Welcome to another Solas-y break from the primary narrative.

It's pretty quick, but the next chapter's pretty long so yeah!

He's so interesting to write so I hope you like how this is going.

Please enjoy!

~Garnet

Banal Silaima II

Mythal's first wedding was a complete farce. An opulent, almost garish, display of wealth and power in which any person of note attended. Mythal was well-liked and reputable in her own right, but still bowed to the will of her father, a powerful mage, that had seen ages and ages of time and was proud to call her his only child. Her intended was Helias of Esheth, a picturesque city on the sea. Helias had governed Esheth for decades and despite his wealth, Solas found him to be an old, haughty bore.

Mythal prepared for her wedding with a fascinating level of excitement. She giddily dragged her handmaidens and Solas around Arlathan for months, looking at flowers, picking out rolls of silk for her gown, rolls of velveteen for her table linens and consulting with wine merchants from across the empire to find the perfect bottle to serve at the wedding. It would have been quite amusing, if Solas wasn't worried that she was feigning excitement to appease her betrothed.

He told her so when she took him to one of her fittings. Her gown was layers of sheer ivory silk that was so light it flowed from the gentlest of breezes. A wide belt of gold was cinched tightly around her waist to give her body definition. She was stunning and seemed to glitter from her eyes to her toes.

"What do you think, Solas? Is it too..."

"Ostentatious?" he supplied but she laughed dismissively.

"I was going to say 'youthful' actually. But I understand. You think it's gaudy."

"Not gaudy," Solas murmured. "Extravagant."

Mythal looked at herself in the mirror and played with her hair. "I don't know what to do," she sighed and at the time, Solas was certain she was having second thoughts about this whole wedding. He wouldn't have blamed her.

"It's not too late to call this off, arani," he said softly. Mythal's handmaiden's gasped, their mouths agape in horror. Mythal snapped her head back at him and exhaled deeply. To her handmaidens, she said, "Leave us."

Once they were alone, she sat beside him on the sofa and smiled cynically. "I was referring to my hair, Solas," she muttered. "I don't know what to do with my hair."

"I see." He broke her gaze and looked down at the fibers of her gown. "Excuse my assumption."

She stood again and went back to standing before the mirror. "Your concern is flattering, but unnecessary. I'm ready to marry. Helias is a good man."

"So, you're in love with him?" Solas asked stubbornly.

"No, I'm not. I'm doing my duty. I hope you can understand," she replied.

"I can't." His voice was firmer than he intended. "You don't have to be married off to anyone. Maybe your father won't recognize it, but I know that you deserve independence."

"Look, Solas," Mythal spun to face him. "My father is quite old. He'll be entering uthenera soon and he wanted to be sure that I would be taken care of. I don't love Helias but I will marry him to appease my father before he leaves me. It's the least I can do."

Solas flushed with shame and sighed deeply. "I... understand."

Mythal giggled and startled fiddling with the laces on her gold belt. "Well if things don't work out, at least I can tell you that you were right all along," she said sarcastically. "Come help me out of this. It's dreadfully uncomfortable."

Dreadfully uncomfortable... Sara said something like that as well with a similar sort of cheekiness to Mythal. When had she said that, Solas wondered. The memory of Arlathan bled away and he was pacing the rotunda at Skyhold, year and years later.

His hands were dry, covered with varying shades of blue as he finished the finer details of the Warden's coat of arms. Despite how disgusted he was by their actions, Solas had spent more time on this section of the mural any of the others. The nearly imperceptible fractures in the coat of arms he spent hours perfecting were nothing compared to the time he spent figuring out the colors for the hills near Adamant. It was lovely and he wasn't sure how he'd paint anything better. Perhaps the ball at the Winter Palace will inspire him.

Josephine had been preparing for the ball since their invitation months ago. Once she'd researched nearly everyone in attendance, whenever Sara returned from excursions to the Hinterlands or most recently, Adamant, she forced her to sit and recite names, titles, holdings, spouses and paramours of the elite in the Orlesian court. When Josephine was meeting with emissaries, Vivienne would instead lead the lessons.

Occasionally, Sara was joined by Cassandra, who left within minutes, insisting that knowing who all those people were was nonsense, and other times, Dorian sat beside her, if only to regale her with stories about how similar Orlais was to Tevinter, but less treacherous.

