giggled before taking it gingerly between her teeth, letting her eyes linger on his lips as she did so. The bright red berry erupted in her mouth; its tartness replaced with a sweet aftertaste after a few seconds. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as the flavors danced melodiously on her tongue. Partaking in these nightly walks were the highlight of her days, and being able to eat the same berries she had eaten while walking along the quiet paths of her home made her feel warm and safe.
"Your playful spirit surprises me sometimes," Serana said with a smile.
"Playful?" He asked, feigning offense. "That is not a term I would use to describe myself."
"Oh?" she said, chuckling. "And how would you describe yourself, dear?"
"Dear?" he mused, his hand brushing against hers as they continued walking.
"Wise, kind, loyal," Serana rattled off, counting off from finger to finger. Noticing him squirm uncomfortably, she laughed, stopping to pull him close to her.
"Did I forget to mention handsome?" Her finger traced the side of his face down to his bottom lip. Sexy, she thought, unconsciously biting her lip.
Solas closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he breathed in deeply. His hand grabbed her wrist and squeezed it gently, before opening his eyes to meet her gaze.
Serana felt breathless at the wanton desire in his eyes. She felt like prey caught in a wolf's crosshairs, and in that moment what she craved more than anything was to be devoured.
"My wolf," she whispered, slowly leaning in closer.
Solas suddenly stiffened, his grip tightening around Serana's wrist and bringing her hand down gently. He frowned, averting his eyes before abruptly letting go of her hand. "I… must return. I have just remembered I promised Cassandra a report on my findings regarding the potential uses of red lyrium."
"What?" Serana asked incredulously.
Not allowing himself to be questioned further, Solas turned on his heel and walked back toward the keep with a startling quickness.
Her mouth agape, Serana wondered what she did wrong. Had she embarrassed him somehow? She thought she had read his cues clearly. Shaking her head, Serana felt absolutely bewildered by his abrupt change of mood. She felt anxiety broiling in the pit of her stomach. Walking back to the keep at a slow pace, she replayed their night's stroll in her head. She was no stranger to flirtation and eliciting desire from a man, leaving his sudden shift in behavior a complete mystery to her. Her confusion only grew as she recalled his intense gaze, an unmistakable invitation to kiss him. The more she thought about it, the more irritated she became.
Serana's pace quickened, the sound of snow crunching beneath her boots matching the beating of her heart in her ears. Did he think her a fool? What kind of game was he playing; enticing one moment, pushing away the next. She knew he was a private person, and she did not hold that against him. For the sake of her own privacy, she held her tongue when tempted to question him further on his past and his knowledge. But, on that frosty night, Serana felt all respect for privacy nullified.
Storming past the guards at the keep's side entrance, Serana made a beeline for the atrium. The door swung open harshly, banging the wall behind it with a loud thud of wood on stone. Her chest heaving up and down, Serana looked around the room with narrowed eyes. Empty. Feeling her adrenaline winding down, Serana's ire was slowly replaced with an ache in her chest. Approaching his desk, she pulled at a scrap of parchment and grabbed a nearby pen. She felt her eyes fill with tears and began to feel anger rise in her chest again. The pen scraped across the parchment, tearing at the last letter written.
She left the door to the study open as she exited. "Let him take care of it," she thought angrily, marching toward her quarters with her head held high.
Solas stepped from the shadow of the staircase leading from the library to his study. His face solemn as he slowly walked toward the open door, closing it softly before turning to face his desk. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. He grabbed the small piece of parchment, his stomach in knots at the sight of one word etched in thick lines: Coward.
He slowly breathed out through his nose, a hint of anger flickering across his face before extinguishing all the sconces in the room with a flick of his wrist. He crumbled the note in his fist, his eyes shining fiercely in the thick darkness.
Skyhold was bustling with activity the next morning. It usually was at that hour. The smell of breakfast in every room, and the sounds of people gathering their materials for their daily duties filled the keep with a homey presence.
Her hand over the knob of the door to the main hall, Serana looked back at the staircase leading to her room. A part of her wanted to run back upstairs and just stay in bed all day, but the responsible adult in her grimaced at the idea of hiding, especially when she had done nothing wrong. Standing tall, she shook her head, the ends of her loose hair brushing against her hips, and pulled the door open.
