#solas fic

“Is this what you looked like, before you gained a body?” Lavellan reached out, lifting her finger towards one of the delicate phantasms. Thin tendrils of gossamer light brushed and delicately intertwined with her seeking fingers.

“Of the same ilk. I was much larger, far more sentient than these wisps of intelligence.”

She lowered her gaze to his. The blueish glow illuminated her face, casting her features into sharp relief against the dim backdrop and the orbs of dancing light above her head. “I saw what you once looked like, I think. In one of your frescos.”

“I imagine you did.” He hesitated, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. “May I ask your thoughts?”

“Beautiful. You were beautiful. Luminous.” She traced a fingertip across his cheeks, connecting the freckles that lay upon his fair skin in little constellations. “You still are.”

He sat up, enough to touch his nose to hers and give her an affectionate kiss.

She felt the curve of his smile as their lips brushed. She placed her hand against his abdomen, feeling the muscles shifting beneath his tunic. “I’m glad you decided to gain a body.”

Solas watched her, half amused, drinking in each graceful movement, the strands of her long hair cascading down her back and falling over a shoulder as she leant forward. “As am I.” Another light kiss. “Now more so than ever.”

She beamed at him. The radiance of her beauty dimming the waltzing lights above. Solas tucked a finger beneath her jaw, stroking her chin with his thumb. His eyes a dark amethyst as he regarded her, his thumb moved to caress the plump flesh of her bottom lip, watching as her mouth opened slightly in response.

He loved her.

How he loved her.

Every beat of her heart echoed within his own soul. His own spirit, once unbound from notions such as love and lust, now clothed in flesh.

He had never looked at her in such a way, not even in their stolen moments back in Skyhold. She saw his eyes drawn magnetically to her lips, the touch of his fingers causing her blood to quicken.

Drawn by the electricity between the two perhaps, a wisp alighted on Lavellan’s shoulder, tangling soft strands of essence in her hair. Solas released his hold on her chin, grinning as he chuckled quietly. “They seem to be drawn to you.”

“Maybe it’s the energies left over from the anchor.”

“Mm, I postulate more readily it is your aura that draws them.” Solas coaxed the wisp from her shoulder where it obediently drifted into the palm of his hand. He raised it back up and allowed it to float once more amongst its brethren. “Your own spirit is a rare and marvelous force, vhenan.”

“I seem to remember you saying something along those lines long ago.”

“Ah…yes.” Solas’ face fell slightly, the act of remembrance for him eternally bittersweet.

Lavellan slid her touch down his shoulders, taking his hands, speaking softly. “Do you remember our first kiss?”

His lips tilted upwards at the well-worn memory. “Every detail.”

She watched the movement of his lushly curved mouth, studying with loving awe the beauty of his features. “How you said it was ill-considered and impulsive?”

She moved in and pressed a kiss to the healing skin under each of his eyes. Kissed all the freckles scattered across his cheeks like stars.

“Yes.” Solas leaned into her, closing his eyes, inhaling her warm breath as it ghosted across him. He pushed aside the guilt still gnawing at him for what he had done to her, allowed it to be consumed and burned away by her persevering love. “I remember it all.” He caught her chin again, moving her so he could see her eyes. “The way you looked at me across the campfire, ‘lingering’ as Madame de Fer aptly described. The rise and fall of your chest becoming more pronounced whenever I would brush against your body in passing, or when healing your wounds.”

“Solas…”

But he continued. “The ache of wishing to forsake all my plans and just be with you. How much that inferno of desire frightened me.” Solas drew her closer, their noses almost touching. “The scent of your hair, the warmth of your skin, the curve of your body, it all threatened to undo me. Undo everything I had worked countless years towards.”

“Do you still think of us as ill-considered and impulsive?” Lavellan had to ask the question, even if she could see how deeply it affected him, the slight wince and tensing of his features.

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He relishes the way the moonlight dances across her freckles and vallaslin. In the beginning, seeing those markings on her had only brought him a detached sort of sorrow, having seen them adorn the faces of many Dalish over his long, endless centuries. If there existed a vallaslin for Fen’Harel, he wondered what he would feel if she had chosen it. Would she choose him now, when she knew the truth of her peoples’ Old Gods?

Over time, as he came to know her, those markings had tapped into a deep well of rage within him- and shame. Unbearable shame. He was the reason she wore those markings on her face with no idea of the heinous past they truly represented. He was the reason she bore an ancient magic upon her hand that would eventually kill her. He was the reason her sky was torn open and every day of her life was a fight to survive now. He was the reason and she deserved so much better. 

Thus, she was the reason he was standing in this glade about to make a choice. A choice that would forever change his trajectory. A choice he cannot decide if it is brave to make or incredibly selfish of him. 

But she changes everything. He tried to resist it but with her every curious question about the Fade she worked her way into his heart. With every act of compassion she showed towards spirits, she embedded herself deeper until he found that she had lodged herself next to that well of emotion he had not drank from in centuries. Suddenly he felt. He felt fear and anger, joy and hope, grief. He felt it all, with her, for her. Solas realized it like a bright, clear sunrise dawning on him after centuries of clouded night. He loved her. And if he loved her, the only way to show it was with the truth. 

That truth, well, it may be the last conversation he is ever privileged to have with her. But she deserves it and he needs it. He needs to know if he has been…wrong. If there is another way that his pride prevented him from seeing. The path he walks, the Din’anshiral. It is one he would protect her from at all costs. But perhaps…it is not one he needs to walk at all. What if… What if this feeling blossoming in his heart… What if this seed of possibility sprouting roots inside of him… What if it meant everything was allowed to change? What if he was allowed to water it, nurture it into a future he had never considered before her?

