Falling For You
It’s afternoon by the time Solas convinces you that the elves can handle the rest alone, and you’re no longer needed. It’s about fifteen minutes after that when he manages to actually tear you away from the goats. You can’t help it! They’re so cute, with their soft, fluffy lips and bizarre eyes. And the little noise they make. Maaaa.
You have always been more fond of such animals when compared to dogs or cats.
You flop down into the rotunda to find a cold lunch already waiting for both of you; Solas had it brought, perhaps, though you’re a bit alarmed to think of how. Did he go down to the kitchen himself? They would have had a heart attack. You’ll have to apologize later, if that’s the case.
There’s your little stool by his desk. You feel a pang when you see it. Had he pulled it over and then been waiting on you?
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring your lunch properly, Solas,” you say, frowning. “I lost track of time.”
“It’s no matter. You were quite busy, and it was a good cause. It was shocking to see everything short of a barn raising going on in the courtyard, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to be all that surprised to see you at the middle of it.”
You have to laugh at that. Hadn’t Belassan said something similar? She’s going to now, just you watch. “I was pleased when you stopped to help,” you admit. “Thank you for that. A mage is worth twelve men. Though I’m shocked that you so readily knew a spell for putting wooden slats together.”
“It comes up more frequently than you might think,” he replies.
You snort, but your mind stays on how nice it had been to see him out there. You really only ever see him in the rotunda, most days at Skyhold, and you rarely see him speaking to other people. Dorian, occasionally, and you’re certain Cole comes to him as often as the spirit comes to you, but…
It was good, you decide, to see him out in the sunlight, interacting. It makes you smile.
And he and Fenris had met, and nothing had even exploded! Though Fenris had that same tension he probably has around all mages. A pity, honestly, but you can’t even blame him. It stings a bit though… you can’t help but feel like he only talks to you because he doesn’t know what you are.
But then, isn’t that the case with everyone?
That thought sobers you somewhat, and the curl of your lips fades down to neutrality.
Solas notices, of course. His head tilts in a wordless question.
“Just thinking about all the work I’m behind on,” you joke, forcing a smile. Solas wouldn’t hate you for being a mage, but there are other things he’d find just as despicable as Fenris finds magic. Something you need to keep keenly in mind, no matter Cole’s opinion on the subject.
“Eat first,” Solas instructs. “You will get nowhere on an empty stomach.”
“Vel, mamae,1” you intone sarcastically, but you begin to eat again. “It was nice, to see you out there,” you decide. He looks surprised. “You know my opinions on the matter… every time someone sees a mage helping out, that’s one more person who might know magic isn’t inherently evil… and neither are mages. Plus, you were cute with the kids.” You pause, eyes widening. Oh fuck you hadn’t meant to say that last part! Fortunately, Solas chuckles.
“You would think about such things, even when waist deep in work. I cannot even scold you for becoming so distracted from your duties. It was for a good cause. In one fell swoop, you managed to assist the Inquisition, the ex-slaves, and even the animals.”
You flush with the praise. You could roll around in it like a cat in a sunbeam.
When you finish eating, Solas checks how your hands are recovering and enchants your wrist. You “begin” the day in an excellent mood. If you hadn’t been proud of yourself before (you had been), you certainly are now (even more so). That—combined with Solas’s fantastic enchantment—has you churning out pictures faster than you would have thought possible. You can almost enjoy it; your hand seems to have a direct line to your mind today. Each line is exactly as you wanted, precise and accurate. A satisfying delight that feeds into itself, only improving your work and your mood.
Even Solas’s hovering doesn’t bother you today, though when he gets too close you do feel self-conscious. He focuses mostly on the completed works, examining each page as you complete it; occasionally seeming to compare it with the original in the tome. You feel less awkward about it when he points out small mistakes in one picture. Oh, he’s just checking your work! Another favor, another thing you’ll owe him for, but a helpful thing for him to do. And a good explanation for why he’s lingering over your work rather than focusing on his own.
