Reasonable Caution
One last person comes to bid you farewell before you turn in for the night… Cole catches you on the walk to your room. As always, your chest lightens at the sight of him. Such an odd looking boy, but he’s come to mean only good things to you. If he appears on your way to your room at night, it means this is a night where you won’t be harassed by the men of Skyhold as you cross the courtyard. No one seems to notice you at all when you’re with Cole.
“Have you heard the news?” you ask, tentatively following Cole into the shadows behind one of Skyhold’s many large buildings.
“Yes!” Cole says, and he sounds enthused. “At first, I was worried… I wanted to come with you.”
“Could you come?” you say excitedly. The thought hadn’t occurred to you… But how marvelous would that be? You’d have a lot less to fear with the invisible boy at your side.
“I could, but I won’t,” Cole replies cheerfully, and you frown. “Solas is going.”
“But you like Solas!” you protest.
“Not the way you like him. Burning, blushing heat. He runs his hands over me; I can’t stop thinking about them—”
“Ooooh-kay, enough of that!” you say quickly, glad that the shadows hide your blushing. “Is that why you won’t come?”
“The two of you should be alone,” Cole says proudly, as if he plans on breeding the two of you like prize horses. You rub a hand down the side of your face.
“…Cole,” you begin, not sure how to even begin addressing this with a spirit.
“You should trust him,” Cole urges you for possibly the hundredth time. “But you won’t listen to me. So maybe you’ll listen to him. The two of you should be alone; I’d just be in the way,” he says matter-of-factly.
You sigh. You seriously doubt there’s any talking him out of this. He’s always adamant when it comes to you and Solas. You had no idea that spirits had a concept of being a third wheel. You wish you could have his optimism. “I’ll be lonely without you, Cole. What if I have nightmares, or panic? You won’t be there to calm me down.”
“Go to Solas,” he says promptly. “He’s good at calming people down.” Cole looks as if he’s considering something seriously. “You panicked and the Iron Bull helped you. Now you trust him. If you panic, and Solas helps you…”
“Don’t go down that road, Cole,” you say darkly. Ugh. Just the thought of Solas seeing you in such a state is enough to make you panic right there on the spot. No, you’ll just have to keep a handle on things by yourself. It’s just as well… It wouldn’t be right for you to grow dependent on Cole.
“I don’t mind you needing me,” Cole says immediately. There’s something odd about the conversations one has with a mind-reader. “But Solas wouldn’t mind you needing him, either.”
“Alright, alright, enough about Solas,” you say with a scowl. “I swear to the Maker, you’re worse about matchmaking then Hahren Tabris…” You’d think you were talking to a spirit of love, not compassion! But you suppose the two aren’t that far removed. “I’ll be gone for two weeks… Be safe while I’m gone. Don’t let the Inquisitor drag you into anything too dangerous!”
“I will be safer than you,” Cole says with a sigh. He turns towards your room and the two of you begin to walk that way together, slowly. You’re dragging out the time before you have to pack your things. “But Solas will keep you safe. Stay close to him.”
“Because I’ll be safe, or because you want us to live happily ever after?” you say sourly.
“Both,” Cole says, without a hint of self-consciousness. At least he’s honest. That’s more than you can say for most of the people in your life… yourself included. The two of you walk in silence until you reach the door that leads to the hall that contains your quarters. You stop outside of it; you don’t want to go inside. Another two weeks without Cole… The world doesn’t like you to be happy, does it?
“Cole…” you say, searching for the words. But, of course, this is Cole. You don’t need them. He opens his arms, awkwardly, and you wrap the tall, skinny boy up in the warmest hug you can. “If you stay safe, I promise I will too,” you say when you finally let him go. He nods somberly; you know he’ll take you seriously. And then he does something that startles you. He brushes a bit of loose hair back from your face, tucking it behind one of your long, pointed ears. It renders you somewhat speechless.
“It will be okay,” he says, with such confidence that you believe him, believe that he could possibly know that. Then he simply turns and wanders off. You’re left standing by the door, somewhat stunned. Was that some kind of… weird spirit blessing? Or was he just being… Cole?