“I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” Solas says to her. 

“That’s not necessary, Solas. You’re my…” She trails off, a question in her eyes. Her brows scrunch together and his fingers ache to reach out and smooth them down, to remove any weight of doubt from her mind about what she means to him. 

“That is the question, is it not? For now, the best gift I can offer is the truth…” Solas braces himself against the spike of fear. Would she still want to name what they are to one another after this? Would the only name to suffice be monster or enemy? 

“You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me - more important than I could have imagined.”

“As you are to me,” she responds, her eyes sparkling. 

“Then what I must tell you… The truth.” 

She watches him expectantly. Her fingers reaching out to lace with his own. Her touch sets off a sparking current of desire through him. He forces himself not to pull her closer and to look into her eyes as he says, “I am not who you think I am, vhenan.” Her lips part in confusion. “Or,” Solas continues gently. “I am not only who you think I am.” 

“Solas,” her fingertips brush his cheek. “What do you mean?”

Solas briefly clasps her fingers against his jaw before drawing her hand away. He swallows hard at the look of hurt that flutters across her face, but she did not know whom she touched. Not yet anyway. 

“I have spoken to you of the knowledge I have learned of through spirits in the Fade. And that is the true origin of some of my knowledge. The rest…” She nods slowly up at him, encouraging him to go on. “I was there, vhenan. Many millennia ago, when what your people call the Old Gods walked the land.” 

“Solas, I don’t…” she shakes her head, takes the smallest step away from him that threatens to shatter his resolve into panic. 

“Solas came first,” he says. “Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, came after.” He watches her so closely, studying her reaction like she is the Fade he has spent centuries of his life devoted to understanding. 

“Fen’Harel,” she whispers the name, his name. Then she takes another step, this time towards him, and it is the most important step in Solas’ long life. “Tell me, Solas. Tell me everything.” 

And so he does. The words spill from him, painting a picture of his life across a canvas that she watches with the curiosity and compassion that he has come to love her by. She does not flinch away when the colors grow dark and the shapes become jagged. Does not reach out in grief to shred the portrait of a false god that undoes every single thing she has been taught. 

When he tells her the truth of the mark upon her hand, she squeezes his own with it, the mark pressed between them like an oath to own this mistake as one. When he finally lifts his brush, his words running dry, she steps into him. Her hand lifts to cup his face again. Tears glisten in her eyes, falling silently down her cheeks. 

“Ma vhenan, we will carry this together.”

There is a fire in her voice that warms the icy waters of numbing grief Solas has drowned in for so long. It is a gift, her words. A gift Solas cannot believe he is worthy of receiving. A magic he did not know if he dared to wield. But she changes everything. And she can, they can.  

He reaches out, wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he tells her. One last truth, as he weaves his hand into her hair, tilts her face up to his. 

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she responds, a glorious smile alighting her features.

Solas captures it in his mind, then with his own lips. A hunger breaking free of the reservoir he has kept it bottled within, eager to be quenched. She meets his passion, her arms winding around his neck. His hand roams down her back, pressing her tighter against him. She gasps his name, Solas, against his lips and he is undone. She exists and she sees him and she is choosing him. 

He pulls her to the forest floor with him. As her hands brace against his chest, her hips bracketing his own, his hands tangle in her hair as she hovers over him… As her lips crash down over his and Solas experiences a jubilation he is not sure he has ever known…

The Dread Wolf wakes up. No weight against his body. No warmth against his lips. The frigid well of his regrets, his shame, his grief, are his only company and absolutely no relief for the thirst her absence parches him with.

This dream comes to Solas often. Haunts him with the ghost of a choice he almost made, but did not. In another world, perhaps he would have known her love like that. She would know all of his names and he would give all of his heart. Despite the pain this dream afflicts him with, he cannot bear to will it away. He does not believe Fen’Harel deserves her love, because she does not deserve the hurt it would lead her to. Solas had a choice once to envision a different path. This dream reminds him of that. Though it tortures him, he believes this, Fen’Harel, does deserve. He had planned to tell her everything then, regardless of whether it was brave or selfish, because she deserved to know. He did not, so perhaps he deserves to suffer for it. 

Solas stares into the darkness of his room for a moment more. Letting the memory of her lips whisper a what if against his soul. What if he had chosen to trust her? What if he had let himself love her? What if he had let her love him? What if he was not so alone? What if he had done what she deserved from him? What if he was wrong?

When she stepped into the Fade, hand in hand with her love, Sulah had no preconceived notion of what to expect on the other side, nor did she spend a moment speculating about what it could possibly be. She was with Solas, after all, and there was no use in trying to predict his actions. It was funny, really—how she found him predictable and surprising all in the same. No, there was little use trying to guess where in the Fade he would lead them. Nonetheless, she wasn't sure she would have ever expected this.

The pocket of the Fade they walked into was dull and gray as stone. In fact, most of it was stone. Fragments of buildings and debris floated slowly through the foggy sky above. Tendrils of winding roots grew up through cracks in the stone. There were staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere, and twisted, barren trees clinging to broken columns and walls. The air was so still it felt stifling in Sulah’s lungs. And Solas, downtrodden and bruised, looked like he belonged there. Like he was part of the backdrop. As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke.

“It is a reflection of what I am. What I don't want to be.” He paused, dropping his head. “What I don't want to face.”

“This is how you atone?”

“I told you it would be terrible.”

“And I told you forever.” Sulah turned to him, heart aching for the bloodied mess of his face. “I meant it.”

