~O~
Navigating the treacherous terrain of the Shadow Cursed lands, the group advanced with cautious steps, each member clutching a lit torch as a bulwark against the darkness that sought to swallow them whole. Solas walked in stride with Astarion, their eyes scanning the bleak landscape that stretched endlessly before them.
Curious, Solas seized the quiet moment to delve into the unresolved tension between Astarion and Arabella. "I have noticed the air between you two has been charged," he began, his tone neutral yet probing. "She's been less than forthcoming anytime I try to broach the subject. Anything you wish to share?"
Astarion's stride stiffened, a clear reluctance wrapping around him like a cloak. "Oh, Solas, you know how it is. The night has many stories, but not all wish to be told," he replied, deflecting with practiced ease, a small smirk on his lips.
Undeterred, Solas pressed on gently. "She's been evasive about it, responding only with affection and other very forward methods of redirection," he admitted with a soft smile, yet an audible concern thread through his words. His keen eyes observed Astarion, noting the tension that clung to him like a second skin, the subtle agony that flickered in his gaze.
Astarion's facade faltered for a moment, the jesting tone slipping away. "She… I—" he began, the words catching, heavy with something unspoken and unfamiliar to him.
But the moment shattered as abruptly as it had arrived, their path intersecting with a group of Harpers. The suddenness of the encounter, coupled with the immediate onslaught of cursed spawns, left no room for their conversation to continue. Battle instincts took over, the group moving as one to fend off the dark creatures that emerged from the shadows.
When the threat was finally neutralized, the Harpers, weary yet vigilant, shared news of the Last Light Inn—a haven amidst the darkness, enshrined in a magical cloak of light. Grateful for the promise of shelter and respite, the group agreed to follow, the earlier discussion between Solas and Astarion left dangling, unresolved but not forgotten.
As they set off towards the inn, Solas cast a sidelong glance at Astarion, the pale elf's usual mask back in place. There was an understanding in his look, an acknowledgment of the complexities that wrestled within vampire spawn—a promise that the dialogue, though paused, was far from over.
Catching his gaze, Astarion managed a wry smile, the softness beneath his sarcasm making a brief appearance. "To be continued, then," he murmured, a statement that held more weight than the words suggested. He knew the mage would not let him go in silence for long.
~O~
The atmosphere of the Last Light Inn offered a semblance of warmth and safety, yet the air between Arabella and Astarion was noticeably cool, charged with an unspoken tension that neither seemed keen to address. Their mutual avoidance was a dance of evasion, each seemingly content to orbit the other without ever colliding. Solas, caught in the middle, felt the strain of their discord but hesitated to directly intervene, mindful of their strong wills and the delicate nature of their standoff.
Seeking solace, or perhaps an escape from the stifling awkwardness, Solas found Arabella secluded in a small room of the inn. The space was cozy, a stark contrast to the chill of their current relations. When Arabella, perhaps in jest or maybe as a genuine offer, suggested they take a bath together, the proposition elicited a hearty laugh from Solas. The laughter wasn't just at the proposal itself but was also tinged with nostalgia for a shared moment in Baldur's Gate—a memory that seemed to belong to a different lifetime.
The humor in the situation, however, couldn't mask the twinge of sadness that followed. Would she still look at him the same way once her memories returned? Would her duties, whatever they were, push him out, edging him toward the borders of insignificance. Deep down he sensed it didn't truly matter, he was a man out of place and on borrowed time. Yet, as he looked at her, a smile lingering from their shared laughter, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude.
In the time since their capture and amidst the trials they had faced, Solas had come to know Arabella in a way he had not expected. This version of her, although burdened by the vague and dark memories of her past life, offered him a glimpse into the essence of her being—resilient, compassionate, and undeniably vibrant. It was a bittersweet realization that, while the Arabella of old might be lost to the mists of memory, the person she was now, standing before him, was equally genuine.
"This side of you," Solas finally said, his voice soft but earnest, "the spirit and the heart that you've shown, it's as real as any past you might not remember. Knowing you now, in this moment, is a privilege."
The look she gave him as his words settled over her told him all he needed to know in that moment. He meant a great deal to her, and that knowledge filled a deep yearning he didn't know he carried.
"Come," she said to him, grabbing his hands. "Let us enjoy this time together."
