#hallaatme

*****

What was wrong with her?

Here she was, dating an attractive, intelligent, and entirely all too considerate man and she just couldn’t move things forward. There was little more she wanted; the way he kissed her melted her from the inside out, the way he looked caused her heart to stutter erratically, and she was all too certain those long, dexterous fingers of his could do a lot more than simply pull her close or hold her hand.

Creators, how badly she wanted him.

Surely if that was what he wanted, he would have made it clear by now, right? What was he waiting for?

What was she waiting for?

*****

Without thinking about it, she shifted into her bear form, nodded to herself, and sent her first message.

HallaAtMe: Hi

“Yes. Brilliant, Ellana. You are a master of eloquence.”

Her hands hovered over the keyboard nervously, debating sending another message that was at least slightly less cringe, when he answered.

Dread: Hello.

“Oh, great, we’re both idiots.”

Inky mewed and stretched, almost as if agreeing with the assessment, and Ellana cast her cat a look of pure betrayal.

“That’s wholly unnecessary, Miss.”

Inky yawned, curled up into herself, and pressed her paw into her forehead as she closed her eyes, removing herself from the conversation with the finality only a cat can truly express.

From: That Year at Arlathan University, Chapter 23: The Inquisitor: (Spoilers I guess since this is near the end of the story.)

“Our history… We were so wrong about you,“ “Were you? Have I not lied to you? Deceived you? Perhaps your Dalish curse best suits the occasion,” he laughed pitifully. “‘May the Dread Wolf take you,’ indeed,” “Well, I mean, in all fairness… you did… several times actually-“ “You should know I never laid with you under false pretenses,” the intensity in his voice drew her gaze, and she had never believed any words more than those that he had just uttered. She didn’t care about any technicalities; whatever name he went by and whatever his past was, a part of her had accepted him for all he was despite missing so much of the picture. She had deliberately given him time to process and share his secrets at his own pace. Now he was just being too severe for his own good. “Is this why we’ve never done doggy style?” “Ellana-“ “You know, I thought that dick in the frescoes was familiar-“ “This is serious, my love,” his hand graced her cheek again, forcing her to meet his eye, but the slight twinge of a smirk on his lips told her she’d made her point.

The thing I like about this particular scene the most is that it hits all my favorite things about writing fanfiction: it's the core of the romance, it's a reframing of a canon event, and I still got to be silly with it with a dumb joke or two that I feel landed well. It's Ellana and Solas at their most refined essence in this story, even though it's a conversation in the Fade. It came very easily when I wrote it and, to me, that's the sign of a scene that was always going to be core to the story.

From: Raid Nights, Chapter 8: Side Quest:

Solas would have been humiliated if the whole song and dance of it all wasn't so incredibly attractive. It turned out that when Ellana was confident in her skill at something, she showed it whole-heartedly, even while making mistakes. It was a trait he’d noticed as she’d gotten better in WoW, and it was fully on display now in the arcade. He liked it. With a chuckle, he gestured to the cabinet to let her play out the bonus match against the AI. She shook her head with a laugh. “It’s okay. Someone else can enjoy the credit. After all, I’m here to play with you.” He was grateful that as she turned to lead him further down the aisle the arcade was too dim to show the flush running up his ears. Her tone clearly hadn’t meant it the way his brain had run away with it. “Come on now, it’s your turn. What do you think you can trounce me at?” Solas paused for a moment, tilting his head thoughtfully, before he moved forward with a gentle, tentative touch to her lower back to guide her to another row of machines. When he stopped in front of a pair of racing seats, she looked up at him incredulously. “Initial D? You’re a racing game guy?” “Actually,” he started, reaching his hand around her waist from behind and sliding his hand downward, pressing into the curve of her hip just long enough to draw a staggered breath from her, only to then pluck the game card from where it stuck out from her front jean pocket. When he leaned in to speak into her ear, he thought he heard her inhale. “I’m a race car guy. Or I was, once. Surely you noticed my vehicle isn’t standard?” She bit at her lip and looked up at him apologetically, slowly turning to face him. They were close now, impossibly close, and as his eyes flicked down to her lips, he knew it would only take leaning in just a little further to—

The fun thing about Raid Nights was (and is) pulling from my own personal experiences and relationship and translating them to Solavellan. I get to exaggerate some and inject a little extra romance, but I also get to hide little nuggets of real life that feel like secrets between me and my spouse (and even though he doesn't actually read any of it, he's subject to me reading most of it out loud and cross-checking his banter).

