Pain, Without Love
Your aura is inside of you now, but… how long has Solas been following you? How did he even find you? Why is he on Ashi’lana? So many questions! You stare up at him dumbly, hand still holding your throwing dagger, at a total loss for words. He looks pissed off, and the combination of that and the fact you’re looking up at him as he reigns in Ashi’lana… Maker. You would be turned on if you weren’t so scared. No, strike that, you’re a bit turned on anyway.
“What are you doing out here?” Solas asks finally. His voice is deceptively calm, but you can hear the ice in it. Oh yeah, you’re in big trouble. You swallow, hard.
“I was, um… exploring. And I found these ruins. I was just… looking at them?” Your voice squeaks a little. How much did he see?
Solas doesn’t look any less irritated as he dismounts. You take a step back away as he does, nearly tripping on some of the rubble. He didn’t even look this angry when he’d stripped you down and seen the extent of your injuries. You fear he might strike you. And you really wish he’d reveal the extent to which you’re screwed before getting close. You’d appreciate a running start. Fortunately, he walks past you as you step out of the way, and squats down by the ruins, examining the very orb you’d been prodding at.
“…You just stumbled across this, did you? Buried?”
You fight hard to keep your voice level through your lies. “A bit was poking out… it looked odd, so I wanted to see what it was.”
Solas turns to look at you. His eyes are piercing; you struggle to meet them. “And?”
“Well, I… I still don’t know what it is,” you say, relieved you don’t have to lie about it. “I think it… might be Elven? We are all but in the Dales. Do you not know?”
“I do,” he says, eyes shifting back to artifact. “You however, should not be wandering alone. What would you have done, had I not shown up when I had?”
“Climbed a tree,” you reply promptly. Solas looks at you sharply, as if trying to see if you’re joking. “No, really. Last I checked, wolves can’t climb. One of you would have been out looking for me eventually.”
“That… That is…”
“Unwise?” you say with a sheepish grin.
“Stupid,” Solas finishes. You laugh, still a bit nervous, but less so. He may have suspicions, but if he’d detected your magic, you suspect he wouldn’t be lecturing you about nearly feeding yourself to wolves. That turns out to be a bad move, however, because at your laughter, his anger intensifies. Oops.
“Do you find this funny?” he snaps. “You could have been killed!”
“I-ir abelas,” you stammer, mirth dead in an instant. “I… I didn’t think…”
“No, you didn’t,” Solas agrees. “If you plan on wandering, then at the very least take Revas with you.” He pauses, kneeling down next to the artifact. To your amazement, when he runs a hand over it, it begins… begins glowing! You jump away, not because you’re scared, but because you should probably act like you are. This isn’t a glow you’re used to, though, so you don’t have to pretend hard. It’s a bright green swirl of energy. You can feel something odd in the Veil, a… strumming? You can’t quite place it.
“W…what did you do?” you ask, your fear overwhelmed by your curiosity.
“I activated it. This is an ancient Elvhen artifact that helps map and strengthen the Veil. It will help to protect this area against tears.”
“Seriously? How?” you say, kneeling down next to the artifact with Solas, forgetting that he’s angry with you for a moment. You run a hand over the glowing artifact. It’s hot to the touch. It feels as though it’s humming. Even with your aura a terrified knot in your gut, you can feel it fill you, a pleasant vibration, a pleasing song. “Amazing. We can’t take it with us?”
“No, it should remain here.” Solas, for a moment, looks amused, before seeming to remember he’s irritated with you. “Was that your intention?”
“Yeah. I was going to take it back to camp, see if you knew what it was,” you lie with a chuckle. “Thought maybe I’d use it to get on your good side.” Then you face him, more seriously, and try to force your expression into something genuine. “I’m… I’m sorry, Solas. I was just going for a walk. I didn’t mean to wander so far.”
Solas lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You just wandered into the woods, and tripped over an elvhen artifact?”
“I… Well, when you say it that way, it sounds weird,” you mutter. “But, yeah.”
“Perhaps I should take you with me more often when I travel,” he says sourly. His tone keeps your heart from racing at his words; you know he’s not serious. “You appear to be an idiot savant.”
Ouch.
He straightens, and gestures for you to do the same. He pats Ashi’lana’s saddle. “Get on,” he says shortly.
