#whatever all i could do was think and cry about solas whilst making it so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sermacsteph · 3 years

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Aftermath

Estelle bit back a cry as the anchor crackled, rift green lightning arced up his arm, crept towards his neck. He barely registered falling to his knees, bent double, cradling his arm. There was only the fire in his veins, pulsating, nauseating - readying to explode once more at any given moment. A part of Estelle knew that this was it, that this may well be the end,

‘The mark will eventually kill you,’ Solas’s voice floated from somewhere above him. ‘Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you … at least for now.’

Estelle blinked up at him. The elf whom he’d seen as a friend, who he had trusted. The icy bite of betrayal still lingered, a contrast to the blazing agony that was his arm. Solas had betrayed that trust, had used him as no more than a pawn in a bigger game.

He heaved a shuddering breath. ‘If … if I live through this - I’m coming to stop you.’

‘I know,’ said Solas, something like regret passed over his face. ‘Take my hand.’

Estelle didn’t move. A part of him, still raw and hurting, wanted to refuse, even though it would mean his life. If Solas didn’t have the anchor … pain spasmed through his arm. He was running out of time. If he died here, now, there was nothing to stop Solas from just taking the anchor anyway. If he died here, the world would have no idea what Solas was planning - the chaos he was about to unleash.

To stop Solas he needed to live, needed to survive. For Thedas; for himself and Dorian, and the future they wanted together, he needed to live. With gritted teeth, Estelle reached for Solas’s hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Solas.

That pulsating pain flared, sending the world spinning. Estelle screwed his eyes shut, bit down on his tongue, trapping his cry inside him. He felt Solas’s grip slip from his and with it the pulsating vanished, faded, only to be replaced with a burning, blistering pain that ate at his arm. As if his arm, his hand was on fire; as if his very own magic had turned against him.

He forced his eyes open, his vision swimming. He glanced at his arm, it looked … Estelle swallowed. It looked as if his hand was melting beneath the armour. Bits of fade and rift-green tinged blood dripped between his trembling fingers, sizzling on the broken stones.

Solas was saying something, words that didn’t sound like words. Slowly, with far too much effort, Estelle tore his gaze away from his ruined arm in time to see the Eluvian flare as Solas vanished without so much as a backwards glance.

For a moment, the world had gone quiet as Estelle knelt alone amongst the ancient ruins and Qunari-turned-stone statues. Everything was spinning, his mind reeling with a hundred thoughts at once. Solas is Fen’Harel, was planning to tear down the veil which may well destroy the word and his arm…

Estelle blinked, trying to clear his head but it felt like wading through mud. He needed to move, he knew that much. He couldn’t stay here. Solas had taken the anchor but the blood loss would still kill him. The potions were all but spent and it was an effort to think, let alone attempting to form a spell. He needed to get back to the others.

His gaze snagged on the only other Eluvian. The one he had come through to find Solas. The one that would lead back to the others, to where Dorian was waiting. Its surface no longer dull as it had been when he’d come through it, it’s shimmering blue surface taunting him. It wasn’t far, he could make it. He had to.

With fumbling fingers, he gripped his staff, hauling himself to his feet. The sudden movement made the ancient ruins, the petrified statues sway violently; trembling legs threatening to send him toppling back down. He tightened his grip on his staff. Ghilan’nain guide my steps, I can do this. Just one foot in front of the other. A couple more steps. A few more, until he was stumbling, slow, methodically past the qunari. Beside him, his trembling arm hung limp, rift-green blood dripped steadily leaving behind a macabre trail on the broken stones.

The mirror was tantalisingly close now. Just down the steps, past the remaining petrified qunari. Creators, why did it seem so far? The world span and never stopped. Every step, every breath was an effort of will and somewhere deep inside, Estelle knew he was never going to make it.

Seconds, maybe minutes, seemed to flash by. He was half dragging himself now, his hand clutching the staff shaking so violently that he could barely keep his grip. When had it gotten so cold?

Without warning, his legs buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling forwards down the last few steps. Estelle howled. Pain spiralled through him as he curled into a ball at the bottom of the stairs, watering eyes screwed tight.

He lay there, cheek pressed against hard stone. The coolness of it, a relief against the fire burning inside. He watched the statues sway like branches in the wind. Creators, he felt so tired. The exhaustion from the past few hours, days, weeks, crashed into him. It would be so easy to give in. To give into that beckoning darkness and the relief it offered from the agony spiralling through him.

