Solas sipped his wine, bored, while observing the elves who wouldn't stop dancing to the rhythm of the music, spinning around and around, their vallaslin shimmering under the light of the huge, magically-moved lamp. His armor, the color of gold, gleamed in the same light. The bluish traces, indicating that he was a guest of Mythal, barely shone, covered by the wolf-fur cloak on his shoulders. His wolf mask concealed his violet eyes, which looked at the celebration with reproach, displeased by the reason for it.

The elves shouldn't celebrate their enslavement to the Evanuris. Never.

A growl rose in his chest, furious, but a hand stopped him in his rage, preventing him from breaking the glass.

Beside him, Mythal looked at him reprovingly. Her mask, the color of silver, imitating the face of a dragon, shone when she turned to look at him, her blue eyes full of reproach fixed on him.

—Solas. Don't make a scene now. It's not the time —she asked, with tension.

Solas snorted, discontent, averting his gaze back to the dance as he leaned on the railing.

—It's not fair, Mythal. This... it's wrong —he said, lowering his voice. She stood beside him, nodding sadly.

—I know, Wolf. But we must endure; we will find a way to stop this from continuing.

Solas growled again, slightly. He placed the glass on one of the adjacent tables and turned, ready to leave.

—I am not going to participate in this farce any longer. I'm leaving.

He heard Mythal sigh heavily behind him, but he left her behind, hastily.

He didn't want to be in that place any longer. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, like the fury was not stopping from growing in his chest.

A farce. A deception. That's all the Evanuris represented as gods.

And his people kept believing it, as if they were automatons without thoughts.

Suddenly, a bump in his chest distracted him. He felt his shirt get wet, causing a shiver to run through him from the cold, but he raised his arms, holding the elf who had stumbled into him.

A cup fell from the hand of the one he had bumped into, shattering into a thousand pieces around him, as if it were a decoration of the dance itself, the crystals shining under the moons, both full. Solas growled, lowering his head toward the person he had bumped into, with annoyance in his chest.

Violet eyes looked up at him, like a little frightened halla. His face was uncovered, revealing Mythal's vallaslin on his face, giving him a beautiful golden color against his slightly tanned skin.

The elf held his breath in his arms, as if afraid that Solas was going to eat him, which made a small smile appear on his face. Solas looked him up and down, with a certain warmth accumulating in his groin, perhaps a product of the alcohol he had drunk.

This elf was not bad at all. His body was muscular, as if he didn't waste time only in dances, as if he trained every morning, under the sun of the forest, covered in sweat. His hair was a beautiful brown, like the leaves in autumn, with that characteristic and brown color. His face was defined, masculine, but with a certain softness that Solas liked.

Then, the elf began to tremble slightly under his scrutiny, as if he were afraid of him, of the reaction he might have had for staining his dance suit, almost more an armor than a formal outfit. Solas let the smile widen, showing his sharp fangs, while he let his eyes, of a deeper violet color, shine under the light of his green magic.

—Don't be afraid, little halla. I'm not going to eat you —he whispered, moving closer to his ear, having to bend down to reach that pointed ear.

Then, as if it were the sound of the wind in a summer meadow, the servant let out something like a laugh, making Solas flinch back, surprised at this sudden reaction, his eyes blinking as if he didn't believe what he was hearing and seeing.

The elf kept laughing, looking at him with one eye closed, while pointing at him, amused, and with his other hand he grabbed his stomach.

—It would be ironic if the Dread Wolf ate me —he said, between laughs, to which Solas raised an eyebrow, curious about his amusement.

—Don't you think I'm capable, Da'len? —Solas asked, the anger from before growing in his chest at this little impudent elf who was laughing in his face.

If that's what he wanted...

He pushed him, abruptly leaning him against the wall in a dry blow. The elf held his breath again at the abrupt movement, which made him let out a small gasp of surprise. Solas raised a hand, taking off his mask, while his violet eyes locked with the elf's. He threw the mask to the ground in a quick movement, while a growl rose in his chest, bringing his mouth closer to the little impudent elf's neck. He licked slowly, making the elf groan loudly, almost as if he didn't want to hold back, as if he wanted the whole world to know that a wolf was hunting him.

Little impudent, Solas repeated in a low voice, who felt his cock react to the sound, happy, and his eyes dilated, with excitement. Solas moved closer to his pointed ear, which was beginning to blush with passion, while he leaned his hip against his, also feeling his cock grow against his, in a passionate greeting.

—What is your name, little halla? —he asked, letting his breath fall on the tip of his ear, making it stagger again. The elf groaned, but the little halla had guts, as he had already shown before.

—Felassan, sir. My name is Felassan —he replied, in no more than a thread of a voice, but with defiance in his voice when calling him "sir."

Solas smiled, letting his fangs graze his ear, in a shy touch. He lowered himself a little more, returning to his neck, rubbing those fangs up and down, making him groan again. Then, without expecting it, he bit him.

Hardly.

Felassan groaned, feeling the bite in his whole being, which trembled. Solas groaned in turn, hoarsely, while licking the blood that had come out of the wound, in a lazy caress. After that, he grazed his cock with his, making both of them jump, eagerly.

But Solas pulled away, letting Felassan see how he licked the blood from his fang, with a certain acted laziness. And then, Solas smiled at him, like the predator he was, while taking another step back and giving him a small bow.

—I hope you enjoy my memory tonight, Felassan.

Immediately afterwards, he left, leaving his shining mask on the ground and a daring elf kneeling on the ground, with nothing more than the memory of the Dread Wolf in his head, and the desire in his whole body, hot, fueled by the fearsome Fen'Harel, who was smiling triumphantly at this battle won, even though his heart was still crying for the war that would come.

A war he would have to win, at all costs, to save his people.

A war he would win for brave little hallas like Felassan, who deserved freedom.

Solas clenched his fists, while his eyes lit up with desire, with the green of his magic.

He would do it, even if it cost him his whole world to achieve it. And to hell with the consequences.