“I… what?” you stammer. Solas doesn’t repeat himself, just looks at you pointedly. You decide maybe you’ve tested his patience enough for one day. You do your best to clamber into the saddle, although predictably, Solas has to help you. He lets you step on his knee to give you the necessary height to throw your leg over Ashi’lana’s back. You try to stand on it as gingerly as possible.
“Scoot back,” he says, and as you do so, you have only a moment of horrified realization before Solas is pulling himself into the saddle as well. You ram yourself against the back of the saddle as you scramble desperately backwards. Even then, this saddle was not meant for two people, and is heavy with packs, to boot. Thank the Maker he got up in front of you and not behind! You might have died on the spot. As it is, you’re basically straddling Solas’s ass, even with yours flush against the back of the saddle. Ashi’lana begins to move forward, and you suddenly realize that you have access to neither reigns nor stirrups. You’re rather precariously balanced as is, leaning backwards and trying not to rub up against Solas.
You hunt for something to hold onto. You sort of cling to the saddle, but that’s not helping. Then Ashi’lana breaks into a trot, and with a desperate squeak, you throw your arms around Solas’s chest. You’d nearly bounced right out of the saddle. Even clinging to him, you think you might fall off. Is a trot really necessary? God, don’t let him move into a gallop, you will come flying right out of this saddle.
Solas seems unaware of your discomfort, or possibly, he’s doing it on purpose because he’s still cross with you. In any case, the trotting continues, and your embarrassment only grows. With each bounce, your ass burns with pain, and you can’t seem to land on it properly without the use of stirrups. You can’t even grasp Solas loosely around his waist like a normal person. To avoid falling, you have to grip him like a goddamn lunatic, arms tight around his chest, hands clinging to his vest. And all you can think about, even more than not wanting to fall off, is how broad his shoulders are, how nice your face feels when it’s pressed between his shoulder blades. He feels solid in your arms.
Maker forgive you, because you are a terrible person.
Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you feel a not-so-subtle prodding. Solas has done many things to you with his mana, from subtly poking at you to check for magic, to accidentally sliding it over you—repeatedly—thanks to the assumption that you couldn’t feel it. Now… he starts with a less than gentle prodding, which alarms you. You fight not to have any reaction; if you so much as stiffen in response, he’ll feel it, thanks to the way your entire body is flush against his.
Then it stops being just prodding. He pushes his mana forcefully into you, and you can feel it ripping through your skin, pushing towards your core. You have to force yourself not to cry out, to remain focused on staying on Ashi’lana and to keep your body as relaxed as you can. A simple glance at your skin shows that there’s no real damage, but that’s little comfort. He pushes in deeper, and you yank your aura away. Thank god it’s as small at is right now. He runs his mana through you like he’s ruffling through files, and you choke back a whimper. Would an ordinary person feel this? You have no idea. You may be giving yourself away by not reacting, but in the end, all you can do is guess. You grit your teeth, shove your face against Solas’s back, and wait it out.
By the time Solas pulls Ashi’lana into the clearing where the others are waiting, you’re an absolute wreck. Your ass is killing you, you’ve been rather violently invaded by Solas’s magic, and despite the pain, you can’t get the feeling of your nose shoved between Solas’s shoulder blades out of your skin. The smell of him has filled you, reminding you sharply of your pleasant nights with his blanket. Even with the sensation of being shredded from the inside out by mana, you suspect you would have been content to ride like that for twice as long. Solas finally withdraws his magic from you, and once again you have to resist the urge to make a sound. Your body slumps, the tension slipping out of your muscles. You try to just disguise it as part of being glad Ashi’lana had stopped. Revas immediately trots over, snorts angrily, and takes your sleeve in his mouth, yanking at you.
“Jealous?” you grumble at him. “Possession is the opposite of freedom, you know, you scoundrel.” He all but pulls you out of the saddle; you literally just let yourself fall off of Ashi’lana and thud painfully onto the ground. You need a nap. You hadn’t realized one could be hurt with magic in that way, and you still have no idea if your cover is blown or not. You just hope Solas doesn’t make a habit of it.
“Where have you two been?” Garrick asks with a frown. “We’re ready to leave.”
