#scharoux

It’s been 84 years since I wrote anything, largely thanks to Smol Beach, but when @scharoux asked me to do a commission for the 14 Days of DA Lovers event, I couldn’t resist this delicious, angsty prompt.

Thank you as always for trusting me with Rhaella, Sacha, and everyone check out all the lovely art and writing for the event!

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Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas

Rating: G

Rhaella was over the edge of the cliff before she knew what had happened.

One moment - frost at her fingertips as she cast a glyph to freeze the Red Templar barrelling towards her - the next - nothing but iron-grey sky and her stomach hollowing out as she fell. She was too shocked to be afraid, to do anything but fall. Her right side hurt. Why did it hurt so terribly?

She shouldn’t be falling.

She needed to stop falling.

“Rhaella!”

Rhaella for the lovely @scharoux <3 Thank you for always being so nice! and supportive <3

Day 11 - Love Potion

Pairing - Post Trespasser Solavellan

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He heard footsteps approaching, light and quick, two sets.

“Report,” Solas said, voice firm and carrying. He didn’t bother turning away from the desk and papers before him.

His scouts saluted briefly before kneeling in some strange form of deference that he had never demanded of them. It made them comfortable to revere him in this way and Solas strategically did nothing to change that.

“The caches are clear, Fen’Harel. We made contact with the informant.”

“Very good.” He nodded once, standing to his full height. The weight of his armour pulled at his shoulders as he squared them. “Anything else?”

He saw them shift a glance between themselves from his periphery before the shorter one spoke.

“We found...uhm, offerings sir, a-at several of your statues on our way there and back. We left them for the moment and informed our commander, however it was very strange.”

“In what way?” Solas asked.

The other spoke this time. “They were all the same. Vials filled with some unidentified liquid. And attached were notes…”

“Notes?” He prompted.

“Yes, they were sealed, we left them alone.”

“I see. Thank you.” The dismissal was obvious. The two stood, turned, and left.

Vials and notes? Solas caught the hum in his throat before he could vocalize it.

He sent a small dispatch to go and collect the offerings en masse in the early morning hours. When Solas awoke the next day— chest hollowed and mind sharp after a night of watching Lavellan from the outskirts of the Fade— they were already on his desk. Meticulously organized vials that almost glowed an opalescent pink. The glasses that contained the unassuming potion were intricately made, all sloping curves and smooth grooves, each sealed with a wax dipped cork and shimmering ribbon. Afixed to each ribbon was a small roll of parchment the same colored wax as the cork and a tiny red thread smooshed into the center of a numbered seal—presumably to make opening easier.

His instincts told him he already knew who was behind this, but his curiosity still managed to get the better of him.

Surely there could be no great harm. They were given as an offering to him, so it would be rude to ignore them. That’s what he told himself to dissuade any guilt as he took the vial labeled with a waxed stamped ‘1’ in hand.

He inspected it carefully, turning it over with his fingers. He felt no great thrall coming from the liquid inside, and he sent out a brief brush of mana to see if it would respond in any way. It did not. The color was quite beautiful, regardless.

Solas moved on to the tiny scroll, slowly unraveling the ribbon that held it fast to the impotent potion, pulling the thread through the wax and unrolling it to reveal the contents inside.

In perfect, neat pen was a message:

“Made you look. Enjoy the rest.”

It was unmistakably the Inquisitor's hand. Solas went for the next vial, giving it the same amount of caution and care as the first.

Another message:

“Have you sampled the love potion yet? Us Dalish are well known for them and it is an easy way to make a pretty copper off of a lovestruck fool. I do believe we inherited this deceptive trait from somewhere, although the source alludes me at the moment.”

He was already opening the third message, and then the fourth and so on and so on. Her words filled his head as if she were there, whispering them besides him.

“Fear not, they are only poisonous if you have an allergy to berry blossoms, fish scales, or mint… and if you are allergic to any of the above then this is far more hostile than intended and I apologize.”

“Usually, we’ll attach little bits of romanticism to these. Sometimes, even a bit or eroticism. That always costs more, of course. I will be sending a very large bill ℅ Fen’Harel.”

“Here is an example: ‘Tis that a sword in its sheath or are thou happy to see me?’ ...It was not very romantic, nor compelling. I do doubt the lady was lucky that night, but I will never forget her forwardness.”

“It is in that spirit of forwardness that I forward these sentiments to you. I do suggest you sit down. And before you ask yourself ‘Surely, this must be the work of the great Master Tethras’, no Varric did not help me with these. Could you imagine how much worse they’d be? You may well soon find out, already I am running out of trite cliches.”

Solas shook his head, doing as the note suggested and settling in. With a bit of unconscious mirth he read the next message:

“May I compare thee to a summer’s wind, you hot old fart.”

And Solas laughed, actually laughed. He had not done so since dawning Fen’Harel again completely and something in his chest loosened significantly.

She was so absurd, so ridiculous. So very very wonderful. Never let it be said that the Inquisitor wasn’t effective.

Her love potions had worked and he had not even consumed a single drop.