Well, Cole has vanished off to do whatever spirity things he does. Helping the sick and the sad. Solas said that many people within Skyhold who know what he is dislike him, but you find it incredibly hard to believe. How could anyone dislike an actual, in-this-world compassion spirit? It’s nonsensical. He literally exists to help people. Spirits like him represent the absolute best this world has to offer, distilled to their purest forms. With a sigh, you head into your room.
You look around your bedroom with a dour glare. Packing. Ugh. You barely have to. You hardly unpacked in the first place. You roll your clothes up as tight as possible and cram them into your backpack. They’re almost the only things you’ve obtained since coming to Skyhold… that and a few tomes. You leave Dorian’s necromancy tome behind with no small amount of regret, but it’s too big and too valuable for the road. Solas’ Veilfire tome gets tucked into your bag, however, as does the book on spirits he gave you. You tuck the copy of Fenris’s letter into Varric’s Hard in Hightown manuscript and cram everything into your bag as best you can. You pack everything. There’s a very good chance you’ll never be coming back to Skyhold, after all… if something happens while you’re on the road, or in Val Royeaux, you need to be ready to bolt. You own so little from when your house burned down… you can’t bear the thought of leaving any of what you have left behind.
You try not to focus on the possibility of never seeing Cole again. Or Iron Bull. Or Sera. Fuck, why were you excited for this again? Despite your strain, however, it becomes evident quickly that Cole had done something when he brushed your hair back. You should smack him for it later—he has to stop messing with your head without asking your permission first—but whatever he did, you’re getting sleepy. Properly sleepy. It seems the Fade is almost grabbing you, pulling you, dragging you down.
You collapse into bed with a sigh. No point in fighting it. You’re going to have a long two weeks with Solas. The chances of you getting any sleep at all are slim. Might as well get some now…
Of course, nothing’s that easy. From the moment your mind touches the Fade, you know you’re in for a long night. You dream of Orlais… no surprise there. But there’s a telling pink twinge to your dreams, and seemingly no matter where the Fade takes you, your mind finds a way to shoehorn Solas in. The time you covered your ears and eyes with a cleverly crafted mask and snuck into a ball? Your mind seems to recall Solas being there, dressed in a splendid suit and mask he would never wear in real life, you suspect. He sweeps you off your feet with an elegant Orlesian dance that he most certainly doesn’t actually know, and when he dips you low, your mind finds ways to imagine the touch of his lips, the nip of his teeth.
The song ends, and you expect the dream to as well, but instead, it continues, and Solas drags you off to a shadowed corner… a lover’s alcove. Ridiculously, your mind goes to his ears, proudly bare where yours lie hidden. That’s so… Solas. He would show up to an Orlesian ball, bare-eared and brazen, wouldn’t he? He acts as though he hasn’t quite realized elves are supposed to be second class citizens.
You suspect this may be a desire demon, but you know quite well how to deal with those by now… and how to have a little bit of fun with them without danger of possession. So you straddle Solas there in the alcove, run your tongue perversely down the length of his bared ear. He shudders underneath you; your mind has assumed his ears would be as sensitive as yours. His hand slips underneath your dress, taking advantage of the spread of your legs. Coyly, you move to close them, pushing his legs together as you close yours. But he forces them back open again, pushing his knees against yours and spreading them wide. You gasp, then groan in approval as his mouth finds your neck. While you’re distracted by his curious lips, he slips his hand into the elaborate Orlesian underwear you remember wearing with this silly dress. Then his hand is against you, rubbing gently along your folds, and you don’t care about the dress, or the dream, or the Orlesians, although you can hear them within the confines of the dream. Their gasps and shocked murmurs serve to fuel your perverted fantasy as Solas slips a finger inside of you.
You groan and rock against him, balancing yourself with a hand on each side of his shoulders. Fuck… Fuck! You can’t let yourself forget it’s a dream; that’s too dangerous… Even if this isn’t a desire demon, one will show up if you’re that careless. But Maker, you can enjoy the ride. Solas brushes his lips across your collarbone, then lower, exploring the scant cleavage the dress reveals.