“It’s my fault, sorry,” you say before Solas can answer, sitting up off the ground. “I was wandering into the woods and I got lost. I’m lucky Solas found me when he did; I wasn’t sure what to do.” You stand with some difficulty; your legs feel like rubber and your ass is on fire. You feel like you’ve been belted with sandpaper.
“Well, saddle up then. I want to make good time while the weather is still good.”
It’s a testament to your willpower that you don’t break down crying on the spot. Instead, you just nod. “Of course.” You clamber up onto Revas with help from a nearby stone, although it’s still an undignified struggle. Garrick sets the pace at a slow, gentle canter, and every stride sends bolts of pain through your legs and ass. Your body aches in new, strange ways from Solas’s violent search, and you really just want to curl up into a ball and cry. Instead, you take a place near Baptiste, who looks as displeased with the pace as you feel.
It’s a relaxed enough pace that you can talk, although Baptiste seems to have some difficulty with it. You doubt the large man has that much experience riding horses in this kind of a situation. What on earth would make someone like him sign up with the Inquisition? Faith? You hope not. You’re rather starting to like him.
“Have a relaxing ride through the woods with your beau?” Baptiste asks you, sly despite his obvious discomfort with the pace.
Your laugh is unfortunately hollow, but you force a smile. “Hardly. Solas is very cross with me for wandering off alone and getting lost.”
“He’s doubtlessly only cross because you gave him a fright,” Baptiste says, over-generously in your opinion. Solas does have an unusually high concern for your wellbeing, but there are reasons for that that very much are not what Baptiste is clearly thinking. But he’s Orlesian; that’s just what they do.
“So, do you have our days planned out for us, once we reach the city?” you ask, opting to change the subject entirely.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Baptiste says with a nod. “You’ll be very busy… not too much time for sightseeing.”
You can’t say you’re surprised to hear that, but it is a disappointment. You’ll probably spend most of your days locked in the library. From what you’re hearing, the Inquisition worked hard to get this opportunity to dig through the University’s books… and then sent you and Solas to do it for some Maker forsaken reason. You may never understand what was going through the Inquisitor’s head when he made that inspired decision.
“Don’t worry too much,” Baptiste says with a long wink. Your disappointment must have been obvious. “I intend to visit family while I’m there. I’m a grandfather, you know. I’ll make sure we get some time off. No point in going to Val Royeaux just to stay locked in a room, yes?”
You spend most of the afternoon discussing the itinerary with Baptiste, if only to distract yourself from the growing agony that is your entire goddamn body. You doubt that whatever Solas had done actually damaged you physically… more likely that your tension at the pain combined with being thrown around by Ashi’lana had injured you. You may not be able to avoid asking Solas for healing, but the healing of your aching ass is absolutely out of the question. There are places you just have to draw the line. And the rest of you doesn’t have a very good excuse to ache. You’d fall out of a tree or something, but the thought of what Solas would do to you if he saw you fall out of a tree… You shudder, chill despite the warmth of the autumn sun.
You’re a disaster by the time the sun begins to set and Garrick pulls the group off the road and declares you’ll all set up camp by a small copse of trees. It’s more plains than forest by now… you suspect you’re well and truly in the Dales by this point. At least you’re in too much pain to be struck by wanderlust just now.
As soon as the group stops, you slide off of Revas and just let yourself sink to the ground on your knees, using the hart’s large body to shield you from judging eyes. How much longer can you keep this up? Maybe if you just crawl around instead of walking… With a groan and a whimper, you pull yourself up, using Revas to support you. He’s sweaty and hot and doubtlessly wants those saddlebags off. You unload him as much as you can, and then go to Garrick for your tent.
It’s just your tent, so you attempt to make it yourself. You’d been paying attention when Solas did it, but it just seems like it’s all sticks and ropes and way more complicated than it ought to be. To make things worse, there’s a wind picking up from the west that keeps catching the cloth of the tent and blowing it all over the place. About the time a sudden gust blows it onto you and nearly knocks you over, Solas comes over to assist. He helps pull the tent off of you, untangles you from the flapping ropes. It’s just as well… at the rate you were going, not only would you have failed to make the tent, you might have been strangled to death by it.
Solas seems to have settled down a bit. You have no doubt in your mind that he suspects you have magic. He’s checked you for magic, what… half a dozen times now? More? But each time is more invasive, which probably means he has yet to find you out. You just hope he doesn’t shove his mana into you like that ever again. You’re used to dealing with pain, but your body is still smarting.