Solas lifted his head enough to look at her through glassy, violet eyes. “I don’t deserve you, vhenan.”

“I think that’s up to me,” she said, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. “Let’s talk, my love. Before you start making your amends.”

They sat with their backs against a nearby stone wall. Solas’s eyes alternated between being heavy with sleep and haunting despair. He looked so much older than she remembered him—not physically, really, but in the way he seemed to be held down with millennia of burden. On the other hand, he had the heartbreaking demeanor of a child unable to emotionally grasp the multitude of his feelings.

“I don’t know… where to start,” he breathed. With one look at her, a hint of hope glimmered amongst the sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you. Desperately so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Sulah’s voice cracked as she spoke, a stream of tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away and smiled sadly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

His kiss tasted of salt and metal. She didn’t care about the wounds on his face or the small gash on his lip still swelling with blood. It had been a decade since she tasted him, touched him, spoke to him. Even though she knew he visited in her dreams, he never made contact—only watched, a dark figure in the distance. How she longed to reach out for him every time, to pull him close and find solace in his arms like she used to. Sulah crawled in front of him, her knees aching as they pressed into the cold stone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a brief hesitation, Solas rested his hands on her waist, his touch timid at first, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. But his touch grew more confident by the second, and soon his arms were wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. It felt as if a missing piece of her heart had been restored, held in place by molten gold.

“I don’t know that I can possibly tell you all of it. Perhaps I could… show you, instead.” With a single thought, Solas willed into the Fade a blue crystal statuette of a wolf, not unlike the one Sulah found when his ritual failed. He held it, concentrated on it, and its core radiated bright blue magic. He held the figure out to her. As Sulah took it from him, their destitute surroundings swirled and dissolved, leaving her in front of a young Solas. His face was not quite so worn with pain and exhaustion like the one she knew. Long, auburn hair cascaded down the center of his head, falling over his shoulder as he turned to face the other elf in front of him.

“Solas, how could you?” the other elf asked. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, and his face was marked with Mythal’s branching vallaslin. The same branches that Sulah had tattooed underneath her eyes.

“I do not expect you to understand, Felassan,” Solas said, standing tall and proud as ever. “It was necessary for the enemy to believe we were committed. A heavy sacrifice, but one that gave us a real chance to end the war.”

“You knowingly sent those spirits to their deaths!” Felassan shouted. “We’re supposed to be better than this.”

Felassan spoke to Solas with the intimacy and confidence of a close friend, unafraid to confront his wrongdoings. Sulah could make out a hint of remorse in Solas’s eyes before his face hardened into a scowl.

“I did what had to be done.”

The scene dissipated. Ruins were replaced with the glorious landscape of ancient Arlathan, sprawling greenery among grand, floating palaces. Solas argued with an elven woman who Sulah now recognized as Mythal. She was identical to the spirit fragment she had seen before stepping into the Fade with Solas, only solid and real. The words they spoke were jumbled, as if Solas couldn’t remember the exact things said when he transferred the memory to the statue, but Sulah knew what they were discussing all the same: the Blight. Solas protested, pleaded with Mythal, before finally giving in to her demands.

“I will follow you always,” he said. Sulah had never heard him sound so defeated. A distinct and overwhelming sense of shame settled over her as the scene faded.

The memories continued like this, one after the other, each one brief but enough to show her the actions that haunted him. And enough to leave her with thousands of questions. She saw his regrets from centuries ago—memories of Mythal, Elgern’an, Ghilan’nain, the other Evanuris. She saw him destroy the legacy of the titans, and the corruption that introduced the Blight to the world. She saw his sorrow at the creation of the Veil, the loss of the world he knew, the unbreakable tether he had to Mythal, similar to a commandeering mother and a child eager to please her, desperate for her approval. She saw his plans to give Corypheus the orb go awry, the conflict raging inside of him as he fell in love with Sulah, the way he almost told her the truth that night in Crestwood. She felt the guilt he carried afterwards—that he still carried. She saw him devise his devious plan to mold Rook into someone the prison would take in his place. His betrayal and desperation.

She saw the despair in his eyes when he killed Varric.

Sulah stood on the raised platform where Solas orchestrated his ritual, watching as Varric climbed the stairs in an attempt to stop his friend. Even in a memory, the air was charged with powerful magic, culminating in a swirling wind that blew her hair into her face, obscuring her view. She could only make out fragments of the argument.

“You need to listen—”

“You have come a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric—”

“—able to give me a straight answer—”

“—rather than admit this is mine to solve—”

“—who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

Varric’s last statement stung like a knife. His words echoed as time slowed. Sulah felt the heavy burden of self doubt imbued in Solas’s memory as the two men locked eyes, their argument hanging in the air between them. In a chaotic flash, several things happened: Solas turned to continue the ritual, Varric attempted to pry the lyrium dagger from Solas’s hands, and the monuments of the Evanuris surrounding the ritual site began to fall. Somewhere in the chaos, while wrenching the dagger back from Varric’s grasp, the blade pierced through his chest. The sound of ripping flesh. The gasp from Varric’s mouth.

“NO!” Sulah shouted. Time had slowed, and she rushed to catch him as he stumbled, forgetting that it was no use. Her arms moved through him like a ghost.

Solas watched his friend fall to the bottom of the stairs, regret bubbling up inside of him at what he’d done. And still, the sense of doubt from Varric’s words lingered, sullying Solas’s certainty as innocent blood seeped through the fabric of his gloves.

He steeled himself with cold resolve and turned away.