She greeted all whom she passed with a warm smile and a nod on her way to meet Varric on the ramparts. Her gaze remained intent on the main hall's entrance as she passed the atrium's door. She brushed aside the pang of disappointment that Solas did not try contacting her the night prior, sure he had seen her message. Slightly relieved that the door to his study was closed, Serana suppressed the small voice within her, convicting her of overreacting.
"There she is," Varric said with outstretched hands. "Lucky, this is Hawke. Hawke, Lucky."
Serana felt as though she were meeting a myth and smirked at the irony of others feeling that way around her.
"Serana," she introduced herself, holding out her hand.
"Marian," Hawke replied, shaking Serana's hand with a gentle firmness.
Serana resisted the urge to fidget beneath Hawke's intense gaze.
"I'm sorry, love," Hawke said, chuckling. "It's just you remind me of someone very dear to me, is all."
"Oh, brother," Varric said, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.
Hawke playfully nudged his shoulder, before Serana cleared her throat, causing the pair to look at her oddly.
Hawke sighed, acknowledging the reason she was even at Skyhold to begin with. She ran a hand through her cropped black hair. Her eyes held a momentary sadness before stepping closer to the ledge overlooking Skyhold's training grounds.
"Corypheus," Hawke began. "You've already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I'm sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison."
"Oh, I don't know. You did save a city from a rampaging horde of Qunari." Serana teased.
"Varric telling those stories again?" Hawke asked, shaking her head with a sheepish grin.
"He may have handed me a book filled with some of your adventures, although I guess 'adventures' doesn't really capture the weight of your efforts and accomplishments." Serana said slyly.
Hawke guffawed. Turning to Serana and eyeing her carefully. "You know," she said. "I used to think the idea ludicrous– to visualize a person as a grand and miraculous hero or villain, solely based on stories. Yet here I am, in the presence of a walking miracle, if the stories are to be believed."
Serana nodded, her demeanor cautious. She hesitated, mindful not to dismiss the way the Inquisition troops looked up to her, relying on her image for a morale boost. However, beneath that composed exterior, a frustration brewed. She longed to scream out and ask Hawke how she managed to cope with the pressures of being "the hero."
"I understand," Serana replied morosely.
Noting the abrupt change in the elf's mood, Marian edged along the ledge to stand closer to her.
"I will share with you something I know isn't in that little book of Varric's," Hawke said. She shook her head at Serana's arched brow. "No, I haven't read it. I can't bring myself to, really. And honestly, I find the idea rather awkward," she said, cringing at the thought.
"I'm sure there must be a bit in there about my family and I escaping Lothering." Hawke looked at Serana who nodded back at her. "Well, while I did tell Varric of my meeting Flemeth and her aide in getting us passage to Kirkwall, I never did tell him what she said to me that day. Her words are seared in my mind, and only looking back am I able to see the great wisdom she imparted to me that day."
"Flemeth?" Serana asked. "The Witch of the Wilds?"
Serana had heard of the mysterious witch who supposedly lured unsuspecting men into the wild woods with her daughters, the men never to be seen again. She was surprised to hear that such a person would help a stranger at all, let alone someone who would go on to shape the current world's affairs. Serana simply thought Varric added the witch to his tale as an embellishment.
"The very one," Hawke replied. "She was nothing like the stories I had heard as a child. In fact, she was quite extraordinary, and I don't just mean because she literally swooped in as a dragon." Hawke laughed at how absurd she must have sounded.
Serana simply stared at the training grounds below them, her mind imagining what must have been a fascinating sight to behold.
"Well, what did she tell you?" Serana asked curiously, turning to look at Hawke who appeared just as lost in her thoughts at that moment.
Hawke took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "There are those who embrace destiny; these are the ones that change the world forever. You are one such woman. It just remains to be seen what you will do," she said, her jaw tensing slightly as she searched Serana's gaze for a reaction.
Serana met Hawke's gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and understanding. She contemplated the weight of the words, the resonance of destiny and the potential for world-altering choices. The silence lingered between them for a moment before Serana finally spoke.