You don’t know how long the dream continues like that, endless panting, thrusting, and moaning, but you’re more than a little irritated when a loud noise snaps you awake. Someone across the hall closing their door a little too loudly is all it took. You’ve always been a light sleeper.
You groan softly into your pillow, body still taunt with unrelieved arousal. Forget smacking Cole, you could kiss him for helping you have a dream that nice. But now you have a problem. There’s no way you’re climbing onto Revas in this state. It’s going to be hard enough to make eye contact with Solas at all. Well… it’s still dark out. You have time.
You slip your hands down under the sheets, into your underwear, and let your mind wander back to the dream.
It’s inching closer to dawn by the time you finish both your orgasm and your post-orgasm guilt-fest. It feels wrong to masturbate over someone you’re actually friends with. Or… well, whatever you are with Solas. It’s going to be very hard to make eye contact, that’s for damn sure. But you don’t have time to marinate in your guilt. You double-check your bags, making sure that you have everything packed. It’s a heavy bag, but it contains literally all of your possessions, so maybe that’s a good thing. You strap your dagger into its typical hidden location at the small of your back, but you wear Sera’s throwing daggers openly around your waist. Solas already knows you own them, and you doubt the diplomat will care.
Finally, you bundle up in Skinner’s jacket, throw your bag over your shoulder, and head outside. It’s not hard to find where you’re supposed to be… There’s a considerable group gathered near the gates. Belassan is there with Revas and Ashi’lana, both of whom are decked out in rather nice traveling saddles, complete with a lot of saddlebags. To your surprise, Revas is already loaded down with the huge sack of food the kitchen workers had given you. He’s looking rather dour until he spots you, and then he trots sharply away from Belassan with a snort, coming over to nuzzle affectionately against you. Two men have to duck under his horns as he does so.
“At least someone’s happy to see me,” you mutter with a smile as he shoves his snout towards your pockets. “Sorry, Revas, you’ve got all the treats this time.” You can’t wait to dig into some of the goodies in that bag… but it can wait. You let your eyes sweep over the rest of the group. There are five horses. No spares, so they must be planning on traveling light and steady… One is for the diplomat, so four soldiers. On the other side of the courtyard, you spot more horses, and a pair of distinctive horns… Krem hadn’t been joking about them having a job, then. They’re leaving out today as well?
Your eyes are naturally drawn to Solas as they sweep over the small crowd. He looks… Eesh. He looks terrifying. Not angry, per se, but… not pleased. The last time you saw him looking that fucking scary was after he’d had to deal with the Inquisitor… perhaps they’d had another conversation? Either way, you decide now’s definitely not a good time to go say hello.
Fortunately, Krem sees you and trots over, followed in short order by Bull.
“Hey, Emma! Nice daggers,” he says, panting slightly. He’s wearing full armor… just where are they going?
“Nice… what is that?” you say, pointing to the giant weapon strapped to his back. “A rock tied to a stick?!”
“More or less,” says Bull, coming up behind him. “Krem, you can’t just run off to chat up your girlfriend. We have actual work to do.”
“Oh, shove it,” Krem says with a scowl. “Like you weren’t gonna come over yourself.”
You grin sheepishly at them both. “You weren’t kidding about that job, huh… Sometimes I forget you guys are actual mercenaries. Well, I forget Krem is, anyway. Bull smashes me into the ground too much for me to forget, honestly.” You happen to glance over at Solas as you say this, and catch him giving you—or possibly Bull—a positively pants-shittingly terrifying glare. You actually take a step backwards without realizing. Fuck! No more reminding Solas of how beat up you get, that’s for damn sure. You could go your whole life without being on the receiving end of a glare like that again.
Fortunately, neither men trace your moment of terror back to Solas, as both are distracted needling each other.
“See, Krem, you just gotta throw her around more,” Bull is teasing.
“We can’t all win women’s hearts by brutalizing them, Bull. That’s only appealing when you’re three hundred pounds with horns.” It’s good to see Krem able to joke about it for once, rather than just turning bright red. Maybe he’s recovering from his crush on you? You almost feel a pang of loss at the prospect… but it’s only fair. Of all the people who have developed ill-advised feelings for you, Krem is maybe the one who most deserves better.