He let her lead him through the room, to the corner where a wooden tub waited, steam rising from the water's surface alluringly. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she quickly divested herself of her clothing, stepping into the tub with a sigh of contentment. Solas, in turn, disrobed and stepped into the tub to join her.
The water was warm and inviting, but it was the woman sitting in front of him who made his heart flutter with anticipation. The moment had an air of familiarity about it—this, too, was reminiscent of another time. This time, however, there was no hesitation or uncertainty in the way Solas looked at her. There was no doubt in his mind about the nature of their relationship. He knew exactly what they meant to one another.
"Solas..."
He smiled as she uttered his name, reaching forward to pull her close. All of his earlier worries temporarily dissipated as Arabella leaned into his arms, the movement full of trust and affection. He closed the remaining distance between them, the kiss that followed soft and tender.
As their lips met, Solas was certain that Arabella understood, that the connection they shared was undeniably real.
Their lips parted reluctantly, the moment bittersweet. Solas had hoped that the kiss in a familiar setting would have felt familiar to Arabella, that it might spark her memories. Instead, she looked at him with a small, wistful smile.
"I can't help but feel like this isn't the first time we've been together in a warm bath," Arabella said with a playful look, her tone thoughtful.
"I would say not," Solas replied, chuckling as he pressed another gentle kiss to her lips.
The gesture earned him another smile, and Solas felt his heart skip a beat. He would do anything to make her smile, to make her happy. The realization made his chest ache with longing.
"So, tell me," she said, leaning back and leering at him playfully, "what happened during our last bath together." There was a fire in her eyes, a hunger that made his breath catch in his throat. He felt himself grow hard as she slowly moved closer to him. When she straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck, the sensation sent shivers down his spine.
"As you wish," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "We were both naked, of course..."
He kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he let his hands wander. They trailed down the curve of her spine, lingering on her hips before moving lower to grasp her thighs. Arabella moaned against his lips as he deepened the kiss, her body arching into his touch. Solas groaned as her breasts brushed against his chest, his arousal growing with every passing second.
"What else?" Arabella murmured as she broke away from the kiss, her breath punctuated by small gasps.
"You were hungry, vhenan," he whispered in her ear, his hands gripping her rear end firmly. "Much like you are now." He took her earlobe into his mouth, raking his teeth over it before sucking it lightly and letting it go. Feathering kisses along her jaw, he made his way back to her mouth, slipping his tongue past her open lips.
"But unlike that night, tonight, I will not refuse you. Tonight," he said, a dark and dangerous promise as he pressed his hardened length against her soft folds, "I will not hold back."
Her eyes darkened at his words, her body trembling in his arms. He could feel the heat of her arousal against him, the sensation nearly driving him mad with desire.
"And here I thought I was the dangerous one," she said with a smirk, grinding her hips into him.
"You are dangerous," he murmured against her lips, breathless from her movements.
"But you like that about me." Her eyes gleamed as she looked down at him.
"Yes," Solas whispered. "I do."
His hands tightened around her thighs as she slid onto him, her warmth enveloping him fully. They both groaned as he entered her, their bodies joining together as one. Arabella's head fell back as she began to move, her hips rolling against him with an almost feral intensity. Solas thrust into her, matching her pace as he felt his release building with every stroke.
He watched her ride him, her eyes closed and her mouth open in a silent moan of pleasure. The sight of her like this, so completely lost in the moment, made his heart race. It made him feel alive, tethered and anchored to a reality where he would never have to leave her side.
"Solas," Arabella gasped. "I'm... I'm close..."
"Come for me, vhenan," he urged, his voice hoarse as he swallowed a growl. "Let me see you come undone."
Arabella cried out as she climaxed, her body shuddering against him. The sight of her, the feeling of her walls tightening around him, sent Solas over the edge. A low growl escaped his throat as he found his own release, his arms pulling her close as he spilled himself inside her.
They remained entwined in each other's arms for a long moment, their bodies still shaking from the force of their passion. Solas gazed up at Arabella, his heart swelling with affection. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, so content.
"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Ar lath ma."
He kissed her tenderly, hoping in earnest that she could feel his love for her in his touch.
She leaned into his embrace, humming softly in contentment. He held her close, savoring the moment. This was their moment, a moment of peace in a sea of uncertainty. They stayed like that for a while, lost in the feeling of being close to one another.