It was very amusing, but Solas knew that learning to navigate court could only take so much theoretical instruction. Sara would learn how to conduct herself best once they were actually in the Winter Palace.

All the same, the preparation for this ball kept her occupied and part of him was missing how she'd sit and speak with him as he painted or hum some old Dalish song she'd long forgotten the words to. At first the silence in the rotunda was welcome, as he could deeply focus but her presence fueled his creativity and made the colors on his palate seem more vibrant than when he was alone.

He washed his hands, then each of his brushes meticulously and laid them out on his small desk to dry. As he left the rotunda, the evening sun was shining through the stained glass behind the throne and a herd of women were rushing out of Sara's chambers, their arms full of linen, and into Josephine's office.

Solas slipped into the stairway and climbed up to her chambers quietly. There was no echos of chattering so he assumed she was alone. As he opened the door to her room, he heard her sob sharply and his heart jumped in alarm.

"Vhenan," he called, sprinting up the final flight of stairs. When he reached the top, the panic was all but sucked from his body and he almost laughed at her. Almost.

Sara was bent over her desk, her fingers gripping behind her to try and find the laces to a corset someone laced her into. Her face was red, brows furrowed and teeth latched onto her bottom lip in concentration. She swore whenever she dropped a string and groaned in displeasure.

"Sara," he said, as not to startle her.

She looked up at him, her hair falling into her eyes and she gasped in relief, beaming. "Solas. Please. Help."

He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and found the laces to her corset. With a gentle pull, it was loose but not completely undone and she inhaled gratefully. "Thank you," she moaned, her voice breathy and tired.

She stepped away from him to sit on the end of her bed, stretching her arms over her head. She would never fathom it, but Solas thought she looked especially lovely that evening. The corset was intricately designed, with powder blue lace trimming the bodice and boning. She was also dressed in a matching tea-length petticoat and soft silk dancing slippers. Seeing her dainty and soft was such a refreshing, almost jarring, change from her usual, war-weary wardrobe.

"I've been Josie's doll for the past five hours," Sara complained humorously. "She can't decide is I should look 'humble and subdued' or 'bold and fearless' for this ball."

Solas sat beside her with a soft laugh. "I'm sure that whichever gown was chosen would not ultimately matter. You'd be the focus of the guests' intrigue if you wore your hunting greens."

"I get the feeling that you and Josie share a similar excitement for this ball," Sara mumbled accusingly.

"Once we've apprehended whatever assailant is coming for the Empress, I'm sure you'll enjoy some of the delights of the ball as well," he replied.

"Maybe." She began to pull at the laces behind her once more. "I've never been the type of girl to enjoy skirts or rouge or corsets, Solas."

"This is not a common garment among the Dalish, I see," he stated with a small chuckle.

"No," she replied. "How could anyone do anything in this... this... cage?"

"Josephine, Vivienne and Leliana seem to wear it comfortably," he argued gently.

"Well, they're all better women than I am." Sara rolled her shoulders. "What's the point of this thing anyway? Eventual suffocation?"

"It's for support, mostly," Solas explained gently removing her stumbling fingers from the laces to loosen them himself. After a moment, the corset was as loose as he could get it without removing it completely so he dropped the laces and wove his arms around her waist. "Support and posture."

"Posture?"

He kissed just behind her ear and she shuddered. "Yes." He took a step away from her and softly traced the shape of her spine. "When the laces are tightened correctly, your back straightens. And your shoulders," he paused to gently press his lips to her shoulder blades, "are pulled back. It's the simplest way to radiate confidence and poise during the ball, vhenan. At anytime, you'll look more assured than you feel, which could mean the difference between success and failure."

"Josie should have let you lace me into it," she teased. "You make an excellent argument for something so dreadfully uncomfortable."

"Josephine would be scandalized." He brought his lips to her neck and she laughed, her giggle fading into a deep moan. His fingers returned to the laces. "I trust your fitting is finished for the evening."

"I- I don't know." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I think someone was coming up to unlace me."

"I'll inform Josephine that it's unnecessary," he mumbled into her ear.

And afterward the night was long and sweet but Solas woke to the present as alone as he was longing. But he couldn't miss her.

Not yet.

There was still so much to accomplish.

Elven Phrases

Uthenera: Long sleep. Evoked by magic.

Thanks for Reading! Please review!