You quickly realize he’s catching errors you probably would have missed even looking over them yourself. No surprise, he’s a real artist. He doubtlessly has an eye for these things that you lack. But this means you can simply trust him and not pour over the work stressfully yourself. The work he clears goes in one pile, the work you have to make edits on in another. Honestly, that saves you so much time that, despite the delays of late, you suspect you’ll be finished after a full day’s work tomorrow… or perhaps even half or three quarters of a day.
The two of you begin to talk as you work, a testament to how good you’re feeling. Normally it’s difficult for you to talk while drawing. And your dialogue is stilted, but when you turn the conversation to the book he’s reading while waiting for you to finish your next piece—when had he moved onto the couch, anyway?—Solas is more than happy to pick up the slack in the conversation.
“Excerpts from the lectures of First Enchanter Wensulus,” Solas replies. You glance over him, letting your eyes linger slightly, your hand hesitating on the angled curve of a high dragon’s eye. He’s reclining on the couch, back and head supported by the arm and a few of the soft pillows that normally rest there. His legs are crossed, one knee up and the other leg draped casually across it, leaving his foot idly twitching in the air. He looks so comfortable. It’s the best kind of distracting.
“First Enchanter Wensulus?” you say, surprised to realize you’re familiar with the man in question. “Anything of use?”
“No, not particularly,” he says with a sigh. “It’s actually rather dull and… tired. Dry. I wanted to know more about the sorts of magic they teach in southern Circles, but…”
“You think it’s dry and tired?” you say with a snort, and he glances over his book at you. You quickly turn your focus back to your work. “Maker help us all; it must be terrible.”
“Perhaps,” he says with a soft chuckle. After a moment of silently coloring the high dragon iris—you’re coming to have a new appreciation for their beauty, honestly—you speak up again.
“Have you perhaps tried the works of Josephus or Halden? They’re a little less… restrained. Wensulus was a Loyalist, and frankly, it shows. Halden was an Aequitarian, and his writing on magic tends to be a bit more… reasonable. Less tempered in absolute mortal terror, at the very least. I’m not sure precisely what you’re looking for, but Petrine has some interesting pieces on the structure and teaching of the Circle itself, from an outsider perspective. Not much use if what you’re studying is the magic itself, but understanding the mage is vital to understanding the biases of their work.”
You glance over at Solas. The book is resting on his chest, spread open where he was reading. His eyes are on you instead. You’ve been rambling again, without realizing. You could have least done it in Orlesian.
“Once again, the extent of your knowledge on the subject surprises me,” he says, and you don’t miss the glint in his eye. Curiosity? Suspicion? Both equally dangerous. You turn your focus back to your work.
“Solas, I am a linguist. I read and write both as a living and as a passion. There are two main organizations that need people like me: the Chantry and the Circles. Therefore, those are simply the two things I know the most about. You’ve expressed little interest in the history of the Chantry, but I promise you I could ramble at just as great a length on that subject—probably moreso.”
“Are you Andrastian because of your study of the Chantry, or in spite of it?”
Your short bark of laughter startles you, almost making your hand twitch and nearly ruining a line. But you recover quickly. “In spite, perhaps.”
“Were you raised that way, then?”
You chuckle once more, briefly, then sigh. “Solas, I know you’ve been living in the woods for a while, but you should know that most people find discussing religion to be akin to discussing politics or sex: somewhat uncomfortable and better left to the professionals we pay to do it.”
Now it’s Solas’s turn to laugh, and it’s longer than his normal short chuckle. It’s quiet, but it rolls against the rounded walls of the rotunda, bouncing back against your ears until it seems to buoy you up. When it finally stops and you float gently back to reality, he says, “You’re very skilled at avoiding conversations you do not wish to have.”
“You never actually locked me in a room to get the truth out of me,” you say with a soft smirk, remembering his teasing threat in Val Royeaux. “So you can’t be that curious.”
You’d meant it as a joke.
The look in his eyes makes you think he may have taken it as a challenge.
“We’ll see,” he says. You feel a promise behind those words.
Ahaha… Oops.