The part of him still coherent, screamed at him to move. Through hazy eyes, Estelle glimpsed the Eluvian just beyond the Qunari. Bright sunshine danced across its surface and the crumbling stones that surrounded it. He was so close - he’d only need a few more steps and he’d be there. Only a few more steps and he would be with Dorian again.

The thought of never seeing him again, or hearing that wit that hid such a caring heart, that had made Estelle fall so hard for the Tevinter mage - it hurt. Hurt more than the melting remains of his arm.

“Why didn’t you say something?’ Dorian had cried before they’d entered the Delvaraard mirror what seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘I could have … I don’t know, something!’

Estelle had cut him off then with a kiss. ‘Vhenan, whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together, for anything. I love you.’

‘I … I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard,’ Dorian had sobbed before burying his face in his shoulder.

A bitter sob tore through Estelle’s chest at the memory. This - it wasn’t fair. Two years they’d spent a part. Two years of letters and promises, and when they finally had the chance to be together again something had to happen to tear them apart. Angry tears slipped into his hair as he glared at the sky. Damn you, Solas! Damn you! He glared at the Eluvian - that shimmering surface called to him and his heart ached. He just wanted to see Dorian again, one last time, to tell him he was sorry.

He willed his legs to move, clawing his way forwards with his good arm. Pain blazed through him, and Estelle screamed. There was a dull clang of metal hitting stone. He stared at the fallen gauntlet, at the melting stump of his wrist in shock. Estelle froze, unable to tear his gaze away. He shook his head, desperate to make sense of what he was seeing. His hand… it was gone. How … how was that possible? Was he just simply hallucinating?

Estelle let his head fall back against the stone. Exhaustion stole the energy from his muscles. He leant against one of the statues, staring at his arm as whatever magic the anchor had left behind slowly disintegrated his arm. He knew he would never make the distance to the eluvian.

‘Mythal’enaste, la abelas, vhenan,’ He whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

***

Dorian wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, back pressed against the unforgiving surface of the eluvian. Every second, every minute that passed, felt like an eternity.

In the moments after Estelle had disappeared through that mirror, he had thrown every spell he could think of at its surface. There had to be something - some long lost knowledge stolen from the elves that could reawaken it. But his spells slid off its surface and the eluvian remained dormant.

He sat with his head bowed, desperate to keep his mind from jumping from one bad scenario to another. Estelle will be fine, he told himself. After all, he had survived thus far. Yet, Dorian still couldn’t forget that horrible moment when the anchor had exploded, throwing Estelle about with its force. The pain and exhaustion that had been in his face, and there had been nothing Dorian could do to help. Now, Estelle was trapped Maker knew where…

No. He couldn’t think like that. Solas had to help. Agent of Fen’Harel or not, surely Solas wouldn’t just let Estelle die? Hurry back, amatus, please.

The silence that had settled over the three of them was deafening. Varric sat nearby, crossbow in his lap, whilst the Seeker stood guard, shrewd eyes flicking between both eluvians. None of them spoke. What was there to even say? They could only wait. Wait and hope that the next person through the eluvian was Estelle.

There was a sudden faint chime from behind, the mirror finally springing to life. Dorian scrambled to his feet, staff instinctively in hand, a defence spell at the ready. But as they stared at the mirror, there was no sign of either Estelle or any Qunari.

They waited.

And waited.

Still there was no sign of Estelle. Dorian’s heart sank. Something was wrong, very wrong.

‘Where is he?’ Cassandra muttered.

Dorian didn’t answer. He had a hunch, one he desperately hoped was wrong. Without a word, he stepped towards the eluvian, its surface rippling at his touch. A part of him knew this might well be a trap, but he couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. Not when Estelle might need him. Taking a deep breath, Dorian stepped forwards.

Swirling blue light gave way to a broken courtyard. Crumbling ruins and stone statues towering over cracked flagstones. Only the statues weren’t elven as Dorian had first thought. They were qunari, the very same qunari they’d been pursuing. A chill crept through Dorian. The qunari were facing away, expressions of fear frozen on their faces. It had to be Solas, who else could it have been? And if this was what the elf had done to the Qunari, then Estelle....

He didn’t let himself finish that thought. Without waiting to see if Varric or Cassandra had followed, Dorian moved through the statues. Panic carried his steps, his mind racing, feet moving to the pounding of his heart. A flash of red hair, the rift-green glow caught his gaze, and there slouched against a statue was Estelle.

‘Amatus!’ Dorian breathed, tearing across the courtyard towards him.