“This is going to sound stupid, but… you guys be careful, okay?” you say, a bit nervously. It does sound stupid.
“Ah, don’t you worry!” Bull says, giving you a rather painful slap on the shoulder. “We’re the Chargers! You’re the one who needs to watch your ass. You’ll probably be along the Imperial Highway damn near the whole way, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be trouble, especially with the war on. Don’t go wandering off to… I dunno, make flowers bloom with your song. Whatever it is you elves get up to in the woods.”
You risk another glance over at Solas. Fortunately, he appears to be busying himself checking Ashi’lana’s packs. “You know damn well what elves get up to in the woods, Bull, and you know damn well we won’t be getting up to it.”
Bull snorts. “You never know! Don’t worry too much about him… Solas doesn’t like mornings.”
You sincerely hope that’s the case, because you really don’t want to get a few leagues down the mountain only to learn that you’ve done something to seriously piss Solas off. This trip is going to be trepidatious enough as it is. You, Krem, and Iron Bull say you farewells as the rest of your group begins to mount up. Belassan comes over to help you get onto Revas… thank the Maker. You don’t know what you’ll do on the road… climb a tree and jump down onto him, maybe. But for now, Belassan boosts you up. You’re impressed with the effort with which the man seems to support your weight… but then, those muscles are hardly just for show.
“Thank you, Belassan. I’ll take great care of both of them, I promise,” you say with a smile.
“I’m sure you will,” Belassan says, smiling right back. “I slipped some treats into the back saddlebag,” he adds. “For Revas, although if you particularly want to eat an oatcake, I won’t hold it against you. Revas might.”
You laugh. “I’ll miss our Sunday lessons, Belassan, but I suppose I’ll be getting a crash course on riding since we’re going all the way to Val Royeaux. Pray for me… Maker knows I’ll need it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Belassan says, patting your leg. It’s kind of amusing; he pats you the same way one would pat a horse. “You’re a natural on Revas. The two of you are connected. Even if you get into trouble, he’ll keep you safe.”
“Come on!” one of the guards is shouting. “Let’s move out!” You let your hand rest briefly on Belassan’s, once again at a loss for words meaningful enough. It will be two weeks before you see your friends, and that’s a best case scenario. There’s a very real possibility that after today, you will never see another Inquisition soul again.
You try not to let that fear show on your face as you wave a final farewell to Belassan, Krem, and Iron Bull, then give Revas a gentle nudge forward. Once again, you find yourself crossing the long bridge of Skyhold, only this time… you won’t be coming right back.
You take proper stock of your companions as you ride… there’s nothing else to do, after all. Solas is barely speaking to you, whether out of exhaustion, like Iron Bull suggested, or out of irritation. He certainly looks grumpy, and that glare from earlier… So to distract yourself, you focus on the others.
The diplomat, to your delight, is Orlesian. He’s not wearing a mask, at least not at the moment, but you’d be willing to bet he has one packed. Perhaps even a set for you and Solas? It would make things much easier. As for the guards, well, there are two men and two women, and you recognize neither of the men. Hopefully Cullen has managed not to send any racists on the trip that requires babysitting two elves.
You do recognize one of the women, however. It takes you a moment to place why her face is familiar, but you have a very good memory for faces. She’s the woman who carried you to the healer’s tent after you tripped and fell down the stairs outside of Cullen’s office. Embarrassing, yes, but she seemed a nice enough lady.
Since Solas has said all of two words to you since leaving Skyhold, you hover close to the diplomat, instead. Your wellbeing rests as much with him as it does Solas, if not more so… He’s the one in charge of getting you into the University and out again, intact and with a bunch of books. Not a task you would give to any man lightly. Hopefully Josephine picked a decent man for the task.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” you say, wishing you could curtsy on a hart. You know how to act around Orlesians, damnit, but horses never really factored in before. “My name is Emma.”