Arabella eventually broke the silence. "Whatever happened with Elminster that night? What did the old man say to you?"
Solas felt his stomach twist at the question. He had been dreading this conversation, but he knew that he couldn't avoid it forever.
"He told me I've been called to Faerûn for a reason, and that once that purpose is fulfilled... I will likely have to return to Thedas. I will be honest, I don't know how to feel about it all. I suppose there's no point in thinking about it right now, however."
Solas looked at Arabella, his gaze searching hers, and his heart clenched at the sight of her troubled expression. He knew that the prospect of him leaving her was not something she wanted to consider. It wasn't something he wanted to consider, either, but the possibility was more than likely going to become a reality.
"Vhenan, please," he said, his voice gentle. "Let us not dwell on it. Let us enjoy what time we have together, whatever that may be."
Arabella sighed, her eyes meeting his. He could see the uncertainty in her gaze, but he could also see the determination, a fire that refused to be extinguished.
"This... rift between you and Astarion," he began, choosing his words carefully. "You're certain there's no way to mend it?"
"I'm not sure," Arabella said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't even know what I did to upset him. Perhaps he's losing interest, or maybe... I'm too dark for him, after all."
Solas laughed at this, earning a heated glare from the drow. "I doubt that, vhenan," he said, shaking his head. "If anything, you're the brightest light I've ever known."
Arabella scoffed loudly. "What kind of dark cave were you living in, then?" she asked sardonically.
"The darkest kind." He pressed his lips to her forehead, holding her close. "And you're the one who found me, who pulled me out of it."
Arabella was quiet for a moment, her eyes downcast. Solas could tell she was struggling to believe his words, to believe that she could be seen as a source of light instead of darkness.
"As for Astarion," he said, raising her chin so their eyes met. "I know he cares about you, vhenan. Whatever is going on with him, it's not your fault. He simply needs time to sort it out. That is all."
Solas hated that he couldn't give her a better answer, but he knew that she needed to hear something that dispelled the dark cloud in her mind. He sensed that she needed to know that Astarion cared about her, even if the vampire didn't always show it.
Arabella said nothing, resting her head against his chest quietly. He ran his hand over her hair soothingly, before suggesting they exit the bath, the water becoming cold. When they stood outside of the bathtub, shivering under the thin fabric of their towels, Solas pulled her to him, enveloping her in his warmth. He leaned down to kiss her, and she responded, kissing him back with equal passion.
When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath ghosting over her lips.
"We should get some rest, vhenan," he whispered, his hands tracing the curve of her spine. "It's been a long day."
She nodded, her eyes still closed as she savored the feel of him pressed against her.
"I'll come to bed soon," he said, pulling away reluctantly. "I need to check on something first."
Arabella let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, her mind already drifting off to sleep. Solas smiled as he watched her settle into the bed, her features relaxing as she fell into a deep slumber.
He quietly moved around the room, collecting his clothes from the floor before slipping into them. With one last look at Arabella's sleeping form, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
~O~
The inn still hummed with the echoes of laughter and mirth, a temporary reprieve from the encroaching darkness around them. Solas moved through the mostly empty hallways, his thoughts lingering on his conversation with Arabella. He couldn't help but wonder if there was more he could have done, or said, to ease her worries. The fact that she was hurting, and that there was nothing he could do about it, left him feeling unsettled.
Solas stepped out into the cool night air, taking a moment to breathe deeply, regretting it almost as soon as he did it. The air was stagnant, even with the magical light pushing the accursed darkness back. He looked up at the sky, black and devoid of stars, and let out a weary sigh.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Astarion's voice came from behind him.
Solas turned to see the vampire leaning against a blighted tree, his arms crossed over his chest.
"It's hard to relax knowing what's to come... or perhaps it is the not knowing," Solas said, his eyes searching the darkness beyond the light for any sign of danger.
Astarion pushed off the tree, his movements fluid and graceful. He walked over to where Solas stood, his eyes roving over the elf.
"And here I thought you'd be enjoying your time alone with Arabella," Astarion said, his voice holding a note of amusement. "I'm sure the two of you have been quite busy."
Solas let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You know her as well as I do, Astarion. She can never truly relax when there are matters to attend to."
Astarion gave a noncommittal shrug, his expression unreadable. "I suppose you're right."