The gray of the Fade prison came back into view. Sulah felt like she had been in Solas’s memories for hours, but neither her body nor his had moved from the ground against the wall. He watched her with bated breath, his jaw clenched, eyes glossy with fresh tears. Moments ago, she watched him command a rebellion, steadfast and resolute and proud. A powerful god among mortals. But the Solas in front of her now held little of the immense ancient spirit she’d seen. He was only a man, broken from the weight of his regrets.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, vhenan. Not even your understanding.” His voice broke, his next words spoken through a sob. “I am so sorry that I let you fall in love with a monster.”

Solas hugged his knees to his chest. His hands shook and his body trembled as he cried. It was pure, raw, searing emotion—and it was the first time she had ever seen him lose control of himself. Sulah had been lonely for years, yearning for the man who felt like home while sleeping cold in an empty bed, but she’d never felt as alone as she felt now, sitting in the vast emptiness of the Fade with a god shedding centuries’ worth of repressed agony that she could never possibly comprehend. He was the one who always seemed to know what to do, who had a plan for everything. He was the one more familiar with the Fade than the waking world. But he was also the one who had to face his regrets. His pain. And he had already proven that he couldn’t do that on his own.

“Solas,” she said, quiet and sad. “You killed Varric.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked through tears.

“I… I knew he was gone, but no one…” she trailed off, thinking back to the letter she received from Morrigan shortly after she met Rook and the others. Varric was gravely injured in an altercation. He did not make it. I am sorry you have to find out this way. “No one told me it was by your hand.”

“They were protecting you,” he said. “From the truth of what I am. Perhaps they shouldn’t have done so.”

Sulah sat in silence, trying to piece it all together in her mind.

“I never meant to hurt Varric,” Solas whispered. “I have harmed so many people, innocent people, and Varric… Varric….”

He stopped speaking and rested his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall on his armor.

“My love—”

“How can you possibly still love me, Sulah?” he snapped, a wolf showing his fangs. “I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me here. You do not.”

“Solas—”

“Would you truly—”

“Let me speak,” she said, stern and commanding. Her Inquisitor voice, the other members liked to call it. It worked. Solas nodded for her to continue. “To heal from your past, you have to confront it. It will be painful, but you must. Tell me about Varric.”

Solas sighed and let his head fall back to the wall, the apex of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Varric was a good man. He was my friend.” He closed his eyes and Sulah watched as a single tear ran down his bloodied face. She tried to hold back her own tears, but they streamed warm down her cheeks nonetheless.

“What would you say to him if he were here?”

“That it is one of my greatest regrets, one that I desperately wish I could take back. That I enjoyed his company on our journey years ago, and that I have missed him in the years since. And that I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Like a prayer, the final words escaped Solas’s mouth in a despondent whisper. In the distance, a structure resembling the skyline of Kirkwall crumbled. Sulah recognized it from her visit several years ago. She had only made it to Kirkwall once in the time that Varric was viscount, a position he reluctantly accepted, but one that she always suspected he secretly enjoyed. He took her to the cliffs of Sundermount, where Dalish sometimes set up camp. It looked remarkably like the area of the Free Marches her clan frequented before she left.

“I thought it might remind you of home”, he had said.

“I came here to see* your *home, Varric.”

“We’re doing that too.” he pointed across the water to the silhouetted, square buildings.

She smiled at the memory and let herself cry as the Kirkwall replica became an avalanche of stone plummeting into the abyss. When its final, broken pieces fell, Solas turned back to her and took a long breath. She looked at him, attempting to reconcile the Solas she knew and loved, the Solas in front of her now, with the Solas she saw in his memories. There was a cruel pride deep inside of him, one he tried to keep from her for so long. She could see it now, and it was fractured.

How could she possibly come to terms with all he had done? He had taken Varric away from this world, a man who, despite his faults, brought hope and friendship and humor into the world around him. She could feel the empty, aching shells of all the hearts who missed him—including her own. There were more adventures to be had, more books to be written, and Solas took it away. Away from Varric, away from the world. Sulah couldn’t bring herself to consider the even larger things he had done. The man she loved was responsible for the Blight. He tranquilized the Titans. He murdered his friends—sometimes on accident, sometimes for what he considered betrayal.

Sulah steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing in and out of her lungs. She let the world fall away until she could feel nothing but the essence of her soul spreading into her limbs, making her weightless. If Solas was a spirit of wisdom, what was she, deep down? A word stirred somewhere in the depths of her heart: patience.

“This is going to take a long time, vhenan.” Solas’s words roused her from contemplation.

“Yes,” she said. “For both of us, I think.”

For the first time since reuniting, he touched her of his own accord, studying her prosthetic arm with gentle fingers before resting his hand on her thigh beside it.

“It’s a good thing time doesn’t exist in the Fade, then.” Sulah placed her remaining hand on top of his. “To answer your earlier question, I choose to still love you despite your mistakes, Solas. I love you because I tried to move on, to meet other people, but none of them could touch whatever piece of my soul that you do. Every person I tried to give my heart to was a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. And I had to reconcile with myself that I love someone who would tear the world apart for his own stubborn pride. I know your heart, Solas. You are more than your mistakes.”

Sulah felt as if a small part of the rift between them had stitched itself back together; a fragile scar translucent and deep, but healing nonetheless. For a moment, the insurmountable hurdles she would have to help him overcome fell away. It was just the two of them, together in the Fade like all those years ago. She knew how the world would see them: the lovestruck Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. The cautionary tale of a Dalish girl who fell right into the jaws of Fen’Harel himself.

“Sulah,” Solas reached for her face with both hands, holding her like he had to be sure she wasn’t a mere reflection of his desire. “As long as you will have me, I swear to you: I will never abandon you again. You will have me, always.”