He dropped to his knees, reaching a hand towards him. But Estelle barely seemed to notice that he was there, his bright green eyes glazed as he stared at his still glowing arm. But… Makers breath! Where Estelle’s hand should have been there was just tendrils of rift green at the end of a bloody disintegrating wrist. Dorian swallowed, his chest tightening.

‘Estelle?’

But he didn’t answer, Dorian wasn’t even sure he could hear him. At a loss what to do, he gently pulled Estelle towards him, holding him close.

He felt Estelle shift, his good arm clinging to him and Dorian could practically feel him trembling against him. ‘Do… Dorian?’

‘Shh, amatus,’ Dorian whispered, holding him tightly. He wished there was something - anything he could do. ‘It’s all right, I’m here, I’ve got you.’

‘Andraste’s ass,’ Varric muttered, as the dwarf and Cassandra finally caught up with them.

The Seeker’s face was white as she looked at them. Her eyes lingered on Estelle’s arm, the blood and bits of fade dripping from the trembling limb. Dorian knew she was thinking the exact same question - what exactly had happened? But it was a question that was going to have to wait.

‘We need to get you back to the palace, Inquisitor,’ said Cassandra, ‘can you stand?’

Estelle nodded. ‘I’ll … I’ll be fine,’ He said, even though it was quite clear he was as far from fine as it was possible to get.

Dorian wanted to argue with him, but he knew that determined look in Estelle’s eyes, knew that arguing with him would be a waste of time - something they didn’t exactly have on their side right now. So he hooked his arm around Estelle’s waist, helping him to his feet, letting him rest some of his weight against him; the anchorless arm draped around his shoulders.

Through eluvian after eluvian they staggered, going as quick as they dared. Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at the same time, almost as if it knew they needed to make haste. Dorian was all too aware of Estelle staggering beside him, his pained breaths, his arm slowly disintegrating beneath his grip.

‘Hold on, amatus,’ Dorian murmured, not even sure if Estelle was listening. ‘Just a little longer.’

How much further did they have to go? Dorian wasn’t sure. On their way through the ruins, they had been so focused on trying to get to Solas, on fighting the qunari, that Dorian hadn’t thought to count how many eluvians they went through. He was starting to regret that now.

It was a relief when crumbling elven ruins gave way to solid stone walls of the fort. The Delveraard looked somewhat less intimidating in the early morning light but no less dangerous. Two more eluvians stood between them and the safety of the palace.

The fort was eerily quiet. Even though they made sure to make as less noise as possible, their footsteps echoed through the deserted passages. They staggered through battle worn corridors and bloody stairs. Dorian felt Estelle stumble, feet slipping on slick stones and he tightened his grip.

‘Come on, just a little further.’

‘This … this wasn’t how I … I pictured this week … this week ending.’ Estelle muttered. His voice was so quiet and the pain in it - a lump formed in Dorian’s throat. ‘I’m … I’m sorry, vhenan.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Dorian, ‘we just have a penchant for attracting trouble, you and I.’

‘If … if I make it -’

Dorian cut him off. ‘Don’t … Don’t you dare say it like that.’

‘We’ll … we’ll have to find .... something to do … that isn’t fighting for … for our lives,’ Estelle finished.

‘I’m holding you to that,’ Dorian replied. ‘You are not dying on me yet, amatus.’

Estelle didn’t answer. Dorian glanced at him in alarm. His heart skipped several beats as Estelle sagged against him. No! Not now! Not when they were so close - the eluvian to the crossroads just over the bridge.

‘Amatus? Estelle?’ Dorian gently tapped his cheek, but Estelle didn’t respond. Eyes closed, limp. No! His skin was cold, icy against Dorian’s own. Makers breath, please, no! That familiar panic crept into Dorian’s heart. ‘No! Come on, amatus, stay with me!’

‘Shit,’ Varric muttered, ‘he's not going to make it.’

Dorian didn’t answer. He had to do something! Magic pooled in his hands, mind racing to form a spell to try and quell the bleeding. But there was so much of it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a flash of silver.

‘What are you doing?!’ Dorian snapped, as Cassandra knelt down beside them, a knife drawn.

The seeker merely fixed him with a look. ‘Easy, Tevinter.’

And without waiting for a reply, she leant forwards, placing the blade to Estelle’s lips. The metallic surface misted with his breath and somewhere inside him, Dorian felt the knot of tension loosen. Just a little.

‘His breath is strong,’ said Cassandra, ‘we still have time, but we must move fast.’