"Embracing destiny, changing the world... it sounds like quite the journey," Serana mused, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I've felt the weight of expectations and the call to shape my own path. It's not an easy road, but it seems we both stand at the crossroads of choice."
Hawke nodded, appreciating the depth in Serana's response. Their shared understanding of the burdens they carried and the potential for profound impact created an unspoken connection between them. The conversation opened a door to future discussions, where the two women might explore the intricacies of destiny, choice, and the world-altering decisions that lay ahead.
They continued their conversation, gradually shifting to a more lighthearted tone. Hawke animatedly recounted heartfelt stories about her companions during her time in Kirkwall. However, when she delved into her relationship with Fenris, Hawke's eyes brimmed with emotion, and her voice resonated with a profound admiration for the man. Witnessing this, Serana couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, struck by the realization that some could share such a profound connection without being burdened by the weight of secrets and unspoken dilemmas. Serana shared as much, omitting the pang of covetousness.
"Oh, believe me," Hawke said with a laugh, "we've had our share of heartbreaks and tears. I'm not sure how much Varric decided to publish, but I am willing to share whatever I can if you're ever curious. Get it straight from the source, I say." Hawke said with a smirk.
Serana nodded pensively, feeling Hawke's eyes take her in with a curious appraisal.
"Whoever he is," Hawke said with a knowing look, "he'll wise up before he loses the best thing that's walked into his life. If he doesn't, it's his loss."
The Champion's warm hand found its place on Serana's shoulder, and in that shared glance, they acknowledged an unspoken understanding. Sensing Serana's weariness at the mere thought of discussing Solas, Hawke respected the silent cue and gracefully steered the conversation elsewhere. With a smile, Serana gathered her hair at the nape of her neck, beginning to braid it, and redirected their focus.
Eager to shift the topic, Serana inquired about Hawke's insights on the Inquisition's next steps in their battle against Corypheus. As they conversed, the discussion turned to Hawke's Warden friend, Alistair, a Ferelden who held the promise of providing valuable guidance for their upcoming challenges. Despite a lingering sense of reluctance at the prospect of concluding their conversation, Serana discovered an unexpected calm settling within her—a sense of peace that hadn't been felt in the company of anyone other than Solas for a long time. She decided it may be time to face what she'd been dreading all morning.
Solas couldn't escape the persistent echo of his own secrets, a cacophony that reverberated within the chambers of his mind. The weight of his true identity pressed down on him, an unrelenting burden that threatened to consume him whole. He treasured the moments he shared with Serana, the stolen encounters beneath the moonlit sky, and the fleeting instances where he allowed himself to feel a connection that transcended the boundaries he meticulously built.
Yet, as Serana playfully uttered the words "my wolf," a chill raced down Solas' spine. The familiarity in that possessive term struck a chord deep within him, awakening a fear he dared not acknowledge. He had woven a tapestry of deceit around himself, donning a mask that hid the truth of his ancient existence. Serana's inadvertent use of that term sparked a panic within him, as if the walls he carefully constructed were crumbling.
In that moment, he sensed a foreboding possibility—that Serana, perceptive and intuitive, might be on the brink of unraveling the carefully guarded secret he harbored. The fear of her discovering the truth clawed at him, threatening the fragile connection they shared. Solas, caught between the desire for intimacy and the necessity of keeping his identity veiled, found himself retreating in a desperate bid to shield both Serana and himself from the impending revelation.
As he walked away from her the night before, the cool breeze carrying the weight of unsaid words, Solas grappled with an internal turmoil. The fear of rejection gnawed at him, and the very essence of who he was felt like a ticking time bomb. He couldn't bear the thought of Serana turning away from him, and in that moment of self-imposed exile, he believed that distance might shield them both from the inevitable pain of truth.
Little did Solas realize that Serana's confusion and hurt stemmed not from his true identity but from his abrupt withdrawal. The dance of secrets and emotions had begun, setting the stage for a revelation that would test the very foundation of their connection.
The day had been relentlessly busy, and as though the universe were conspiring against her, every effort made to speak with Solas seemed to be expertly interrupted. By the time she managed to get a moment alone with no pulling in either direction, the sun had been replaced with a dark sky lit by a velarium of stars.