His kiss was soft, but charged with intention. Devotion. As they broke apart, he pulled Sulah into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

All of their da’len were rather pragmatic apart from Tamlen, who would cry over a crushed flower and agonize over every mistake.  Instinctively, all the other children tended to protect him.  It was sweet, but it would make things difficult when they tried to do everything for him.

Tamlen nodded, eyes serious and calm.  “Yes.  Cyris too, mumma.”

“Like papa an’ da!” Cyris agreed, voice scaling up in excitement.

“Well, we’ve had this talk before, and you know the rules.  I will do your ears, or just one ear, but when you say stop, I stop.  Because it will hurt.  If you’re ready, you’ll be able to sit and not say stop for the whole time.  Yes?”  Lia smiled at their shared nod, giving one of her own.  “It’s okay if you need to cry, you can even yell!  Nobody likes pain.  But if you want to wear earrings, there has to be pain.  Yes, cubs?  Do you understand that?”

She got her ‘yes mamae’s before she would relent.  Lia had known this would happen eventually, all of the children loved to emulate their parents.  An earring wasn’t too far, in her opinion, they were so young that even if they healed the ears with magic, they would still grow over in time.  There was no reason to say no.  

Well, she doubted either of them would actually manage to go through it, but she’d been surprised too many times by children to rule it out.

Especially hers.

“Well, let us see if Hahren has time to help us,” she decided, before gathering up her chicks.

Once she’d retrieved her kit and informed Derry and Zevran of what was happening (and they’d bet on if the twins would go through with it), they found Solas and asked if he would come be their healer.  Lia was annoyed with the necessity, but she’d promised herself to limit her blood magic usage when in Chantry custody.  Every time she called it custody she knew Leliana would get annoyed, which might have been why she was still saying it.

They’d even forced her to be Inquisitor, she’d say what she wanted.

Things were…rocky between her and Leliana.

Solas seemed interested in the proposition, and they adjourned to a nearby balcony, where there were no witnesses to berate her for piercing her four year olds’ ears at their request.  Humans could be odd.  Even some city elves– their grandfather Cyrion still would fuss over the idea of the children getting tattoos.

As if she would deny them a perfectly reasonable request.

Clasping the brightly-dyed, felted piercing kit her foster mother had made for her, Lia gazed down at her sons, crouching before them as they sat on the balcony.  She met Cyris’ fearless brown eyes, and then Tamlen’s sober golden ones.  They still seemed steadfast, though Cyris was upset because he wanted a ‘ring earring, not a dot’.  But she had her limits, and risking a ripped earlobe on a four year old was one of them.

“Now,” Lia said once they were settled, Solas standing by with curiosity, his hands clasped behind his back.  “It is time for an important speech, because you decided you’re old enough for this, yes?”

The twins looked at one another, and then Cyris nodded firmly.  Lia waited, though, until Tamlen nodded as well.  It wasn’t hesitance, just his usual habit of forgetting that he had to speak for himself.  She returned the nod.

“You did not choose your body.  You were born with it, yes?”

“Not like Cole,” Cyris said, as quick as always.  “Cole was a spirit, mumae.  Like Justice!”  He confided this with the air of someone sharing a great secret.

“Mmh.  Like your friend Justice.  But we are talking of your bodies, little mischief.  A body is important for many things.  It keeps you safe, and can keep others safe, and helps you take care of others.  It lets you make life, like mamae and papa made you.  It lets you experience joys spirits do not understand.  Like sweets, and swimming–”

“An’ frogs,” Cyris interrupted, gleefully off-track as usual.

Creators, they were probably too young for this talk, but it had to be done.

“And frogs,” Lia said, and she knew she hadn’t hidden her exasperation as much as she’d wanted, because Solas smiled faintly.  “We must take care of our bodies, so it can bring us joy.  But sometimes our bodies don’t look the way we want, so we change them.  With clothes, art, or jewelry, or even bigger things, like when Uncle Gaharan from clan Lavellan removed his breasts.  Do you remember?”

Cyris shook his head, but Tamlen nodded hesitantly.  That was fair.  They hadn’t seen any of the clans since they were newly turned three, and a four year old’s memory could be quite short.  

“Do you remember when Tamlen cried because we had to cut off some of his hair that got caught in the bramble?”  This time she got very emphatic nods from both of them, and even a little tearing up from her most sensitive child.  Cyris took his hand firmly, a little protective gesture that softened her heart as always.  “It hurt Tamlen’s heart, but things like tattoos and piercings hurt your body.  Earrings will hurt.”

“A lot, mumma?” Tamlen asked nervously.

“It will.  To change is difficult,” Lia said, lifting the needle in two fingers.

“Mumae, does it hurt the frog?  To be frog?” Cyris asked, little voice stilted by his concern.

Lia understood why it was coming up again– Derry had told her frogs and tadpoles were a current obsession for Cyris’ very hands-on curiosity.  Very well, if frogs it had to be, frogs it would be.  “To change from a little pollywiggle to a frog?  I don’t know if it does, but…growing up always hurts a little, I think.  Do you think hurting a little to have legs and to be able to jump up is okay or–”

“Yes!  Up, up, up!” Cyris agreed, throwing both hands into the air.

“Sometimes to gain something we desire, it hurts,” Solas said quietly. 

Tamlen nodded, voice quiet.  “It’s trade.”

Lia beamed, all the more amused to see Solas’ proud smile as well.  She knew they would wriggle through his defenses eventually.  She’d known it all along.  He had a temperament to get along with children quite well, if he let himself.  Which he had.