Despite accidentally inviting Solas to lock you in a room—now there’s something you feel ambivalent over—you manage to get a huge amount accomplished that afternoon. You barely want to stop for dinner, something you suspect Solas notices. Were you not responsible for his meals, you would definitely work through without stopping, but when Solas clears his throat rather pointedly about fifteen minutes after your candle says it’s time to go get dinner, you finally put your quill down.
You’re amazed by how much you got done in a few short hours. A lot of it is thanks to Solas checking your work for you. You’d been joking, before, about putting him to work… but Maker, you could really use him. And if he’s bored anyway, there’s no harm in it, right? He has his own studies and reading to do, and you’re certain he does work for the Inquisition, like whatever he’s doing with the shards, but… There’s no harm in distracting him every once in awhile, is there?
You hem and haw over that while you go and fetch dinner for both of you. You’re rather expecting to run into Servis, but instead, you run into Fenris. Honestly, between the two of them, plus Krem, Dorian, and Bull, you feel like you’re back in Seheron these days. This time when Fenris catches you, you already have Solas’s (and your) meal upon a tray, and are heading back up towards the stairs. He eyes the food with slight distaste, perhaps thinking about who you’re bringing it to.
“A meal for your not-master?” he says dryly. You try not to look too annoyed.
“Yes. He works me to the bone, don’t you know—assisting me with my paperwork, healing my injuries, and providing me a quiet working area. It’s amazing my exhausted body has yet to give out from under me,” you reply, a little more snippily than might be entirely necessary.
Fenris frowns, but that does seem to be his default expression. “My apologies; I wanted to thank you, not harangue you. Enough construction has been finished for all of the animals to be moved into place. Nell is speaking with some of the requisition agents to get supplies for the animals in place and figure out official jobs and pay for the people who will be working there. And Aelia has been apprenticed to that healer woman.”
“Navi. Is Aelia a mage?” you ask, surprised. You recognize the name—the tiny child, no more than eight, had caught your eye before. She’d been all skin and bones and long, fragile ears.
“No. But the woman said she had ‘a healer’s touch,’” Fenris replies. “You helped a lot of people find respectable work today.”
You want to wave him off, but your hands are full. Instead you just shake your head. “I did very little. The opportunity merely presented itself.”
“You give yourself too little credit,” Fenris insists, but you shake your head again.
“Will Nell still be leaving?” you ask, more to change the subject than anything.
“Ah… yes,” Fenris admits. “And a few of the others. I believe most will stay, but Nell… well, I can’t imagine her settling down to farm.”
“And yourself?”
“…I’ll be here for a while longer. Long enough to buy you another drink, at the very least.”
You flush despite yourself. This smooth motherfucker! “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line behind Sera,” you say apologetically. Wow. What a problem to have! Too many attractive elves want to have drinks with you. Maker bless Skyhold. “She’s already claimed me for the evening.”
“Tomorrow night, perhaps?” Fenris asks, and your slight flush threatens to spread into full blown crimson.
“C-certainly,” you stammer, then mentally curse your own incompetent tongue.
“This… Solas of yours,” he begins, and you wonder idly if he will always be referred to as “that” Solas or “your” Solas. Does it physically pain people to speak his name without such modifiers? “Is he a Circle mage, then? I had heard a few had joined up with the Inquisition after the recovery of the Templars.”
After the destruction of the rebellion, more like. But you don’t say that. “No, he’s not. There are no Circles, not anymore. But even before, he wasn’t.”
Fenris’ eyes narrow slightly. “An apostate? He doesn’t look Dalish.”
“He’s not Dalish, and yes, he’s an apostate,” you say. “You can’t be that surprised. I know you’ve met plenty.”
“Yes, a blood mage and an abomination chief among them,” he snaps, and you bristle as well.
“You’ll be relieved to know he’s neither, then! Just a man who risked his freedom to help seal the breach and save the world!” you snap right back.
Fenris looks angry, then, ready to double down, and your temper is flaring similarly. This is why you knew this was a bad idea, honestly. Once you get past the tragic background, the two of you have nothing in—
Fenris puts his hands up, a gesture of surrender. “I am picking fights again. It is… a problem of mine.”