“I rather imagined,” the man says with a light-hearted chuckle. You breath an inner sigh of relief. At least he’s not an ass. “As you’re the only female elf with the party. I am Baptiste Felicien Bellerose… but please, call me Baptiste.” Oh, how Orlesian. What a relief. “I hear you’ve been to Val Royeaux before.”
“Yes, I lived there for years… or, well, just outside. You have quite the task set up for you, getting Solas and me into the University.”
“In truth, the University will have very little say in the matter, although I’m certain they’ll complain quite melodramatically. They already agreed to allow researchers from the Inquisition, and as elves are technically allowed within the campus, they cannot turn us away without creating several political scandals.”
“Mm… so I keep hearing,” you say, thoroughly unconvinced. “And yet I suspect that if Solas and I simply showed up and announced ourselves, we would be laughed out of Orlais.”
“Well… perhaps,” he admits. “But I’m here to smooth the process. Chancellor Haulis is an old acquaintance of mine. He’ll huff and he’ll puff and he’ll possibly swoon in a dramatic manner if he sees your companion’s bare feet,” Unbidden, you glance over at Solas. If he hears, he doesn’t react. “But he’ll let us in.”
“You know the Chancellor?” you say, pleased and a little impressed. “Lady Montiliyet chooses her allies well. I’m pleased we’re in such capable hands.”
“Flatterer,” he says with a deep-bellied laugh. “Don’t let my wife hear you talking like that! She’ll have both our ears.”
“I’ll be the absolute picture of discretion, I assure you,” you say with a teasing wink. “Votre femme est-elle Orlaise?1”
The man looks surprised, as Orlesians always are when they hear an Orlesian-speaking elf. Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing. Many, many elves are Orlesian; why wouldn’t they speak the language? The Common tongue hasn’t overtaken all others just yet.
But it works exactly as you intended, and the two of you spend the morning chatting animatedly in Orlesian. It allows you to be equal parts comfortable and forward without offending the delicate sensibilities of those around you… For Orlesians, flirtation is expected, but let a Fereldan overhear you and he might just explode on the spot. Plus, it has the added benefit of allowing you to disguise what you’re saying from Solas. You doubt he’d particularly care, but you’d rather not risk his judgement for flirting with a married man clearly over twice your age.
You’re glad for the company, in all honesty. Endearing yourself to an Orlesian man is an effortless, practiced action for you. Baptiste is easy even insofar as Orlesians go, being a generally laid back man without a particular grudge against elves. Solas still looks grumpy and… has… has he fallen asleep on Ashi’lana? How is he staying on? The seven of you are damn near in single file heading down the mountain, and it’s steep enough that you have to focus every step of the way so as not to slip onto Revas’s neck.
It doesn’t appear as though the group will be stopping for breakfast, and when you see some of the guards pull out rough travel bread, you decide that you might as well eat while you ride. You excuse yourself from Baptiste’s company and pull Revas up next to Ashi’lana. Solas is awake, or at least he looks up when you pull up beside him.
Tentatively, you offer up some of the treasures from your bag of goodies from the kitchen… a little bag of candied fruits. You had been hoping to save it, but you’re starting to get scared of Solas’ expression. You don’t want him to be cross with you, especially when you have no idea what you might have done.
Solas takes the bag from you wordlessly, but his expression softens somewhat when he opens it and sees what’s within. Quickly, you pull out some soft biscuits, although you have to forego the jam or honey while you’re riding. You really need to go through this bag when you set up camp… the more you dig, the more treasures you’re seeing. The kitchen workers clearly thought you’d be traveling the entire fourteen days, from the look of the spread they gave you.
Solas eats with you in uncharacteristic silence… although he seems less irritable. Perhaps he doesn’t talk as much around others? Although you’d never thought about it, essentially all of your conversations with him have been one-on-one, in the relative privacy of his rotunda. Hopefully you can catch him alone at lunch or in the evening and ask. Still, he hands back the bag of candied fruits, still half full, and you think for a second you might see a slight smile. At the very least, it’s the absence of a frown. You’ll take it; perhaps he’s not cross with you after all.