“Very good, da’len.  You understood very well,”  Solas complimented Tamlen, who glanced down and fidgeted with his fringed belt shyly.

“When Addie got her t’too, mum said it’s trade for hurt, Hahren.”

Lia flushed, embarrassed to have been caught out.  Solas lifted his gaze slowly, and gave her a condescendingly knowing look.  With a little huff, she rolled her eyes to the side.

“Well, perhaps I’ve given this speech before,” she admitted, ignoring his silent laugh.  Creators.  It wasn’t like she could be blamed for some repetition, she was trying to teach the same things to four very different little people.

“Adaia has a tattoo?”  Solas asked, both eyebrows raising.

“A small one, in a spot that will be easy to cover over when it stretches as she grows,” Lia dismissed, finding it silly to hear Solas say things she’d heard a thousand times from Derry’s side of the family.  “Her da and papa are covered in them, it’s natural to her.  If a child is prepared for the consequences and the discomfort, who am I to say no?”

Solas didn’t bother to hide the subtle smirk that curved up the corner of his wide mouth.  “Their mother, perhaps?  She is only six, Lianalle.”

Lia lifted a hand and flickered it in dismissal, annoyed with him for the very rare usage of her full name.  She knew he did it on purpose.  Smug old man.  “A tattoo does no harm but the pain of receiving it.  Besides, it will be good practice to know what it feels like, for when she receives her Vallaslin.”

Solas’ silence was sudden and profound.  She glanced sidelong at his face, absently using a hand to pull Cyris away from the balcony’s edge.  Although Solas’ face was placid, there was a sudden tension in the muscles at the back of his jaw, a curiously pained emotion in his eyes.  He was hiding something.

She followed his gaze down to Tamlen, who was sitting on the floor still holding Cyris’ hand, gazing at his twin with a small, gentle smile.

Why did it give Solas such an uneasy expression?

“I'm going to poke your fingers with the needle,” she informed her sons.  If Lia was right, that would be enough for one of them to give in, which would make the other one give in.  “If you can stand the finger poke and still want your ear afterwards, I will do your ear.”

“And I will heal you,” Solas agreed.  They shared a look, and he shook his head slightly at her, obviously amused.

She wasn’t as certain as him that they would give up after a single poke.  While neither of them was nearly the bulwark of stubbornness that Adaia was, nor as carefully thoughtful, they were quite adventurous.  For four year olds.

They both took the needle to their cautiously outstretched finger quite well, though Tamlen immediately teared up when he saw the little drop of blood.  Luckily his brother was there to kiss it better, and then Solas to heal it afterward.  Much to her surprise, however, it was at that point that they diverged.

Usually when Tamlen decided to back down about something, Cyris would immediately follow him.  But this time, after their small twin conversation that involved more significant looks than words, Cyris decided he wanted to keep going.  And Tamlen…was all right with that, instead of immediately bursting into tears.

She was rather proud of them both for that choice.

Of course, she only got halfway through piercing Cyris’ ear before he gave up, left with a little bloody hole that Solas healed over.  Thankfully without judgment.  Solas seemed highly amused by the whole process, but interested as well, as she’d rather thought he would be.  

It was an endlessly fascinating thing to watch children learning the rules of life.

When the boys ran off after she dried their tears, unharmed and declaring they would be ‘brave enough soon’, Lia opened the soft felted case again, gazing down at the gleaming needles.

She had no doubt they would be ready sooner rather than later.

“Liana…”

“Mmh?” she asked, glancing up at Solas as she rose from the stone, knees chilled.

“The Vallaslin…” he trailed off, but not out of awkwardness.  More because he knew just how far to push her by now, she thought.  His face was still perfectly composed when she met his measuring gaze.

“Were you going to say something about ‘Dalish nonsense’ again?” she asked him mildly, not worrying too much about it if he were.  By now, at least, she felt comfortable scolding him.  “I thought we already agreed not to have that fight any more.  I let my children call you Hahren, Solas, don’t make me regret it.”

Solas chuckled faintly, the sound a hint strained.  But when she glanced sidelong, his face was placid, and his voice even as he spoke.  “I wonder, as a mother, do you ever fear that the teachings you impart to your children may be…wrong?”

Lia considered that for a moment, and then took a moment longer to filter it through her understanding of his mind.  He thought her gods a farce, or worse, dangerous.  He found Dalish culture to be a misshapen thing because it did not conform to the truths he thought he had seen in the Fade that contradicted it.  Yet he could not truly understand Dalish culture.

How could he educate that which he didn’t first understand?

She knew that he was earnest that the Vallaslin was what bothered him, but wouldn’t doubt for a moment that there was more to his distaste than the process of tattooing young people.  “The details may not all be correct, and I will make mistakes, and pass on some of the mistakes that were taught to me.  But what I worry about are the things the world will teach them when I am not there to protect them.  So I suppose, Solas, the best I can do is teach them to understand the world, how it works for ones such as they, and why it is better to live in it with kindness, nobility of spirit, and resilience.  So that when I, or their fathers are not here, they can pass through the trials and suffering of this world with those qualities intact.”

“Resilience.  Well, their mother certainly exemplifies that quality,” Solas said with an incline of his head.  And then he chuckled.  “Fathers as well, though with a great deal less…dignity.”

Lia laughed, not needing to argue that point with him when he was so very correct. “Zevran and Darian are far more good-hearted than I, however.  I am not kind.  Perhaps that’s why I need them both, to anchor me.  You know, if you found someone to temper your need to always be correct, falon, you might be a good father yourself.”

“You claim I require a partner to correct me?  Do you not find that sentiment as distasteful as I?” Solas countered, raising an eyebrow.

