Alistair's Mabari

‘Garrus?’

Tali voice echoed in the Main Battery, diverting the turian’s attention from his usual calibrations. He sighed a bit inwardly, already giving up the illusion of getting his work done in peace.

‘What is it Tali?’ he asked, his subarmonics vibrating with a hint of annoyance.

‘Uhm...I think you’d want to get down here? I heard Shepard screaming multiple words that my translator couldn’t pick up, though I suspect they were all swears…’ the quarian girl admitted, a bit preoccupied.

Whatever was going on down on Deck Four, it probably wasn’t good.

Nothing that involved a screaming Shepard was ever good. And most of the time it was worse for the other party involved.

Again, Garrus sighed in defeat.

‘On my way.’

The scene that was currently unfolding in front of his eyes was something he had certainly not anticipated.

But there he was, standing on the stairs to the lower level of the Engineering deck, watching as the mighty Commander Shepard crawled through tubes and other instalment, all the while quietly muttering to herself about…something regarding small hairy and adorable yet sneaky animals?

‘Shepard?’ he tentatively asked, mandibles flaring lightly in confusion.

The woman, well aware of his presence, – there never were a time when Shepard wasn’t aware of his presence – ordered him to hush.

She had a mission, and it was of vital importance not to make too much noise (or at least less noise that she had in the first two minutes of that frustrating quest).

Her imposition for silence only made Garrus more confused than before.

‘Shepard, I know the destiny of the galaxy is a crushing weight, but why are you crawling down here?’ he tried once more.

His answer dashed in front of him a minute later, scurrying quickly from one side to the other of the narrow space Jack had once reclaimed as her quarters.

Shepard jumped forward the moment the fuzzy thing passed in front of her eyes, but the animal seemed to be quicker than its clumsy chaser, and sped out of her reach, disappearing in the safety of shadows.

‘Oh fuck me!’ the Commander groaned from her spot on the ground.

Garrus couldn’t help the chuckle that left his throat.

The almighty Valery Shepard, sprawled on the floor, pouting and mouthing obscenity towards a fuzzy ball of hair was a sight that not many could say to have witnessed. And survived, most likely.

But it was a sight that amused Garrus to no end.

‘Well, when you put it like that…’ he trailed off, crossing his arms and cocking a hip out.

Val shot a glare up at her boyfriend being all sassy at her and didn’t miss the sparkle behind his eyes.

‘Very funny big guy, very funny…’ she bit back, raising from the floor and dusting her clothes off.

‘So, are you here to laugh at me or are you actually going to give me a hand and capture that little furry bastard?’ she demanded, standing and mimicking what she had labelled his “sassy-pose”.

‘Oh, I’m not here to help you. I just got called to make sure that you weren’t trying to destroy your own ship.’ he said, mandibles wide in a very Garrus-like grin. ‘But, if you really want to know, your furry thing is going to come out of his hidey-hole in three, two, one…’ he trailed off, watching his girlfriend’s senses going haywire for second and then recover in a blink of an eye (even though Turians couldn’t really blink…) before she jumped down on the floor with unsurprising ease.

The scream of victory that left her lungs once the Hamster had been successfully secured, could be heard through the whole Normandy – quiet literally – and attracted the attention of the whole Deck Four and Five.

In a minute the small space was crammed with people.

‘Aye Commander, I see ya’ finally got the little besterd!’ Donnelly laughed, while Gabby shook her head even though she was smirking.

‘So that’s what she was doing down here then.’ Tali stated more than asked, not in the least surprised by her friend behaviour.

‘Should I write a piece about how you fearlessly rescued your hamster, Commander?’ Diana Allers chuckled.

‘Please do!’ was Cortez amused suggestion.

Vega shot one of his puns at his Commanding Officer, causing a general laugh, that was almost immediately followed by a disgruntled Javick rumbling something on the lines of “This damn primitives”.

After some more well-placed jabs at the Commander, they were all dismissed by the latter with some very convincing threat that had them all scurrying out in no time.

Only Garrus stayed back to accompany her back and maybe make a bit more fun out of her accomplishment.

‘Say one word, and the next stop of the Normandy will be an undefined amount of time on Noveria.’ She simply told him once they made it back in the elevator, at which he thought better than to speak up.

He hated Noveria, after all.

Wintersand had knocked on the doors of Skyhold, and the whole keep had gone in a frenzy to prepare for the festivities. It was not an unseen event, that during dark times people needed a little reminder of normality, and the Inquisition had deemed it necessary to keep the morale of its people up.

And so, as per tradition in the Southern countries, merchants, bards, musicians and actors flooded the yards of the Keep, bringing merriment and entertainment to whoever wished to partake in the festivities. A small stage had been built in the inner courtyard, where people could enjoy various performances brought to them from actors, poets and others performers that had flocked to Skyhold to celebrate; a small but well supplied market had sprouted near the stables, with stalls selling wares that varied from rare books, to trinkets, to food and ale. In the lower bailey, for the enjoyment of the soldiers and the bookies – of which Varric Tethras was the undisputed leader – a ring now stood in the middle, providing fine entertainment for whomever wished to participate, be it as a watcher or a fighter.

In the upper bailey, just outside the Herald’s Rest, a crowd had gathered to assist to a rare event: the Inquisitor had forwent her business attire, opting for what she had described as the traditional clothes of her people, and was dancing to whatever tunes the bards and musicians were playing.

Inquisitor Esmeralda Trevelyan was of gipsy blood, something she had never hidden from anyone who simply cared to ask, and she was proudly representing her people and heritage, dancing with a smile on her lips and a sway in her hips, bracelets made of golden circles playing in tune with her every movement, clinking each time her wrists and ankles moved to the music.