After ensuring Solas has had his fill, you decide it’s time to endear yourself to the rest of the team. You slow Revas until the two female guards, who were bringing up the rear, catch up with you. You introduce yourself the best way you know how… by offering them some sweet candied nuts. Both women grin and accept—their rations are soldier’s rations, and not any more delightful than what the servants tend to get.
The women introduce themselves as Kelsie and Elaine… Kelsie is the one who carried you to the healers, which you belatedly thank her for.
“Oh no, I should be thanking you,” she says with a chuckle. “That trip of yours caused a bit of a stir, and once word got out that I was the one who took you to the tent, I was popular overnight. Everyone wanted to know what I’d seen.”
You pale slightly. “Um… What did you tell them?”
“That you fell down the stairs chasing a cute girl,” she says with a grin. “No one believed me, though. They all wanted to blame that Qunari mercenary. I told them, if he’d been there, I’d’ve seen him! You can’t miss him.”
“No,” you say with a laugh and a sigh of relief. “You really can’t. Well, I appreciate you trying to clear my good name.”
“Which one are you with?” Elaine, who seems a bit quieter than Kelsie, chips in.
“‘Laine!” says Kelsie, who at least has the good grace to sound horrified. “You can’t just ask people who they’re with!”
“You only think that because you’re Ferelden,” Elaine says flatly. “I’m curious!”
Four curious eyes turn to you. You try to pretend like you don’t notice the diplomat and possibly Solas appear to be listening in as well. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Would you believe no one?”
“Not if you say it like that,” points out Elaine.
“Well, I’m sticking to it anyway,” you say with a sheepish grin. “I can’t even keep up with who the rumors are pairing me with from week to week.”
“Well, I was thinking…” Elaine’s eyes trace over to Solas, lingering meaningfully on his back.
“Really?” Kelsie says curiously. “My sister works in the kitchen; that’s who she thinks, too. Most of the girls in the barracks lean towards Iron Bull, though.”
“I bet they do,” you say dryly.
“Not like that!” she says with a laugh, throwing a candied nut at your head. “Well, not most of them, anyway.”
“Those girls always bet on the biggest horse,” Elaine says, rolling her eyes.
Honestly, you can’t believe you’re having this conversation. “Skyhold must be a very boring place,” you comment, although you keep your voice good-natured.
“Soooo boring,” says Kelsie, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “It’s just training and guard duty and waiting to be sent out! I was overjoyed when I heard I’d finally been assigned to something. Even if Emilio is here too.”
“Emilio?” You immediately jump onto the opportunity to change the subject away from the popularity of your supposed love life.
“He’s Antivan,” says Elaine knowingly.
“He’s a flirt,” Kelsie says with a scowl.
“You’re just mad because he dumped that water on you.”
“Damn right I am! I was wearing white!”
You peer up towards the front of the progression where the two male guards are riding. The swarthier of the two is probably Emilio, then. “Who’s the other one, then?” you ask.
“Oh, that’s Garrick. He’s alright,” says Kelsie with a nod. “He was at Haven. Lost a finger to a Venatori.”
“And won’t shut up about it,” adds Elaine. “You’d think he’d lost an arm.”
“Well, to be fair, if I’d lost my finger to a cultist, I’d never shut up about it either,” you admit.
“Well, sure, but you’re not a soldier, you’re a… you’re a… Say, what are you, exactly?” Kelsie asks curiously.
“She works for that apostate,” says Elaine, seemingly without a care that “that apostate” can probably hear her.
“I know that!” Kelsie says indignantly, much to your amusement. “But she can’t just be a maid! Who takes a maid with them on a trip like this?”
You hear Solas mutter something along the lines of “who indeed” under his breath, but the humans’ subpar ears don’t seem to pick it up.
“Let’s just say I’m an assistant,” you say with a smile.
“Uuuuh-huh. You’ve got some nice throwing daggers, assistant,” Elaine drawls. “You assist him with those, too?”
You snort. “Please. Ser Solas is a mage. He’s in the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle. He certainly doesn’t need my assistance in battle. These are just to keep me from winding up dead. I wouldn’t be of much assistance to anyone if I took a sword through the gut, after all.”
“You any good with them?” Kelsie wants to know.