She hid her amusement that she’d needled him.  “Everything we do and everyone we meet changes us, doesn’t it?  Life isn’t a road, and it isn’t a lonely one.  It’s a pond that is constantly shifting, surface rippling with even the most delicate of contacts.  Everything we are touched by changes us, in curious and unexpected ways.”  Unbidden, she glanced down at her marked hand, forehead furrowing as she flexed her fingers.

Solas’ voice eased, softening as it always would when they spoke of her difficulties with the Anchor.  “You would know.  This is your second world-ending cataclysm, after all.”

“The Blight was…different,”  Lia said, troubled as always.  Would that saving the world twice followed the same pattern– she would have preferred it.  “We were so young, and we never had time to look at the scale of what we fought.  It was not so entangled in complications and Thedas-wide politics.  They claim they need these politics to garner the forces we–” She cut off, swallowing her many tearful, terrified speeches that she had only shared with her husbands.  Face and mind calm; emotions should not be so easily shared.  “I fear what ripples I am being forced to make.  And for whom I make them.”

“Yes,” Solas said, an echo of many other conversations they had engaged in, once she had trusted him enough to be honest.  His voice was sober and quiet, thoughtful.  “But necessity must drive us, da’len.”

Lia shot him a sidelong look, lips pursing.  “Da’len?”

“Ir abelas,” Solas said, with the faintest twitch of his lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You should be calling me hahren.”

“I beg your pardon?” Solas scoffed.

She lifted a needle, spinning it in her fingers.  “Will you be brave, then, Solas?  I’m here prepared, but with nothing to pierce.”

“I find myself in no need of decoration,” he replied, eyeing the needle in her hand.  “We struggle through a time of great change, and there are enough without my adding to them.”

“Or you could embrace the change, and let yourself change as well, falon.  Even if only a little, and frivolously.  In a way that brings you joy.”  With a sad smile she tucked the needle away into the felt case, voice slowing.  “Joys are in short enough supply.  We must take what small ones we can.”

Solas was quiet for a time, but when she glanced away from the vista of distant mountains to his face, there was a ghost of a smile at the very corners of his eyes, nearly reaching his lips.

“Perhaps another time,” he said quietly.

With a small nod, she turned back for the door, slipping the woven leather cord around the case and tying it securely.  She had a foot past the threshold when Solas spoke again.  She was pleased to hear a hint of humor in it.

“Were you aware that your husband cheats at cards?”

Lia smirked to herself, tucking the case into the front of her tunic.  “Oh my, yes.  Zevran mentioned you’d demanded another game.  He will cheat again.”  That thought was tinged with overwhelming affection.

“And he will lose,” Solas replied with calm confidence.

“I look forward to seeing it.  It will doubtless be very entertaining,” she said, smiling to herself as she departed.

She felt bare and naked, like a cat without claws. A wolf without teeth. A bear with no bite. Unworthy of surrounding herself with so many beautiful elves when her face was pale and bland. But that day, when the morning air was crisp and elfroot was beginning to grow numerous. She felt no need to hide herself. Because that day, the Keeper ushered her for her blood-writing at long last.

She picked the most complex of the blood writing. One that worshipped Elgar’nan, the All-Father. It would take the entire day to be etched across her features, and it was a gruelling painful action. But she did not care. She wanted to mask the non-elven features with the pride of the All-Father. To burn the wrath of the sun onto her freckles and around her smaller eyes. 

And it did burn. Her nails dug bloody crescents in her palms and she chewed on a piece of wood. But she stayed silent throughout the process. As was expected.

She remembers how her heart swelled when the other Dalish smiled at her. Their toothy grins no longer barely masking malice. And the elders no longer poked at her cheeks and wished her eyes were bigger. Instead they remarked on how proud she looked with the All-Father’s patterned kiss. Oh, how giddy she was when her reflection stared back in the wading waters of the river. And she could no longer recognise the little half-elf in her. Elgar’nan’s markings eclipsed the left side of her face in its brilliant green glory. Twiry vines shrouding the right that showed little hints of her flesh…

Leilani was eager to carry her pride throughout her life. That was until he took her to that soggy grove deep in Crestwood. Told her truths the Fade had revealed to him. She felt marred and tricked as his steely eyes glazed over what were really slave markings. 

How could the Dalish have forgotten? Why was so much that she had been taught to hold dear, hiding half-truths and dirty secrets?

When he offered her that choice, to have it pried from her face like breaking iron shackles. She thought about what the Dalish would do. What their hearts would tell them. The people, her people, vowed to never submit to slavery. 

Magic blooms around her as she sits beside her lover. His fingers move in silent rhythm, working faint magic that feels cool against her skin as Elgar’nan comes away from her face. And for the first time in her life, she feels…

“You are so beautiful,” Solas says. Barely above a whisper. She wonders if he had sensed her apprehension. That nagging doubt always in the back of her head. 

For a moment when the Vallaslin peeled away. The word Shem rang like church bells in her mind. But it all disappears when he touches her cheek and tells her his truth. And for the first time in her life, she believes it. 

Appearances were hardly everything. And yet a small drop of anger falls into a pool in her heart. The ripples bring forth memories of a little girl bringing a knife to her ears because her clan told her they were not sharp enough. She still has the scars of a young elf wanting to mould and shape her face forcefully. It is like Solas has drawn back the curtains on her life. It is a horrific, cruel truth to be exposed to. But Leilani realises the advantages to a cold truth rather than a comforting lie. Her clan didn’t want the best for her...they just wanted to pretend she didn’t have a human father out there somewhere.