You hesitate, then laugh, and the tension is defused. “I’m sorry as well. Solas is a good man. It pains me that people see his magic and nothing else.” It’s not entirely a lie. What pains you that is so many see his magic as something evil instead of something amazing. See him as something evil. And, by extension, you.
They’re not as wrong as they could be, but they’re also not right if they think you corrupt for the wrong reasons. Your magic is not what makes you… Well. There’s no use dwelling on it now.
“Solas’s dinner is going to get cold, Fenris. But… drinks, tomorrow. Stop by the rotunda in the evening?” you say, a bit hopefully. You shouldn’t put him anywhere near Solas, but you kind of want to, now. To be a brat about it.
He agrees, and you’re quick to head back to the rotunda with Solas’s rapidly cooling dinner.
“Accosted again?” Solas asks as you scramble into the rotunda. You can’t blame him for the assumption; not only has it been something like fifteen or twenty minutes, this is becoming a regular thing for you. “The Tevinter mage or the Tevinter elf?”
You snort. “Don’t call him that to his face; he’s actually from Seheron, I think. But yes, it was Fenris.”
“Did he want to thank you, apologize, or ask you on a date?” Solas says mildly, as you pull the stool a bit closer to his desk to begin eating. You flush slightly.
“He thanked me,” you admit. And then he was an ass about magic. Again. You don’t actually say that, but you suspect your displeasure must show on your face, because Solas delicately lets the subject drop. You’re eating with him, but your mind is still on Fenris.
Despite Varric’s obvious intentions to try and pair the two of you off, the idea is laughable. The more Fenris learns about you, the less he’ll like you. You’re capable of keeping your mouth quiet on the subject of magic in the future, to avoid conflict, but you don’t like the necessity. And it’s especially difficult where Solas is involved.
And it’s all a moot point, because you can’t afford a lover right now—or ever, really, but particularly now, when you’re hiding underneath the noses of the entire Templar Order. You’d already gone through that with Sera, and almost wound up kissing her anyway. And you’d made a similar mistake with Solas. You can’t keep fucking up just because pretty elves pay you some attention. And, admittedly, because it’s been a really, really long time.
This knowledge creates in you a sour mood that continues through dinner. And, of course, by the end of it, you’d utterly forgotten that you would never actually be rid of all the attractive elves paying you attention. At least until Sera throws open the rotunda door, reminding you sharply that all of them are varying degrees of insistent. You jump at the loud slam, although you note that Solas doesn’t, though he does look over.
“Awright, I’m here to steal ya back!” Sera proclaims loudly. It’s hard not to smile, despite your depressed mood. “Who knows what Mister Elfy Elf has been doin’ to ya this whole time.” She strides over cockily and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Any urges to run nekkid through the woods or dress like old dead guys and go on ‘n’ on ‘bout how great they were?”
You snort, more at Solas’s expression than what Sera is saying. “You’ll be the first to know if I feel like running around naked, Sera. Who else would do it with me?”
“For a chance t’see you in the buff? Half the fortress’d proly be strippin’ down,” she laughs.
Solas clears his throat. “If the two of you wouldn’t mind flirting elsewhere? Some of us actually do work.”
You flinch at the same time as blushing, probably creating an odd effect. “Ir abelas, Solas,” you say without thinking, and Sera gives you a look like you’d just called her mother a whore.
“Oh, you stop tha’ right now,” she says, grabbing your hand and pulling you up off the stool. “He’s gone and rubbed off on you, I knew he would.”
“I assure you, I have not,” Solas says, and you’re speechless, your brain stuck on multiple interpretations for Solas rubbing off on you. “Perhaps she simply has more depth than you thought.”
That snaps you right back to reality. How many elven catfights are you going to have to break up today?!
“Oh, because you’d know depth, you old—”
You grab your bag with one hand and then redouble your grip on Sera and pull her towards the exit to the rotunda. She resists your tug for a moment, glaring at you, but whatever expression is on your face seems to give her pause. You suspect you look a bit strained, or perhaps desperate. Everyone you know hates each other. She relents, and you all but drag her from the rotunda, giving an apologetic half-grin to Solas as you shove her out the door.