“I’m okay when it’s a stationary target,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Let’s just say that if there is a fight, I’ll be relying entirely on you ladies to save me.”
After delighting Kelsie and Elaine enough, you eventually move up the formation to begin work on the two men. This is a bit more dicey, but you squeezed enough information out of the ladies to feel confident that you can enamour yourself to them without getting yourself into any uncomfortable positions.
You start the conversation like you always do… shameless bribery. You butter them up good with a small fruit pie each, making sure to lay on no small number of “hungry soldier” cliches. Garrick jumps on it immediately, bless his heart. You’ve met his type before… a humble commoner his whole life, probably, and now extraordinarily proud to be a soldier, part of something bigger than himself.
“Thank you, miss,” he says, sitting up a bit straighter in the saddle. Time to go in for the kill…
“Oh my! What happened to your finger?”
“Well…”
Hook, line, and sinker.
You listen, politely enthralled and gasping at all the proper moments, while he retells the story of losing his finger to a Venatori in Haven. When he finishes that, you start working the conversation towards the trip through the Frostbacks, to Skyhold, but it proves unnecessary. Emilio quickly grows jealous of the attention you’re lavishing on his fellow soldier, and inserts himself into the conversation.
“What a delicious treat,” he says as he showily savors the last bite of his pie. His Antivan accent drips over the words like honey. “Nearly as sweet as you, bella, to show such care for a wounded veteran. You must have a heart as pure as gold.”
You don’t miss the way Garrick rolls his eyes skyward, but you were expecting this. “Antivan? Ah, sei come l’acqua nel deserto!2” You relish the way the man’s eyes widen. Even Garrick looks shocked.
“Parli antivano?3” he says, visibly startled. You’ve knocked him out of his stride.
“Naturalmente! Il linguaggio dell’amore!4” you purr.
“Amore mio, dove sei stato per tutta la mia vita? Mi vuoi sposare?5” he says, looking dazed. You laugh.
“I feel like I’m missing out on something here,” Garrick comments, and you favor him with a smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ser! I got a little carried away.” You titter. You hate tittering, Maker damnit, but it works.
In shorter order than the diplomat or even the female soldiers, you have both men wrapped firmly around your finger. After you’re certain they’ll stay like that, and only then, you allow yourself to retreat back to the safety of riding by Solas’s side. It’s midday now… if they don’t stop for lunch soon, you might cry. Your ass is killing you; you’re unaccustomed to riding for so long. You just want to lay on your chest and whimper for a bit.
“Making friends with the other men?” Baptiste says teasingly as you ease slowly back to the middle of the progression.
“Don’t worry, mon chou, vous êtes toujours ma préférée.6” you say with a wink.
He laughs. “Ton chou? Alors qu’est-ce qu’il est? Ton loup?7”
“Loup?” you snort, following the man’s gaze to Solas. “Mon coco, peut-être.8”
You pull up next to Solas, and he favors you with a bit of a smirk. “Talking about me behind my back?”
You give a gasp of exaggerated horror. “Me? I would never! If you like, I can talk to you in Elven, and we can make them all jealous.”
“And tolerate your terrible pronunciation? Goodness no,” Solas says good-naturedly. You scowl at him, but you’re honestly just relieved he’s begun talking to you. You wish you could speak Elven well enough to hold on a conversation with him in it. You feel self-conscious, speaking to him where others can hear. It’s like they’re eavesdropping, even though they’re obviously doing no such thing.
“Well, I know you soldiers can weather anything,” Baptiste calls out, saving you from having to come up with a response. “But this old man’s ass is about to fall off!”
Garrick nods from the front, and calls back, “There’s a clearing just off the path ahead. We can stop there, rest the horses and have some lunch.”
You feel Solas’s eyes on you when Emilio helps you down from Revas, the Antivan’s hands lingering on yours a bit longer than is entirely necessary. You don’t really mind, so long as he keeps them out of any of your more personal areas. Despite the fact that you should probably share lunch with the guards to ensure you have them charmed, you immediately beeline for Solas. He’s sitting by himself under a tree, a thick, waterproof blanket laid out to protect him from being soaked by the snow. You tie Revas loosely to Ashi’lana… you want him to be able to wander, but you fear he’ll wander a little too far. Even if Revas may not obey you, you feel confident that Ashi’lana will obey Solas.