There was a long moment of silence between them, the air heavy with unspoken words. Solas wasn't sure what to say to the vampire, but he knew he couldn't leave things as they were.
"She misses you, Astarion," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Whatever has happened between the two of you, I hope you can find a way to mend it."
Astarion looked at him, his eyes dark. "Yes. Well," he said, fidgeting under Solas' gaze, before straightening, his chin held high. "It's not that simple, Solas. There are... complications."
Solas could hear the pain in the vampire's voice, could see the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but he felt that such an action would be unwelcome. Instead, he settled for a simple nod.
"Cazador," Solas said, his tone solemn. "Killing him will bring you some peace, but not the kind that lasts longer than a fortnight. You will need to face more than just Cazador. You will need to forgive yourself for whatever you did under his compulsion."
Astarion let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "We'll find out soon enough, I suppose." He looked off into the grim darkness, his eyes hollow, his cheeks slightly jaunt.
He was hungry.
Solas had noticed the growing pallor in Astarion's complexion, the subtle hints of his increasing hunger. Though the concept of vampires was alien to Solas, hailing from a land untouched by such creatures, his innate sense of empathy nudged him towards offering aid.
"Astarion," he began, his voice steady yet tinged with an unmistakable caution, "I can see your struggle. If you are in need, you may... feed from me."
Astarion stiffened, clearly taken aback by the offer. He ducked his head before standing straight, his fingers running through his hair gracefully, a chuckle escaping him.
"Ah, Solas, offering your wrist to a vampire? What, no wine to go with this meal," he quipped, a playful smirk dancing on his lips, despite the evident hunger in his gaze.
Solas, however, met his jest with a gentle yet firm rebuke. "There's no need for theatrics, Astarion," he said, a small smile softening his words. "I offer this as your friend, nothing more."
Astarion stood silent for a moment, allowing the weight of Solas' words to sink in. The mention of friendship struck a chord in him, a concept so foreign yet he found he deeply craved it. Since when? The amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by a complex mix of surprise and gratitude. His crimson eyes searched Solas', seeking any hint of insincerity. After a moment, he nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Very well then." He grabbed Solas' wrist gingerly, his fingers tracing along the elf's pulse point.
The sensation was surprisingly pleasant, sending a small shiver down Solas' spine.
"This will be quick and painless, I promise," Astarion assured the mage, his voice low and gentle.
With that, the vampire's mouth opened, revealing his dazzling set of razor-sharp fangs. He placed his lips against Solas' wrist, the contact warm and tender. When he bit down, Solas felt a brief, sharp pain followed by a dull ache.
As Astarion fed, Solas could feel a strange mixture of emotions wash over him—anxiety, fear, and, oddly enough, arousal. He watched the white-haired rogue feed, mesmerized by the sight of him. Astarion's eyes closed as he drank, his face a mask of pure ecstasy. But as the moment stretched on, Solas could feel his magic stirring, the connection between them deepening.
Astarion felt himself getting lost in the taste of Solas' warm blood trickling down his throat. It tasted unlike anything he had ever experienced—sweet and rich, with a hint of something darker and more dangerous. His eyes fluttered open as he felt Solas' magic coursing through him. The sensation was intoxicating, leaving him both invigorated and lightheaded.
Just as Astarion felt himself becoming overcome by the intensity of the experience, Solas pushed him away. The force of the gesture causing Astarion to stumble backward, landing on his rearend. He looked up at Solas with a mixture of shock and confusion.
"Are you alright?" Solas asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Yes, I'm fine," Astarion replied, regaining his composure and rising to his feet. "That was... unexpected."
As he dusted off his trousers and raised his gaze towards the mage, the hunger in his eyes had dimmed, a semblance of vitality returning to his features. He looked at Solas, not with the hunger of a vampire, but with the warmth of genuine appreciation.
Astarion grinned sheepishly, his expression betraying his embarrassment. "I must admit, I didn't think your magic would be quite so..."
"Overwhelming?" Solas offered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Intoxicating," Astarion corrected, his eyes flashing with mischief. "But I suppose overwhelming works, too."
"I am sorry if I caused you any discomfort," Solas said dryly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Nonsense, my dear boy," the vampire replied, shaking his head. "I... thank you," he said, his voice carrying a sincerity that had been absent before.
His tone held a note of emotion that surprised Solas—he sounded grateful, almost humble.