“Ugh!” she exclaims as soon as you close the door, leaving the two of you alone on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. “That stupid—”
You hate doing this to her, but you really want her to shut up. You slip your hand from a rough grip on hers to a softer one, interlacing your fingers. She stops mid-sentence, glancing down at your hands. “Before we go get drinks,” you say, shifting your face out of irritation and into something gentler. “I have something I want to give you.”
“I… Uh… Alright,” she says, looking slightly dazed. Train of thought: derailed. Of course, now you have to follow through. You sit down on the side of the balcony; there really isn’t a proper railing. A lot of Skyhold doesn’t have railings. Honestly, the whole fortress is a serious safety hazard. But you let your legs hang off the side, and Sera sits down next to you. You gently pull your hand from hers to rummage around in your bag.
“Here,” you say, pulling out the items in question. The first is—of course—a ribbon from Val Royeaux. It’s bright red, a shade you’ve seen her wear before. Frankly, you think it looks great on her. “I know your hair is a bit short for a ribbon, but it’s kind of a tradition,” you say with a nervous laugh. She’s just sort of looking at it, so you quickly put the second gift into her hands as well. “These are a bit, more… well… everyone likes sweets, right?” you say as you hand over the small, wrapped box.
She opens it, and her face twists into something incomprehensible. Your heart sinks. Oh no. Is she allergic to nuts or something? “T-they’re my favorite from Val Royeaux, brown butter oatmeal with caramel and…” You trail off. “You hate them. I’m sorry.”
“No, no! I just, uh…” she shakes her head slightly. “I’m sure they taste great. I jus’… haven’t had cookies in a while.”
“You don’t have to lie,” you say with a frown. “Are you allergic? Or do you not like sweet stuff? I didn’t know what to get you so…”
“‘S great!” she insists. She bites into one, as if to prove her point. Her nose scrunches up in distaste, and your frown cracks into a smile.
“Okay, so I missed the mark on this one.”
“Sorry,” she says after she manages to smile. “I’m not much for cookies.”
“And your hair isn’t long enough for a ribbon,” you add with a laugh. “I went all the way to Val Royeaux and all you got were these shitty cookies.”
“‘M sure they’re really good! Fer cookies!” she protests. “And I’m pretty sure we can make this work.” She fingers the ribbon. “‘Ere, tie it around my wrist.” You do, although your mind flicks back to Solas’s fingers tying the strings of your mask behind your head in Val Royeaux. “There! Matches my shirt!” she says proudly, holding her arm next to her chest. It really does; you’d picked the shade carefully based on a lot of time spent staring at her chest. She has a fondness for a certain kind of red.
“I’m glad you like the ribbon, at least,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s just the tradition, in Orlais. When you go to Val Royeaux—”
“You bring the girls back home a ribbon! I know. Spent plenty o’ time in Val Royeaux, didn’ I?”
You freeze. You manage to go back to a relaxed posture fairly quickly, and you hope your expression is still pleasant. You’ve seen yourself when caught off-guard. You don’t have a lot of tells, but you have a few. Fortunately, Sera doesn’t seem to have even noticed.
“You did? I thought you were from Ferelden,” you say as casually as you can. There are a lot of people in Val Royeaux. The chances of you ever having bumped into her twice in your life…
“I was! But Ferelden was no fun after the Blight. Everyone jus’ tryin’ to rebuild, y’ can’t mess with anyone there. Val Royeaux was perfect.”
“Perfect for… messing with people?” Now you really are confused.
Sera glances over at you, tilts her head slightly. You don’t get distracted by her large hazel eyes, the way her bangs fall unevenly into her face. “I can proly tell you. You’re with Leliana now anyway, right? I help people mess with poncy nobles, an’ Val Royeaux had tons. I was there for years. I’mma Red Jenny. I—”
You’ll probably never know exactly what else Sera was about to say, because at the word “Red Jenny” your entire body goes stiff; you can’t help it. You physically jolt jumping where you sit.
Where you sit, balanced on the edge of a balcony forty or fifty feet above the courtyard.
You feel the rock give way slightly, shifting, slipping, just enough to destroy what was left of your balance.
And then, falling.
- Yes, mom ↩︎