Solas seems to notice your wincing, and frowns. You decide to beat him to the lecture.
“I just learned to ride,” you explain with a pained smile. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this gallop-all-day business yet. Between that and sleeping on the ground, I think I’ll be sore for weeks.”
Solas looks as though he’s about to speak, and irritably at that, but then seems to reconsider. After a moment of continuing to set up the tent, he says, carefully, “I could assist you with that, if you would like.”
Now it’s your turn to hesitate. “Well, I… I mean…” You clear your throat. “I ache, yes, but I’d prefer to keep my clothes on.”
Solas looks at you sharply, as if to gauge your expression. When he sees your teasing expression, he seems to relax. You’re making a joke of it. No lasting trauma here from being forced to strip, no sir! Definitely didn’t think you were about to have your way with me! As if, in retrospect. You still feel like an idiot for that.
“Wear something baggy, perhaps?” he suggests, almost jokingly. “If your injuries are not too severe, I can heal you through your clothing,” he adds, more seriously. “I would prefer you not wind up in a similar state to the last time.”
“Heh… Yeah, I’d like to avoid that too,” you agree. “A… alright. If we can even be in the same tent without the Fereldens’ heads exploding.”
Solas laughs, a short chuckle, but enough to draw the attention of Baptiste and Emilio. More quietly, he adds, “Seek me out after dinner. I’m sure we can find some privacy without setting their gossiping hearts aflame.”
He walks away before you can reply, which is just as well, because your bones are turning to jelly. After standing stupidly by your tent for a moment, you wander dazedly over to Revas to finish unloading him and rubbing him down. You give Ashi’lana a similar treatment again, and then, out of things to do, wander towards the other tents.
You find yourself in the company of Elaine and Kelsie, who are relaxing by their tent while Emilio prepares dinner… stew again, no doubt. Elaine has her hair down and is combing through it gently while Kelsie admires. You sit down as well, preferring their company to the Antivan’s, for the moment.
“I wish my hair looked like that when it was long,” Kelsie says enviously, shaking her short, curly locks. “It just turns into a tangled nightmare.”
“It’s just as well you keep it short,” Elaine says with a shrug. “One less place for someone to grab you. Watch.” Like a flash, Elaine drops her comb, reaches out, and grabs you by your bun. You quickly force yourself not to jab her in the soft, squishy place where thumb meets hand. You have to look unimpressive to these people. Instead, you cry out as if startled and in pain. “See?” Elaine says, releasing you.
“‘Laine!” Kelsie exclaims, exasperated. “You can’t just grab people! She’s not a soldier; you’ll scare her.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” you say, wincing. Your hair is coming loose, damnit. You’ll have to pull it back again in a moment. Elaine has stopped combing and is now beginning to braid her hair. “I can do that for you, if you’d like,” you suggest. It’s always easier to braid someone else’s hair then it is to braid your own.
“You’re too nice,” Kelsie objects.
“People keep saying that to me in an accusing manner,” you muse out loud as you sit down behind Elaine. She hands her hair off to you, and you begin to braid. It’s a practiced motion for you, even after all these years. Her hair isn’t even as long as yours once was.
“Do you have sisters?” Kelsie asks curiously, and seemingly out of nowhere.
“Um… no,” you reply, not quite sure why she asked.
“It’s just, you’re really good at that.”
“I used to keep my hair in a braid, back in my more adventurous youth,” you say with a chuckle. “I suppose you never really forget how to braid hair, really.”
“Youth?” Kelsie says incredulously. “How old are you? I thought you were Elaine’s age.”
“Are you calling me old?” Elaine asks sourly.
“Ancient,” replies Kelsie.
“I’m probably around Elaine’s age,” you say, to cut off any possibility of a fight.
“Then don’t talk like you’re an old lady,” Elaine says darkly.
“I bet you’d look younger with your hair down,” Kelsie says, reaching right up and pulling the band out of your hair. You nearly drop Elaine’s braid with shock, but you don’t want it to get loose; you’d have to start over. So you grit your teeth and bear it as Kelsie fluffs your hair from behind. Does this girl have no concept of personal space?! “Oh wow! Your hair is like Elaine’s! Soft and thin. You’re really wasting it, wearing it all dull and up like that.”
