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~Garnet

Banal Silaima III

I've gone too far.

Solas thought that often since joining the Inquisition. Despite wanting to undo his miscalculation and set things right in the world again, he initially decided to keep a certain, polite distance from the people in this Inquisition.

His resolve unraveled over several precious moments. Discussing the nature of consciousness and life while wandering the Storm Coast with Cole reminded him of the debates he would have as a young man at school or with friends at pretentious parlour events Mythal often threw as a housewife where all the guests would wax philosophically and debate the nature of the world. Cole would have fit there perfectly, just the right tone of questioning without needing to be correct.

But there were also the friends he never expected to make... Blackwall, for instance. He offered to teach him how to play a card game that had only devolved over time. Solas fondly remembered nights turning into mornings at men's clubs in Arlathan, where he'd gamble, drink to excess and laugh until tears fell with old and new friends. He could see Blackwall there, a gruff voice of reason in one moment and in the next moment, as reckless as the rest of them.

Every moment with the Inquisition felt like exploring a massive, intricate labyrinth. He navigated the labyrinth with a tight hold on twine weaved with the memories of Arlathan, Mythal and the Evanuris. The twine was his ultimate goals and purpose. He could explore this maze all he wanted as long as he had something to tie him back to reason.

But with every new moment endured, his journey got more and more complex and by the time he reached the center of the maze, where Sara was, he'd run out of twine to navigate and excuses to deny his feelings. And hers.

He fell in love with her, in all the ways that falling is ungraceful and embarrassing in the way that one tried to catch themselves mid-fall, hoping that perhaps the fall won't be so painful. But it was. It was beautifully painful. Her touch would leave a smoldering burn across his skin, sending his blood ablaze. Whenever she left Skyhold to unknowable danger without him, his heart would twist and flip with concern until she returned.

She compelled him to love her, with her inquisitive, curious and optimistic nature and the way she'd sit and beg for stories about his life and experiences. As she listened, her eyes would lock with his but slowly travel down to his lips. He would noticed her staring and she would look back up at him quickly, a blush highlighting her cheeks. Her sincerity was captivating; it took effort for her to be dishonest or spiteful which made her standout in a world of cynics who'd lost their capacity to see things not only for what they were, but also for what hid underneath.

For so long he wasn't certain; perhaps all he felt was a passing fondness at best or shameless lust at worst and thus, simple to ignore and push from his thoughts.

But feelings were never as simple as they seemed and finally, he had to confront them and her.

Solas would never forget that evening. Sara had only returned from rescuing Inquisition scouts from a bog in Ferelden that very morning. He watched her and her party sludge into Skyhold and despite being covered in dry mud and moss, they were all alight with pride at the success of their journey. Sara immediately sought her chambers and likely soaked for hours before seeking her bed. By the time she came to see him in the rotunda, she was rested and radiant and even though he played over what he'd say to her countless times, seeing her made him flustered.

"Inquisitor, I was... Do you have a moment?" he stammered, his thoughts leaving him as she smiled. Whatever he rehearsed was pointless, he realized as they climbed the stairs to her chambers. When they reached her balcony, Solas noticed the anchor on her hand glowing softly and was struck with a sudden. unwanted thought. Was he, perhaps, only drawn to his own magic and not her?

So, he asked her if she felt different, if the anchor adjusted her personality. "If it had," she replied with an inquiring smile, "do you really think I'd have noticed."

And there she was, shining through his doubt with a self-awareness that was hard to find now. "No," he said, nearly laughing at his own unease. "That's an excellent point."

"Why do you ask?" Sara cocked her head slightly and he told her how much he admired her and the words came out surprisingly chaste but genuine. He admired her mind and spirit and the way she wandered the world with grace and thoughtfulness. She didn't just meander around without care for what was underfoot and sought to preserve the past while also setting the stage for a better future. And he loved her for that, and for much more he'd discover.

"So, what does this mean, Solas?" she asked when he finished praising her and he could only reply with the truth, despite keeping it to himself for months.

"It means I have not forgotten the kiss."

The way her eyes narrowed, filled with satisfaction and desire, made his stomach flip in anticipation. Sara smiled, a blush coating her cheeks. "Good," she murmured and took small tentative steps to fill the space between them.

He nearly surrendered to the moment before he remembered how wrong this was of him. He had aspirations beyond the Inquisition and she didn't deserve to be involved in the path he would walk. If there was to be suffering, he would endure it alone and spare her the pain.