"You are welcome, lethallin," Solas replied, his voice quiet.
The rogue gave him a curt nod before turning to leave. Just as he was about to walk away, Solas called after him.
"Astarion."
The vampire rogue stopped and glanced at Solas over his shoulder.
"I meant what I said. Whatever is going on between you and Arabella, I hope you find a way to work it out. She cares for you, deeply. And you care for her."
Astarion nodded, his eyes flashing briefly, before turning and leaving Solas alone with his thoughts.
As Solas watched him disappear into the inn, he felt a decision click into resolution, and he smiled, his steps carrying him back towards Arabella.
~O~
In a dream, Astarion finds himself wandering through a woodland, reminiscent of the one encircling the druid's grove. For a brief moment, apprehension grips him, the fear that Cazador might emerge anew. After several tense minutes spent hunkered down, he comes to the realization he is solitary. That is, until the sound of movement from beyond the trees reaches his ears. Compelled, he tracks the noise to a clearing where he spots her. Arabella is there, reclining on the tender grass, her ebony hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo. She appears content, tranquil, at rest. A sensation burgeons in his chest, an uninvited feeling that unsettles him, a recognition he can't fully embrace without confronting a truth he's long known.
Tentatively taking a step towards her, he halts, the memory of a previous dream intruding—where she was replaced by a sinister figure, dark and foreboding, endangering everything dear to him. Especially her.
Arabella's eyes meet his, widening in genuine surprise as she rises swiftly, her hair flowing over her shoulders, reminiscent of a stream over a waterfall. Their gazes remain locked in a silent, stretched moment, each pondering the reality of their identities within this dream world.
She's the first to break the silence, clearing her throat before softly whispering, "I'm sorry."
His brow furrows in confusion. "For what, my dear?" He moves closer, settling next to her on the ground, a wave of tranquility enveloping him as he basks in their shared space.
Her eyes hold a mirroring of his own deep-seated sorrow, a reflection of the constant pain he harbors. Despite his reservations, he's drawn to caress her cheek gently, comforting himself with the thought that it's only a dream. Here, he can express his feelings openly, believing it's not truly her, or so he convinces himself.
At his touch, her eyes flutter shut, and she presses her cheek into his hand with a soft exhale. "I can't pinpoint what I said or did, but you've been distant… withdrawing from me."
He lets out a soft laugh, amused by how his mind has crafted her to be so affectionate and charming, mirroring the real Arabella's essence. "Darling," he purrs, his voice tinged with emotion. He searches for the right words, struggling to articulate the tumultuous mix of strength and vulnerability she inspires in him. She is his beacon, empowering him, yet exposing his deep-seated desire to relinquish everything for her.
He leans in, his kiss a conduit for the maelstrom within—anguish, adoration, longing—all channeled into this singular moment. He silently pleads that she'll understand, that this kiss will convey the depths he cannot find the words for, doubting his own strength to voice the tempest inside.
Her response is immediate, a kiss returned with equal intensity, mirroring their connection in the waking world. Her scent envelops him, startlingly authentic, igniting a realization within him. He tenses, breaking the kiss, and in her gaze, recognition dawns—it is indeed her. The how and why no longer matter. Compelled, he finds her lips again, this time with even greater desperation, as if her very presence is the lifeline he's been searching for.
She grabs a fistful of his white curls tightly, pulling him closer to her. He moans into her mouth, sucking on her tongue, before biting her bottom lip gently. As he pulls away, their eyes lock, and a light gasp escapes him at the sight of the dark desire in her gaze, mingled with something deeper, a profound affection that stirs a yearning within him to bury himself in her, to intertwine their essences so thoroughly that the lines between them blur, leaving no distinction between where he ends and she begins. She draws him into another kiss, guiding him down over her, and he surrenders, allowing himself to be utterly consumed by her, hopelessly ensnared in her embrace.
Hidden within the embrace of the forest, a silent observer watches from the shadows, his fur coat a deep, enveloping black that merges seamlessly with the night. With a soft huff, a breath that carries a note of satisfaction, he exudes a sense of contentment and tranquility. There's a rumble of approval in his chest, a silent commendation before his red gaze turns, disappearing silently into the depths of the trees.
A/N:I do so enjoy writing dream sequences in the present/present progressive tense. :)