“It serves my purpose,” you say, seriously regretting your decision to come over here. You should have gone to flirt with Emilio instead. He probably would have touched you less. “Hold still, please,” you add to Elaine, who’s craning her neck around to see.
Kelsie reaches around you to snatch up Elaine’s comb. Oh, Maker. “My sister has hair almost this color… darker, though,” she says, almost absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair. “You might know her, actually! She works in the kitchens. She mentions you, now and then.”
“Does she?” you say, not really surprised. “I’m in there every day, so I suppose that’s to be expected.” There are two redheaded humans who work in the kitchen that you can recall.
“Her name is Lily,” Kelsie informs you as she begins to run the comb through your hair. You have to admit, it feels nice. You try to keep your hair more or less kempt, but you haven’t had a proper comb since you escaped your home. You’d been planning on picking one up in Val Royeaux, as a matter of fact. “She doesn’t talk much.”
“Short hair, or long?” you ask absent-mindedly. You’re almost finished with Elaine’s braid.
“Short, although she’s growing it out.”
“I think I know who you’re talking about, although I don’t believe I’ve ever actually spoken to her. And she talks about me? All good, I hope.”
“No, not really!” Kelsie says brightly. “All about you and… well… you know.” She gestures over towards Solas, who’s currently doing something to his mage’s staff, although you couldn’t say what from here. His hands are glowing softly.
“Oh,” you say darkly. “I can’t say that really surprises me.”
“I keep telling her you play for the other team,” Kelsie continues brightly. “But no one listens, of course.”
You decide that it’s really not worth correcting her with the details of your sexual attractions. She’s awfully handsy for someone who thinks you exclusively prefer the company of other women, though. You finish Elaine’s braid and tie it off, relieved to perhaps have an excuse to leave what’s rapidly becoming a sapphic stereotype. And to think, you were worried about the men.
It seems Elaine is going to double down on your discomfort, however. She runs a hand along the braid, inspecting your work, and then nods, seemingly satisfied. “Alright. Let’s do yours,” she says matter-of-factly.
“I… Pardon?”
“That’s a great idea!” Kelsie chirps happily. “You’ve got such nice, long hair, it’s a shame to just leave it in that bun.”
“A shame, is it?” you say sourly, but it seems that nothing will discourage them. Elaine pushes Kelsie out of the way and takes a seat behind you. She combs your hair back and begins the braid, and you let out a small sigh. Might as well just grin and bear it. There’s no one out here to care how you wear your hair.
“So did you have brothers, then?” Kelsie asks, flopping into the grass in front of you and laying, sprawled out.
“No.”
“An only child?” she says, sounding a little surprised.
“I thought elves bred like rabbits,” Elaine says dryly. You stiffen. A poor choice of words on her part. “I don’t think there’s a single only child elf in Ostwick, and they’ve all got barrels of cousins.”
Alright, that’s it. “An orphan, actually,” you say sharply, and feel Elaine’s hands freeze in your hair. So she can feel social awkwardness, after all. Kelsie, for her part, looks guilty. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I mean, my siblings and me, we are too.”
Mmm, so much for that getting her to change the subject. Well, she’s talkative. Just let her talk. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We’re here now, though!” she says, seeming to regain her cheer quickly. “The Inquisition has been great.” A recent orphan, perhaps? Well, far be it from you to pry.
You and Elaine let Kelsie do most of the talking, which seems to be fine by Kelsie. She babbles on about her sister and brother—both younger, from what you gather—who work in Skyhold as well, albeit not as soldiers. Her sister is in the kitchen, her brother, the smithy. It seems she’s joined up fairly recently. You hope she’s good with that sword on her back. You had assumed the soldiers of Skyhold would be more like… well, soldiers. You’ve spent this much time endearing yourself to them… if a fight happens and they turn out to be useless, you’ll be pissed.
“There!” Elaine says, sounding mildly satisfied. “Much better. Here, look.” To your surprise, Elaine hands you a small hand mirror. It’s simpler than the one you used to own, but it’s been well over a month since you last saw your reflection. You look more at your face than your hair; seeing it pulled back in a braid brings back memories, some of them less than pleasant. It’s your face that interests you, however. Your cheeks have filled out a bit… have you perhaps gained weight at Skyhold? It’s hard to tell, honestly, since all of your pants are so ridiculously oversized.