As he turned to leave, it was too hesitant for even him to believe and she gently caught his arm, asking him to stay in a disarmingly soft voice.

"It would be kinder in the long run," he told her.

But losing her would mean existing as nothing but a machine made to undo mistakes. Losing her would destroy any part of him that existed as just a man and in that moment all he wanted was to be hers.

Don't think, he realized. Or think only of her. Not the past. Not the future. Just Sara.

So, he let go and seemed to melt in her arms and dissolve against her lips. The sound of her moan through her lips made him pull her tighter against him. She was so warm and soft, he could hardly remember feeling so enveloped in adoration. Nothing he'd ever experienced prepared him for how she made him feel.

I've gone too far, part of him thought suddenly, but the rest of him was unwillingly pulling away from her and before he could think to stop himself, the words flew from his lips.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he said, held his tongue before he could say more and walked from her chamber resolutely. He would never forgive himself for entering into this relationship with her and he didn't doubt that she wouldn't forgive him either when it was all over. But in the meanwhile, perhaps they could help each other escape reality, if only for a few moments.

He had reached her staircase when he heard her say, "You don't have to run from this, Solas."

But I do, he thought with a sigh. Before he knew it, Sara was behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her cheek nuzzled against his back tenderly. He turned in her arms and kissed her forehead gently. "I have never felt like this, vhenan," he explained only for her to smile and caress his face.

"Neither have I," she confessed and sought his lips again. Slowly, he leaned into the kiss and for the first time really surrendered to the moment. Gently, his tongue glided across her lower lip and she moved her head to the side to deepen the kiss. She moaned deeply and wove her arms around his neck and they moved away from the stairs and toward her bed in quick, certain steps.

Sara was far more eager than Solas would've guessed. She pressed him to sit and climbed into his lap, never breaking the kiss and all too soon he was on his back and she was above him. With a giggle, she ran kisses down his jaw and to his neck and while it was all quite enjoyable, her yearning was too fast. He knew where this was going and wanted her to savor this.

"Sara," he murmured with a failed attempt to sit up. "We must slow down."

She pulled away and looked down at him with a cheeky pout. "Must we?"

"Yes," Solas chuckled. He held her by the hips and pulled himself into a sitting position, his fingers loosening the button at the top of her tunic.

With a few pulls, he kissed her exposed neck and top of her collarbone. Her grip tightened on his shoulder as he continued unfastening the buttons. The tops of her breasts peaked out from under the thin band she wore. He returned to her lips and pecked kisses along her cheek and to her ear where he whispered, "We have all night."

Undressing her was nearly crippling. Every bit of her pale skin was beautiful, from her shoulders, speckled with light freckles, to her legs, strong and toned from years of hunting and fighting. Everywhere new skin presented itself, he laid hungry, enraptured kisses.

He found himself nestled between her legs, tasting the soft skin in her upper thigh. He looked up at her face; her eyes were shut tightly and she took short breaths through her mouth. The sun had nearly set, putting her body in a deep orange glow. Her eyes slowly peeked open and she met his gaze and smiled coyly. He fixed his eyes on her as he kissed her tenderly between her legs. She sucked in a harsh breath and he watched her face contort when he ran his tongue across her folds. She was almost addictive in the sense that Solas was near certain he could stay between her legs till morning, but there was so much he needed to feel.

Beneath him, Sara writhed and trembled with pleasure, her lip caught in her teeth to mute her moans and sudden gasps. Her fingers curled in the blankets under them as she sang out a lingering groan of approval, shaking slightly, and inhaled as if she'd been held under water for too long.

Solas rose to his knees and undressed as she caught her breath. Sara's sudden wildness caught him by surprise as she fervidly pulled off the rest of his clothes and flung them across the room. She straddled his waist and gave him a searing kiss before taking him in her hand and gently stroking him with the wickedest grin on her face. She had warm, skilled hands that made him see white behind his eyes.

Too soon, her hands were removed and replaced with sudden tight heat. Solas' eyes shot open with a strained groan as Sara threw her head back ardently. She rode him quickly, roughly, with a need he completely understood. But it was too good and would end far too quickly.

He gripped her hips and slowed her. Sara's groan of complaint faded into a giggle as he switched their positions and pinned her arms above her head. "Felas'el, vhenan," he whispered hoarsely and entered her with an unhurried, deep thrust. Releasing her wrists, Solas tangled one hand in her hair while the other held her waist for support. She grasped his shoulders tightly and gave him a sloppy, delirious kiss before breaking it to nearly sob in bliss.