Without a thought, Dorian gently hoisted Estelle up into his arms. He moved as quickly as he dared without jostling him. He forgot his exhaustion, the ache in his muscles as they raced towards the eluvian ahead. He had never thought of Estelle as fragile. Reckless, perhaps, but there was a strength and determination to keep going when everything seemed hopeless. Estelle had a quick wit that hid his gentle heart, who stood his ground for his beliefs and tried to do his best with everyone and everything. But now … Dorian swallowed and prayed to the Maker that Cassandra was right.

‘Hold on, amatus, please just hold on.’

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athenril-of-kirkwall · 3 years

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More Solavellan smut, because you all love it, babe!

Solavellan, “Healthy Disagreements” (AO3) [Explicit]

Solas was in his study, set on the lowest floor of the library rotunda that was adjacent to the main hall in Skyhold, poring over some sketches he’d made of the frescoes he’d observed at that lost temple of Dirthamen which he, Rivka, and the others had explored not a week past following his research into the glyphs they’d found amongst scattered ruins in the Exalted Plains whilst they were clearing out the Freemen there.

He in particular was fascinated by the fact that many of the murals had in fact been not of Dirthamen but of Falon’Din, that guardian and friend of the dead. He let himself have a smirk, marvelling that the old secret-keeper would choose to hide himself behind another’s guise, even unto the very end…and beyond. He looked over their form and design carefully, looking for any variations from what he knew Falon’Din normally looked like to see if the God of Secrets’ handiwork was visible.

Casting a gaze at the oil lamp on his table, he idly wondered how long he’d been at work. Certainly it was long past the time where more sensible men retired to their quarters. But then again, he hardly felt like dreaming tonight, and Rivka had assured him, in fact multiple times, that neither he nor she would be needed for much important the next day.

So focused was he upon his task that he barely noticed her coming in, only glancing up to acknowledge Rivka’s presence as he heard the door closing behind her.

Looking back down at his sketches, he said, “Evening, vhenan. Or is it morning? I hadn’t thought you’d be up at this unearthly hour, to be quite honest. I…”

Slamming her palms on the table, Rivka violently interrupted him, saying, “It’s an hour past midnight, Solas, and I well know that because I’ve been sitting around for a full hour in my room waiting for you to come up.”

Barely even reacting to the jolt which had shaken his desk and merely noting that the oil lamp hadn’t been upset, Solas said, giving a cursory look to Rivka, “Ah, yes! Pardon me, vhenan, but I was so caught on a detail I found in my last sketch that—”

“Dread Wolf take your sketches and your murals!”, Rivka shouted, yanking them off the desk and scattering them on the floor, where they gently fluttered to land around her slippered feet. “And the least you could do is look at me when you talk to me, as well!”

Having no choice but to do so, Solas turned his gaze upwards at Rivka, noting that her usually coiffed hair was now hanging in strands around her face, and that she didn’t seem to be wearing much beyond a silken robe with a Chantry insignia on it and her slippers.

Finally, he asked, “Forgive me, Rivka. Is there something I have done to warrant…”

“I don’t think I will, and I think you have, or more accurately haven’t, Solas,” she scolded. “When I ask you to come up to my quarters for a…private meeting…I expect you to at least tell me if you’re not going to beforehand instead of wasting my time.”

Looking more closely at her, Solas noted that despite the chill of the night and her rather scant attire, she was flushed partly with anger and partly with…something else.

Comprehending some of the subtext, he said, “I am truly sorry, Rivka. I must still have failed to grasp your meaning when you did say that, and I swear that I was far too engrossed with my work to note the passing of the hour.”

Walking around the table to draw herself up to him, Rivka said, “I’m not going to accept your apology, and I’m certainly not going to say sorry for knocking all your precious drawings to the floor either, seeing as you clearly care about them far more than you do me. So, are you going to do something about that?”

“Whatever do you mean?”, he asked innocently.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Creators help me if you truly don’t get it, and may they help you if you’re just playing dumb. This is what I mean.”

Demonstrating her intent, she reached out for the back of Solas’ neck and head and pinned her lips to his, forcefully kissing him repeatedly and breaking away only to catch a breath.

“There,” she said. “That’s what I was expecting a full hour ago, in the comfort of my own room, and not in the chilly recesses of—”

She never finished her sentence as he now took the initiative, forcing her to seat upon the now-empty desk as he took his turn to land his own kisses upon her. Before she could lay back upon it or adjust her position, he grasped his beloved by her arms, his own eyes flashing lustfully.