Kelsie, of course, immediately wants to touch the finished braid. She runs her hand down it, much to your irritation. “Aaah, your hair is so pretty, Emma!” she coos happily. Fortunately, you’re saved from the situation before anyone can suggest breaking out the massage oils or pillows.
“As much as I hate to interrupt what seems to be a lovely gathering,” Emilio announces from the camp fire. “Dinner is ready, if you ladies are interested.” Praise the Maker! You are very ready to get some distance between yourself and the two handsy ladies. There are no logs to sit on this time, but you spare yourself any additional touching by sitting close to Solas—everyone seems to be giving him plenty of space.
Solas starts slightly when he sees you, no doubt because of your hair. You look younger with your hair down, of that you are well aware. You’re soured a bit further by that thought. The last thing you want is to look more like a “da’len” to Solas. But you can’t just yank the braid out in front of everyone; it would be rude. You’ll probably be stuck wearing it at least for the evening, possibly tomorrow as well. But your hair will be back in a bun by the time you hit Val Royeaux, no matter how much Kelsie whines.
“Bella, i tuoi capelli sono come il tramonto!1” Emilio purrs. It would make you genuinely happy if not for your sour mood and general soreness. Nonetheless, you give him a pleasing smile, and neglect to mention that Bella was the name of your mule.
You try to keep up with the conversation and to be as animated and cheerful as possible, but you’re distracted continually by Solas. It seems his suspicion hasn’t died out entirely; he’s really eyeballing you. Well, fortunately, you’re not without your own tricks, and he’s already expecting you to sneak off with him. Almost as soon as you both finish eating, you stand, make a bit of a show of stretching, and then turn to him.
“Solas, would you mind taking a walk with me? I’ve something I’d like to show you.” That, of course, is enough to pique everyone’s interest, but Solas plays along.
“Certainly. Simply let my fetch my staff. We can’t have you getting lost again,” he says gamely. Ouch. Was that last bit really necessary? Nonetheless, you take the opportunity to swing by your tent to fetch a few things as well, and pretend not to notice the other five watching you as you and Solas walk off across the plains. Fortunately, the fact that Garrick had set up camp in a small copse of trees, for shelter, means that you don’t have to go too terribly far for privacy. You stroll to a slightly larger-than-average tree at the top of one of the Dales’ many rolling hills before turning to Solas.
“I’m not sure that was the best way to alleviate rumors,” he says, sounding amused.
“Still better than you crawling into my tent,” you laugh. “Besides, I really do have something to show you.”
“Oh? Is that so? Healing first, in any case. If you’re actually requesting it, I suspect it’s worse than you’re letting on.”
“It’s mostly just stiffness!” you insist. “If there’s any bruising it’s…” You clear your throat delicately, a flush coming to your cheeks despite yourself. “You know. From riding.”
Now Solas really looks amused. His eyes flit down your body. “Aaaah,” he says, and—Maker bless the world and everything it contains—he grins. It’s worth the humiliation, absolutely. “Of course. You’re not used to riding. No wonder you wished to maintain your clothing.”
At that, any semblance of control you had flutters into the wind and you blush a bright crimson. But what can you say? He’s right.
“I will be as gentlemanly as possible,” he says somberly, his beautiful grin already gone, although his eyes still twinkle with mirth.
He walks around behind you, and you can’t help but notice a slight change in his gait. You can’t quite place why, but he seems to glide, each foot hitting the ground with absolute silence. You’re more stiff and still than you were when he was tormenting you with his magic. Has he always moved in such a way? So quietly, so sure? Your awareness of where he is comes from the air he displaces as he moves and little else. When his hands grasp your shoulders, you jolt.
“Hamin, da’asha2,” he says softly, and you melt into his grip, more due to how he spoke than what he said. Elven sounds… right, when he speaks it. What will you have to do for him to teach you?
Your skin begins to tingle as you feel the stroke of his magic through your shirt, but to your surprise, he doesn’t simply lay hands. He grips your shoulders expertly and digs his thumbs and palm into your knotted muscles. Ooooh, Maker, why. You weren’t prepared for this.