"Solas," she moaned, breathless and overwhelmed. He loved that he could make her say his name in varying cadences. One "Solas" was a short, quick breath that said without saying "Please, faster". Another "Solas" was a high, long whine. A beg for more, much much more. He especially loved the "Solas" that was a growl, demanding that he continue, faster, harder, deeper. But nothing surmounted the scream when it was all too much; her fingers dug into his back deeply and if she had longer nails, she would have left claw marks across his skin.

Seeing and hearing her erupt with pleasure was enough to send him spiraling soon after her. As he reached his peak, he found her lips once more, grunting into her mouth and nearly collapsing on her, exhausted, but his hand steadied him at the last moment. He finally broke their kiss to take his first full breath in what felt like hours.

"Solas," she whispered contently and he realized that he loved how she said his name right then the most. So comfortable and enamored, it struck him deeply.

"Ma'ea inalanehn," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Sara laughed gently. "Sweet talker."

Much later, as the sun began to rise, Solas held her as they rested from another amorous tryst and traced the outline of her vallaslin curiously. "Does your clan's hahren choose your vallaslin for you?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No," Sara replied with a yawn. "We're allowed to pick for ourselves."

"Why Mythal?"

Solas felt her stiffen a bit before she sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. "My great-grandfather was the oldest person in our clan before he passed away. He was also the only person in our clan to wear Mythal's vallaslin. Everyone in my family found him to be rather odd and bothersome."

She smiled sadly, her eyes narrowing with affection. "He always told me stories whenever I would ask. I thought he was wonderful and we were very close when I was a girl. When it was time for me to choose my vallaslin, I asked for his advice so he told me a story."

"When he was a boy, he was very sickly and the healers in our clan were sure that he wouldn't live into adulthood. So, when he was old enough to pick his vallaslin he took it very seriously. He prayed to the gods for guidance every night for weeks. The night before the ceremony, he dreamt so deeply he went into the Fade. When he was there, he saw a vision of Mythal."

Sara turned to face him, her expression stern and thoughtful. "She was sitting in the middle of a beautiful garden, he claimed, and simply sat there, braiding together a laurel of rosemary flowers. My babala just watched her and waited for her to finish making the laurel. When she was finished, she asked him, 'You would like my blessing, yes?'. And he said of course and asked for her protection. He begged her for more years to live and marry and have children. Mythal listened and smiled before placing the laurel on his head and telling him that he would live to see his children's children and even more."

"When he woke from the dream, beside his pillow was a rosemary laurel." Sara took a breath and shuddered. "You have to understand, rosemary doesn't grow in the Free Marches, Solas. There was no possible way anyone could have given him the laurel as he was sleeping."

"Regardless, at the ceremony he chose to receive Mythal's vallaslin and as I said, he grew to be the oldest person in my clan. I chose Mythal after he told me that story. At first I didn't believe him. I laughed at him. And when I did, he hobbled over to the locked chest he kept in our aravel and took out the rosemary laurel. None of the leaves or flowers had withered. Not one of them." Tears welled in her eyes.

"He died soon after that. And when he died, he left the laurel to me. But when he died, the flowers and leaves withered away into dust. But I knew that Mythal's blessings were true and that she would watch over me like she did him." Sara blinked away tears and looked away from Solas shyly. "I know it must sound ridiculous."

"No." Solas laid his hand on her back soothingly. "It doesn't." In fact, her story was too accurate to be ignored. Long ago, when Mythal had a villa in Arlathan, she kept a manicured, expansive garden filled with flowers, fruit trees and a small pond. He remembered strolling with her on spring afternoons and occasionally, she'd bend down to pluck a small branch of purple flowers from the garden and hold it under her nose. She claimed the scent was calming. The flower was now known as rosemary.

"You were wise to listen to him," Solas murmured. "Few people are willing to hear those they think are stuck in the past."

"I know," Sara said with a giggle. "Why do you think I'm always listening to you?"

Elven Phrases

Ar lath ma: I love you

Felas'el: Slower

Ma'ea inalanehn: You are beautiful.

Vallaslin: Facial markings that honor elven gods.

Babala: Grandfather

(Thanks to Project Elvhen by FenxShiral for the vocabulary)

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