“I think I am about to ‘do something about it’, as you’ve so nicely put it,” he hissed. “But before that, a word?”

“A word?”, Rivka asked, essentially thinking aloud before realising what he meant. “‘Ocularum’, then.”

His question was silently asked by the raise of an eyebrow.

“It’s the least sexy thing I know,” she explained. “Now, I suppose you’re going to take your anger out on me for scattering your beloved sketches?”

Answering her in husky breaths, he said, “And more. It’s remarkable—and distressing for your people as a whole—that you lived your entire life in a clan with essentially a dozen mothers and fathers and none of them taught you any manners.”

“Manners?”

“What sort of person petulantly storms into another’s study and throws their work to the ground when they think they’re not being given enough attention?”, he asked. “Imagine the insolence were you to do that anywhere else, to anyone else!”

Locking her gaze into his, she breathily said, “Ooh, say ‘insolence’ again, Solas. I like the sound of the word on your lips.”

“Amongst so many things about them. Time to work this insolence out of your system then, vhenan,” he growled, next commanding, “Turn around.”

Looking at Solas with a blank expression, Rivka saw his turn from impatience to offence.

“Did you not hear me, Rivka?”, he said. “Turn around and put your hands on the table. If I have to ask again I can’t promise you I’ll do so patiently.”

Nodding meekly, she turned to face the table and gently placed her palms on the tabletop. With a sudden jerk, one hand on the small of her back and another at her nape, Solas forced her down on the table, her nipples squashing against her breasts as her cheek firmly landed on it too. The bottom of her robe hiked up a little as she bent forward, and she felt a chill draught around her thighs, shivering as she did so.

Solas then glided along the insides of her legs with his knuckles, curving away from her quim to round her buttocks as he gathered the loose end of her robe, bunching its folds and gathering them around her waist, exposing her to the elements and noting with some amusement that firstly, she had indeed not been wearing anything under that robe, and next that she was already slick with anticipation.

Rivka gasped as he spread her arousal along the length of her folds with his fingertips, moaning as the momentary contact faded just as soon as he’d made it.

“Shush,” he said. “This is meant to be a reprimand, not an outlet for your lasciviousness. Lie still whilst I administer some corrections.”

“Corrections?” was all she was able to manage as she thought about what he meant before she felt the sudden sting of his palm on her buttock, releasing a loud groan of pleasure as its coursed through her body.

“Enough!”, he cried, smacking the other one in an attempt to silence her but only making her moan even louder, alternating between the two savagely.

Gasping shallowly, Rivka felt her slick running down her thigh, glancing upwards and hoping nobody was watching or hearing this depraved scene.

“You really are something else,” he said, “Wantonly crying out so that everybody in this rotunda can hear your arousal. I wonder if…”

She’d barely even started pondering his trailed-off sentence before the next slap struck her full on her lips, causing her to quiver in pleasure, with the next one and the following one after that making her buck against the empty air where Solas’ palm had been, and she felt herself on the brink of coming when he reached out and grabbed her entire mound with his hand, closing her lips against each other.

What pleasure there was turned to pain as he gripped it tighter, the force of his fingertips overriding any urge or ability for her to come there and then, and she felt tears from both agony and joy run down her face as he leant over her back, whispering into her ear.

“Don’t presume to come now, not without permission. Do so and I’ll leave your hands bound to this table and bring you to the edge of orgasm again and again, unable to relieve yourself until I decide you’re worthy of doing so,” he promised, asking, “Do you understand me, vhenan?”

She nodded as best she could, her cheek scraping a little as she did so against the table.

“Good,” he said, seemingly satisfied with that. After some silence, she heard some noises behind her, like cloth falling from a place, then the sound of Solas’ footsteps again.

“I do wonder now,” she heard him ponder, “If you’ve ever given this over to anyone.”

At this, she felt what had to be the tip of his phallus briefly touch…briefly touch her rear end? No! Not there! She shook violently against the notion, feeling fresh tears run down her face as she did so.

“Shush,” he said gently. “Calm yourself. I was merely asking. And…here?”

Warmth pulsed through her body as he made contact with her pussy, and she nodded enthusiastically, biting her lip to restrain herself from moaning lustfully at the touch’s promise.

Her self-control was brought to the edge of her limits as she felt his tip slide in whilst his thumbs sought out the little dimples on the back of her waistline and his fingers grasped the skin around her hips, rolling the flesh of her curves between them. Just as she sensed all those touches on her skin, his shaft fully slid into her, Rivka groaning as he did so, with his grip on her hips tightening as he pumped in and out of her body.