You’ve never received a magic-tinged massage before. Solas had done something similar once prior, unknotting painful muscles in your back, but that had been purely with magic. Now he involves his hands as well, pushing and rubbing with fingers and mana until both you and your tension submit. By the time he’s reached your lower back, you feel like melted rubber. He damn well could have brought his hands straight down to your ass for healing, and you wouldn’t have said a word. Instead, however, he lifts his hands, raising them an inch, perhaps two, above your skin, and ghosts above your sore rear and down your aching thighs. His hands are absent, but his mana remains, no longer untangling, but properly healing. You feel your pain drain away as he moves his hands down, never touching. A gentleman, after all. You try to pretend that you’re not a little disappointed.
Still, by the time he’s finished, you’re extremely flushed and wishing you’d brought a copy of The Randy Dowager with you instead of Hard in Hightown. Solas takes a step back from you, as if to indicate he’s finished, and you take a quick moment to compose yourself before turning around.
“Th-” Your voice cracks; you clear your throat. “Th-thank you. I, um… Maker, this doesn’t seem like such a surprise anymore, so much as appreciation, but…” You pull out the special gift you’d been saving… Celia’s trick up your sleeve. Two beautiful, hopefully delicious, caramel apples. Solas looks surprised when you first pull them out, and then, to your surprise, begins to laugh. What? Is he allergic to caramel or something?
“Have you noticed?” he says between chuckles. “Whenever you believe yourself in trouble, you immediately produce sweets.”
You can’t help but laugh… He’s not wrong. “It’s the one thing I know you like! That and old things… Since my stunt with the artifact failed spectacularly, I’ve only one thing to fall back on!”
“You gave food to the guards, as well, to win their favor,” he points out.
“Bribery always works,” you say with a grin. “At least, it never hurts. Are you going to turn me down?”
“I didn’t say that,” he says, almost cheekily, and takes one of the caramel apples from you. He looks funny, holding an apple on a stick like that. Those same hands cast incredible magic, but here he is, holding glorified festival food. You’re about to comment on the absurdity of it when something catches your eye, out across the fields of the Dales.
“I think I see something!” you exclaim, peeking around his shoulder. “Oh! Hold on!” You shove your apple into your mouth, gripping it with your teeth to keep it from escaping, and begin to scramble up the tree.
“Emma?” Solas calls up after you. “What are you doing?”
“Sssshh!” you mumble around the apple in your mouth. You clamber up and out until you find a good, sturdy branch to sit on, then straddle it and pull yourself even further out. Yes! A herd of wild halla!
You hear a branch creak, and turn to glance behind you. What you see shocks you so much the apple nearly drops from your mouth… Solas has climbed up after you!
“What are we looking at?” he asks, dropping his legs to straddle the same branch as you. Wordlessly, still somewhat in shock, you point out towards the halla. “Aaah,” Solas says, and you see a slight smile flicker across his lips. “I suppose they must be a rare sight for you, dwelling in cities as you do.”
You finally pull the apple from your mouth, although you take a bite when you do. After swallowing, you nod, your voice quiet as if they might hear you, all the way over on a hill and up a tree. “This might be the closest I’ve gotten… Shh, shh, they’re coming this way!”
“They cannot hear us, Emma,” Solas says, sounding amused, but you shush him again as they wander slowly closer. You hear a crunch as he bites into his apple, but beyond that, he finally consents to be silent.
You watch with increasing awe and glee as the halla come closer. Eventually, they’re passing under the tree, and you’re so excited you barely dare to breathe. As they continue on, you twist to watch, eventually turning entirely. Solas is watching you, not the halla, and that’s enough to distract you from their graceful beauty.
He’s eaten about half his apple. The stick hangs lazily from his hand. He sits comfortably, back against the trunk of the tree and legs stretched out, crossed, in front of him along the branch. Perhaps it’s the dark browns and greens of his outfit, but he looks quite at home there. His soft cloths and leathers are better suited to his surroundings than your tunic and pants, to be sure.
“Have you been satisfied?” he asks mildly when your gaze lingers on him. “May I be permitted to speak?”
You flush. You had been rather blunt, hadn’t you? “Ir abelas, Solas, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He waves his hand vaguely, shaking the caramel apple as he does so. “No need for apologies. I can’t imagine you get such an opportunity often.”
“That’s the closest I’ve ever been,” you reply, craning your neck around to watch them meander on over the plains. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agrees, but his eyes still linger on you. “They are.”