I leaned on him a lot for car stuff in this chapter because Mr. Dayntee was exactly like this when we first started dating; in fact, on our first date, he zoomied in the same kind of car I describe Solas having in Raid Nights and I spent most of the ride with my hand white-knuckled on his car door handle (much to his amusement). This was over a decade and a half ago at this point and he's chilled out a lot (much like I indicate Solas has with years past), but he's still cheeky and playful and there will always be that slightly reckless side of him I can't say isn't terribly attractive.

Plus I really murdered myself with this whole pulling-the-arcade-card-out-of-her-pocket move and I'd be lying if I said I can't stop thinking about it. 🫦

Last, but not least, we have Ame'lin, from A Cascade of Kindness, Chapter 2: To Live:

The longer his story stretched on, the quieter Ame'lin grew and in the few glances he threw her way, her face was impassive and neutral. She was listening, absorbing, taking in every word, but showing no emotion one way or another. Now, in front of the place of his awakening, she slowly stepped forward, placing her hand on the crude, worn outline of what was, once, an intricately engraved outline of a wolf’s head. Her fingers traced over it slowly, and as she reached the bottom, her hand fell away and she turned to look at him. “That is quite the tale, Fen’Harel,” she whispered, and he took in a shuddering breath. The title sounded foul, spoiled from her mouth. He did not like that. “It has been an age since I have worn that mantle. I am not eager to wear it again.” “But it is true? You’re… him?” He couldn’t bear to say it out loud, as it felt too heavy a sin, so he simply nodded. She watched him for a moment, and a scatter of emotions crossed her face. Sadness. Pity. Perhaps a bit of confusion. Finally, she sighed, stepping over to an outcropping of rock on the hill that housed the shrine, and sat. She gestured him over. Eventually, he found the will to join her. They sat quietly for a time, simply existing, little more on the air than the sound of the wind through the trees or the occasional songbird enjoying the warmth of spring that had finally broken through. The roads would be safe to travel soon. His recovery had come a long way. Solas’ time with the Dalish had every reason to end. “So what’s next?” Ame’lin turned to him and, when he met her eyes, he realized now she was truly seeing him for what he was. Everything he was. And, as far as he could tell, she had rejected none of it. “I admit that I have thought little of it since I first woke. You have been… Your clan has been a distraction, if a welcome and… needed one.” “So the Dread Wolf has no plan?” The smallest smile curled her lips, and she chuckled. “Well, at least some of the stories are right then. You are a little mad.” He couldn’t help the stretch of his lips to a self-deprecating smile. She was unbelievable. “I suppose my next steps begin with leaving Clan Lavellan.” Her smile faltered, and she turned away, looking back out over the tree line they were only just barely above. It was late afternoon; they would either need to hurry back, or camp for the evening on the way. “Then I’ll go with you.” What? “That is- There is no need-“ “There is every need. You have no one else, at least that you know of, to call an ally. You have no plan. You don’t know this age or the people that live in this world. And correct me if I’m wrong, but have I not, at the very least, become your friend?” At the question, she returned her eyes to his, and there was nothing but warmth within them. Ridiculous. Impossible. Undeniably stubborn. “You are…” He breathed a sigh and shook his head helplessly. “You are.”

This scene is special for a number of reasons. It's a very vulnerable one for both characters: they're both trusting someone utterly and totally for the first time in their lives. In all likelihood, I think this might actually be where they start falling in actual love with one another, but it takes more time for them to move to that next stage given both their hang ups.

“What do you want to do tonight?” She leaned over the back of the couch, hair drifting over her shoulder and hanging above him, providing an ample view of her chest from below mostly on purpose. His eyes flitted to the end of whatever paragraph he was reading before he glanced up with a brief double take, his attention clearly redirected.

“I am… flexible. Whatever sounds like fun,” he reached a hand up to run his fingers through her trailing, wavy hair and she gave him a lopsided smirk.

“I’m very aware of your flexibility, sweetie. But I want to know what you’d like to do.”

“I have one thought.” His long arms afforded him the reach to brush a thumb over her cheek, and she released a breathy half chuckle, half sigh. This had become a more common conversation as weeks stretched on. She’d ask any number of questions from what to do to what to eat and received little more than a string of non-answers or redirections. Whether it was borne from true indifference or a deference to her desires was unclear. It had been charming at first, but now…