Although not quite as long and as…girthy…as she’d imagined or fantasised, it was hitting all the right spots, the head in particular coming to rest against a tight bundle of nerves that caused her to gasp as he slowly, agonisingly, massaged it with his cock. She tried to work her pussy around him to stimulate that spot, but that was only met with anger, as he withdrew his penis entirely, leaving her aching for him to thrust it in again.

“Are simple instructions beyond you, Rivka?”, he hissed, reaching for her wrists one at a time and pinning them to the small of her back with one hand as he slid back into her, stating, “I’ll be taking my pleasure first before you’re allowed to do anything. Understood?”

She nodded again, trying to relax and stand still despite the myriad of sensations coursing through her as he resumed fucking her over his worktable, the obscene sounds of slapping skin echoing through the tower. His pace, steady at first, became more and more fervent, only slowing down long enough for him to lean over to her ear again, shifting his body weight on her wrists as his grip tightened to a vice.

“I think I’m about to reach…that point,” he growled, asking, “Are you ready as well?”

She nodded, and started quivering and trembling impatiently under and around him as the wait for the promise in his words dragged on, until he reached under her chin with his free hand, tilting her head up at him so he could make sure she saw his stern glare. Rivka slowed her breath, exhaling fully as she attempted to calm down. As Solas released her chin, she also felt his grip around her wrists vanish.

“Hands on the table again, vhenan,” Solas ordered, further commanding, “Let’s not have any distractions, shall we?”

Grasping her hips again, he ploughed into her savagely, grunting and groaning in ancient elvhen as he brought himself to his climax, flushing her insides with his release. Rivka heard his voice, as though from a vast distance, saying, “Now, vhenan. Be with me here and now.”

The floodgates tore open there and then, as she screamed to the high heavens, her palms digging into the table as she ignored the last of his commands, slamming her rear into his hips to drive herself over the top, feeling her own fluids flood her pussy, mixing with his as they dripped out of her and along her thighs, trickling downwards to stain her slippers and, ultimately, the floor of Solas’ study.

Rivka flopped bonelessly onto the surface of his desk, breathing hard and quivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, even as she felt him withdraw at last, the final strands connecting the two breaking in the middle and falling upon the ground.

Long moments passed before, in the blink of an eye, she found herself transported back into her own bed, all offending fluids cleaned up, and naked under her sheets. Rivka gasped, sitting up and turning around to find Solas next to her under the bedcovers, also similarly undressed.

Smiling, he asked her, “Was that everything you expected it to be?”

Her cheeks flushed, Rivka nodded wordlessly as she slowly regained her composure, finally managing to answer, “Yes. I…didn’t know if it’d all work out but…you were so commanding, and it felt so right.”

“I’m glad you appreciated it,” he said, asking, “Although I do wonder if all of your fantasies are this…vivid?”

“What do you mean?”, she asked, it apparently being her turn.

“Simply that there are few whom I have known or met would so willingly…let themselves be used, as such,” he said.

Rivka asked in equal parts hesitance and defensiveness, “You’re not judging me, are you?”

“Not in the least,” Solas answered quickly. “I just was curious as to whether your own romances in the physical world ever took such turns as our times together here have.”

She shook her head, explaining, “No, the last time I was…with someone…was shortly before the Conclave. We’d both been dispatched by our clan to attend the Conclave, and we both knew it’d be the last time we’d see each other for a while, if at all. He was a nice lad, and we spent the night beforehand gently and tenderly.”

“I see,” he said, then coming to a realisation. “If you were both at the Conclave then…”

Rivka nodded her head slowly and sadly, confirming his deductions. “Ismael didn’t make it. Neither did his brother Esaias.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Solas said. “Forgive me for dredging that pain up again.”

She now shook her head curtly. “It’s alright. It hurts less nowadays. But you’re right, I think. I’m only this…adventurous…in the Fade. I don’t know if it’s the Fade itself inducing this, or…”

“…your thoughts about me?”, he asked.

“You know me too well,” Rivka said with a laugh. “Still, thanks for bringing me somewhere warmer and cozier after all of that. Have we time to just…lie here a while?”

Solas smiled, saying, “We have all the time we want or need, vhenan. Come over here.”

Taking him up on his invitation, Rivka slid down the bed and rolled over until she was close enough to put her arms around him, and him hers, burying her face in her shoulder and relaxing into his body as the minutes before the sunrise, and the inevitable return to their responsibilities in the daytime, slowed to eternity.

@dadrunkwriting

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