“Not sitting with your new friends?” Solas quips as you flop down next to him. You wince as soon as your ass hits the blanket; you’re so not used to riding for hours at time.
“It’s lunch. You and I eat together. Grant me that constant, at least,” you say, shifting in an attempt to find a part of your ass that doesn’t hurt.
“I thought you might want to finish charming our comrades.”
You laugh. “Charming? That’s overstating it a bit.”
“You once said you only have this effect on cooks and maids,” he says, sounding amused. “I believe you can safely add soldiers to that list.” He points, and you follow his finger, just in time to see all four guards quickly look away. “Do you simply know what people want to hear?”
“Nothing so dramatic, Solas. Maybe I’m just a friendly person.”
Wordlessly, he raises an eyebrow.
“You don’t think so? I’m hurt,” you say with melodramatic sorrow. “When we first met, you couldn’t get me out of your rotunda fast enough. Wasn’t it my friendly disposition that won you over?”
“It was curiosity,” Solas says promptly, and you’re somewhat surprised at the seemingly honest, serious answer. “I doubt you can say the same for those men.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re curious about something,” you say dryly.
“Not curious… Intrigued, perhaps. Enthralled.”
“Enthralled?” you snort. “Now I know you’re overstating.”
“The Iron Bull did something similar to you,” he points out, and you freeze. The food in your mouth seems to turn to ash. “When I left, you were terrified of the man. By the time I returned, you acted as if he was your closest friend.”
“He’s not,” you say immediately. Although you would be unwilling to say who was… Solas might suspect how attached you are to Cole, but it would be odd for an elven lass who’s never seen a spirit before to count one as her truest friend, even in a new and unfamiliar place. Perhaps especially then.
“Do you trust him?”
“Well… I…” you fiddle with your bread, appetite gone completely. You’ve gone over this line of thought a lot on your own… sharing it with Solas does nothing for you. “It’s… complicated.”
“The Qunari, particularly those enslaved by the Qun, are nothing if not simple creatures,” Solas informs you. “If it is complicated, you may be the one making it so.”
“I know what he is,” you say sourly. “I don’t need a lesson, hahren. Not on this.” You sigh. You find your hands tearing your bread into increasingly small pieces, just for something to do with your sudden anxiety. “You’re concerned he’s using some of his Ben-Hassrath tricks on me, yes?”
“I know that he is. My concern is that you don’t realize.”
“I do,” you say, watching as the loaf shrinks into bite sizes, and then smaller. “I just… decided not to let it bother me.”
“That seems…”
“Stupid?”
“I might have said ‘unwise,’” Solas replies.
“That’s kind of you,” you say with a laugh. “I guess… I guess I do trust him, Solas. I appreciate your concern, truly. But I… I don’t think he’ll do me any harm.”
Solas fixes you with quite a look. True, Bull had battered you to hell and back. “Well, not without me asking first,” you add with a chuckle.
“I trust that you’ll act with reasonable caution,” Solas says with a sigh.
“You do? You must not have been paying much attention then,” you snort. “I suspect I’m neither reasonable nor cautious.”
“You have more of both than you care to let on,” Solas says seriously. Something about the way he says it makes you glance over towards him. You make eye contact, and once his eyes have yours, you find you can’t look away. “You have many more things than you care to let on.”
Rather than letting his comment unnerve you visibly–although it does chill you—you let your lips curve upward. “Do you think so? Then I suppose that makes two of us, Solas.”
- Is your wife Orlesian? ↩︎
- You are like water in the desert! ↩︎
- You speak Antivan? ↩︎
- Of course! The language of love! ↩︎
- My love, where have you been all my life? Will you marry me? ↩︎
- my dear (lit. my cabbage), you’re still my favorite ↩︎
- Your dear (lit. cabbage)? Then what is he? Your honey (lit. wolf)? ↩︎
- My darling (lit. coconut), maybe. ↩︎