That evening, Serana found herself standing outside Solas' study. She took a deep breath, gathering the strength to address the tension that lingered between them. As she pushed the door open, she saw Solas at his desk, his expression somber.
"Solas," she began, her voice steady but filled with a mix of frustration and concern. "We need to talk about last night."
Solas looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of regret. "Serana, I—"
Before he could finish, Serana raised a hand, cutting him off. "Let me speak first."
She recounted her feelings from the night before, the confusion, the frustration, and the hurt. To his credit, Solas listened intently, his gaze never leaving hers. When she finished, a heavy silence hung in the air.
He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. "Serana, I never meant to—"
Serana stepped closer, interrupting him with a touch to his arm. "No more apologies, Solas. I want to understand. Why do you keep pushing whatever this is to the background?"
Solas remained quiet as he stared into her warm amber eyes, his chest feeling heavy with grief at his entire existence and failures. In her eyes he saw a man he did not believe himself to be, one worthy of love and affection, and it frightened him to conceive of a world where he could possess such a gift. He reached for her face, his fingers wrapping around the back of her smooth neck as he pulled her in, tenderly pressing his lips to hers.
Serana stiffened at the initial and unexpected contact, her thoughts wildly screaming in her mind before succumbing to the sensation of his warm lips pressed against her own. She felt a wave of disappointment as he pulled his face away slowly, his eyes searching hers intently.
"I am sorry, lethallan," he whispered gently, his hands cradling her face. "I feel… unworthy of you. I know I am—"
Serana pressed her lips against his firmly, sinking all of the heat and passion he roused in her into their kiss. Their mouths opened, a groan escaping both of them as their tongues danced slowly in a wave of primal desperation. Serana took in Solas bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling gently. He growled, pushing her against his desk and knocking over a flurry of papers and various artifacts. Pulling her hair back, Solas trailed his tongue down her exposed neck, eliciting a heady moan from her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
The sudden creak of the door hinges startled them both and they pulled apart with breathless urgency, their eyes widening as they found themselves caught in a compromising position. Dorian, standing at the threshold, raised a playful eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Well, well, it seems I've walked in on a fascinating chapter of the 'Love and Lust Chronicles,'" Dorian quipped, his tone a perfect blend of mischief and humor.
Serana, her cheeks ablaze, hastily straightened her disheveled clothing, attempting to regain a semblance of composure. Solas, on the other hand, maintained a certain dignity despite the unforeseen interruption. A note of pride lingered in his eyes as he met Dorian's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the passion they had briefly revealed.
Dorian strolled into the room, unabashedly surveying the scene. "I must say, you two make quite the clandestine pair. If only I had known, I would have brought a more appropriate outfit for this passionate rendezvous."
Serana, struggling to conceal her embarrassment, shot Dorian a glare. "You have a habit of walking in at the most inconvenient times, don't you?"
"Oh, my dear, it's a gift, truly," Dorian replied, his smirk widening. "But I must admit, you do have a knack for drama, and Solas, well, I never pegged you as the passionate type."
Solas, maintaining his stoic demeanor, inclined his head with a subtle smile. "Appearances can be deceiving. What brings you here, Dorian?" he asked with a measured tone.
"Curiosity, my dear, pure curiosity," Dorian replied with a wink. "I heard there might be some ancient elven wisdom being imparted in this room. I didn't realize it would be of a more... practical nature." He chuckled. "Well, I won't keep you from your clandestine affairs any longer. Carry on, my friends, and try not to break any more priceless artifacts. The Inquisition might need those."
As Dorian made a theatrical exit, Serana exhaled a sigh of relief. Solas, with a twinkle in his eye, stepped closer to her. "It seems we are not as discreet as we thought."
Serana rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips.
They shared a conspiratorial glance, the lingering tension diffused by Dorian's unexpected entrance. Sharing a knowing glance, they straightened the displaced artifacts and papers, reclaiming a sense of normalcy in the aftermath of their heated encounter.
With a great deal of restraint, Serana approached him and pressed her forehead against his, breathing him in deeply before whispering softly, "You are worthy, Solas."
He squeezed her hand gently, feeling a profound sense of loss as she pulled away with a warm smile. He watched her walk away with a somber look on his face, his heart heavy, yet hopeful that perhaps she was right.