Everyone was staring in awe, men and women alike, eyeing her body bend and turn with every note, looking at her sun-kissed chocolate skin left expose by her colorful blouse and long skirt, kept up with a hand as the other gestured in the air.

Yes, everyone was looking…even him.

Solas was standing near the entrance to the smithy, leaning on the wooden wall, with his arm crossed over his chest and his eyes transfixed on the flexible figure of the Inquisitor.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. He hadn’t, in fact, stopped looking from the second she had stepped outside dressed like that. No matter how many times he cursed himself, commanded himself to look away and turn back to his studies, – he had so much work to do, this festivities weren’t really something that interested him, after all – but he couldn’t.

In part because Esmeralda had been so enthusiast about the whole ordeal that he had felt almost compelled to participate, lest he came face to face with guilt, but the less rational part of him knew he was there for her.

He had fought against his better judgment for months, and it had been to no avail.

He wanted her.

He wanted her the way a man wanted a woman.

He wanted all of her.

And he wanted it all for his own and his own only.

The sudden silence stunned him out of his own head. His eyes immediately refocused on Esmeralda, and he saw her conferring with another woman who was dressed similarly to her; another gipsy, perhaps. The two exchanged some quick banter, and soon after the woman with blazing red hair left the circle and went to stand next to a band of musicians.

The music started, and Solas was immediately confused: from the sound of it, it was boding to be a song that was everything but joyous or particularly right to be danced on, but a quick glance over to the Inquisitor revealed a look of determination and a slight smirk on her deep crimson lips.

The woman with fiery hair started to chant in a low voice, words tumbling out of her lips in what sounded like…Tevene?

He frowned as he kept listening, his eyes never leaving Esmeralda.

And then the first stanza drifted in the air…

“Beata Andraste You know I am a righteous man Of my virtue I am justly proud”

Solas’ eyes widened as the words hit him squarely in the chest; leaving aside the fact that the singer had a voice so powerful it could speak to the soul, or the fact that the song was addressed to Andraste, those first two lines cut through his defenses with surprising ease.

He barely had the time to compose himself, and the song went on.

“Beata Andraste You know I'm so much purer than The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd”

He had never felt so singled out amidst a crowd before; it was as if the woman had been in his head, had listened to his most private thoughts and was now baring him in front of the world.

“Then tell me, Andraste Why I see her dancing there Why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul”

Solas froze in place as the song went on, the words seeping even deeper in his mind. How come the words were so spot on? How come they were describing exactly the way he felt each time Esmeralda looked at him with those bright green eyes?

“I feel her, I see her The sun caught in raven hair Is blazing in me out of all control”

He watched, mouth tense in a thin line and eyes terse; he watched as Esmeralda danced on the words of that song that seemed to be taken directly from the very essence of his soul, he listened as the woman with fiery hair and the voice of a goddess sang out loud the very thoughts that he had conjured in the utmost hidden recesses of his own mind. He watched as the dying sun of late afternoon danced over her skin and caught in her raven hair, shining bright lights over the shadows each time it found the mirror-like surface of her golden bracelets.

“Like fire Hellfire This fire in my skin This burning desire Is turning me to sin”

At this point the music and the voice picked up speed and volume, and Solas had to restrain himself from doing something rush that he would regret. His lips had bared in a sneer, his pride flashing in anger at feeling so utterly exposed.

And it was so truthful, what the song was saying!

He did feel like a sinner, as if the desire he could feel burning just beneath his skin could lead him astray, or worse.

“It's not my fault I'm not to blame It is the gypsy girl The witch who sent this flame”

An image painted itself in the eye of his mind as he kept his stare fixed on the elegant form of the Inquisitor. He saw her, Esmeralda, with flames dancing on her and around her, as she commanded fire with her smooth movements, binding it to do her will. It was enticing, almost intoxicating to imagine her so, bare and covered in flames, dancing for him, only for him.

“It's not my fault If in the Maker’s plan He made the devil so much Stronger than a man”

Yes, it was not his fault.

He was a man.

A man with needs and desires.

A man that, in his time, had been able to obtain whatever he wanted with just a look or a gesture.

But was he so weak to be unable to resist the temptations in front of him? And what temptation could a mortal, human, woman hold for him, a God?

“Protect me, Andraste Don't let this siren cast her spell Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone Destroy Esmeralda And let her taste the fires of Hell Or else let her be mine and mine alone”

The next stanza shook him out of whatever dark circle of hell he had fell into, bringing him back down on the ground with unexpected force.

Solas found himself with his mouth agape, breathing heavily, his heart hammering mercilessly in his chest, beads of sweat pearling his forehead.

What was he even thinking?

What distasteful thoughts had his mind conjured?

No, there was no way he would ever want to harm Esmeralda…

Though, somewhere deep, deep, down and away, he could find a small voice agreeing with those words…

“Hellfire Dark fire Now gypsy, it's your turn Choose me or Your pyre Be mine or you will burn”

As the end of the song neared, he felt drained.

He was confused beyond measure, not sure if that was all a very unsettling vision that his mind and the faded had conjured to torment him.

“Maker have mercy on her Maker have mercy on me But she will be mine Or she will burn!”

The song finally ended, with the singer touching the heights of it alongside the musicians, but by then Solas had already stopped caring; he had eyes only for Esmeralda, whose body was just now coming to a stop, with both knees on the ground, head thrown onwards, curly raven hair covering her face from view.

He didn’t even notice how silence had befallen the whole keep during the performance, no, he could only see and hear Esmeralda.

And when the clapping started, his heart stopped.

The Inquisitor rose her head, hair cascading over her bare shoulders, and her emerald eyes immediately found Solas. She looked at him defiantly, with challenge, and knowledge, and focus, and the same burning desire he felt.

His breath hitched as realization hit him squarely on the jaw.

She knew.

Yes, she knew, and she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.