For him to make her see the truth. To make her feel comfortable and loved afterwards…to see not a runt of a Shem, but her, Leilani Lavellan...it meant everything.

He takes her face in his hands. Fingers smoothing along her cheek bones as his thumbs stroke underneath her eyes. Like he was truly feeling her soft skin for the first time. She feels bare beneath his stare...but not in a bad way. There is no nagging feeling that she is missing something. That some part of her had gotten away. Maybe she is a Shem now...perhaps she is both a Shem and an Elf. Certainly to Solas, she is beautiful. And that’s all she cares about.

“I mean it,” He says again.

“Do you?” Leilani knows he sees the invitation in her eyes when he licks his lips. But doesn’t wait for him to take her invitation. She leans forward suddenly. Pressing their lips together as his fingers find their way to her neck. Pressing that exact spot that has her leaning even more into him. 

Solas is always gentle, even in moments like these where she wishes he wasn’t. Maybe it's the confidence he has ignited in her for the first time in her life, but she nips at his bottom lip. Daring him. Teasing him and pushing him to his limit.

“Where’ve you been all my life, ma vhenan?” She whispers against his eager lips. The Elven language had always sounded so awkward to her ears when she spoke it. Like trying to recite the spells in the Keeper’s bulky spellbook from memory. But Solas didn’t seem to mind, he understood her perfectly despite her imperfection. And she felt comfortable in her shaky utterances when around him.

He answers in elvish; a string of words unknown to her. But she didn’t have to, their rhythm which permeates from the lovely rumble of his throat tells her he feels the same way. He resumes the kiss, she nips at him again. His fingers press into the nape of her neck, arching her head upwards so he may kiss her harder. He sighs beautifully into her mouth when she snakes her hand up his stomach, and she takes it in lovingly like air. The taste of him on her tongue and his sweet inhales ignites a warmth in her stomach. 

Nare sympathetically eyed her friend’s bright smile. She didn’t blame Athera for being nervous. Athera had been looking for a research coordinator position for years. Her new job at the University of Orlais was well-earned, in Nare’s opinion, and it was just a stroke of happy fortune that Athera was starting her job at the same time that Nare was starting her Master’s of fine arts with U of O’s prestigious — and infamous — Ancient Elvhen Studies program. 

It was also serendipitous that Tamaris had decided she wanted a change of pace and place, resulting in the three girls splitting the rent on a cozy three-bedroom-plus-studio apartment close to the university.

“Don’t be nervous,” Nare said warmly. “It’s going to be great! By the end of the week, the director will be wondering how they lived without you making the whole lab twice as efficient.”

Athera grimaced and ran a hand through her hair long chestnut hair. “I don’t know. Professor Abelas did not sound that impressed with my lack of experience during the phone interview. I’m still surprised I got the job.”

“He probably thinks he can train you up fresh since you’re so-called ‘inexperienced’,” Nare said knowingly. “He’ll see how good you are in two seconds. I’m sure of it.”

Athera smiled at her. “Aw, you’re sweet. I bet you’re going to impress your new supervisor just as much when you meet with him tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Nare said. But her belly jolted at the mention of Solas. 

Professor Solas, she reminded herself. Just because she had a crush on her new supervisor’s voice didn’t mean she could start thinking of him in an informal way before they’d even met. 

Oh, but he had such a gorgeous voice. The majority of her communication with Professor Solas had been via email, but the one time they’d spoken on the phone… Fenedhis, Nare couldn’t get it out of her mind. His voice was smooth and mild like a hot vanilla latte, with a curl of an Elvhen accent that made something shiver in her belly in a very visceral way. She was still surprised that she’d managed to keep her calm and sound like a reasonable and intelligent person after hearing Professor Solas’s first few words floating into her ear through the phone. 

And that was just from hearing him talk about the Elvhen art stream of the program and the opportunities for exhibiting her work in the galleries in Val Royeaux. Imagine if he ever spoke to her in that beautiful smooth voice about other, less professional things… 

Stop it, she scolded herself silently. She was being so stupid and horny, developing a crush on a man purely for his voice. Well, not just his voice: he was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, and strong-willed to the point of stubborn as well, if his academic position papers were anything to go by. But if Nare was being honest, his intelligence wasn’t the main thing that had been keeping her up at night for the past couple of months since she and Solas had last spoken on the phone. 

It was stupid to be thinking such carnal things about his voice, though. She didn’t even know what he looked like — not for a lack of trying to find out, if she was perfectly honest. She’d searched online for a photo of her soon-to-be supervisor, but he didn’t have a faculty photo anywhere on the U of O website, and a Google search had been shockingly unhelpful, leaving Nare with only a blank slate to imagine along with that knicker-melting voice. 

“Nare, you okay?” Athera said.

Nare jolted slightly, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

Athera gave her a shrewd look. “Something tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Nare teased.

Athera grinned, but Tamaris’s grumpy voice interrupted before Athera could reply. “You guys have nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to impress the shit out of everyone. Now let’s go get some coffee already.” She wandered over to the door and started jamming her feet into her scuffed black motorcycle boots. 

Nare exchanged a smirk with Athera, then popped up from the couch. “Good morning, lethallan,” she crooned. 

Athera giggled and hugged Tamaris’s arm. “Good morning,” she sing-songed.

Tamaris groaned. “Fuck off, both of you. I’m only awake this early because I have a client in an hour.” 

“Wait, is it already nine?” Athera said in alarm. She checked her watch, then squeaked. “Oh shoot! Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Abelas at the office in fifteen minutes!” She shoved her feet onto a pair of flats and grabbed her bag, then flung open the door. “Bye! Have a good one!” she yelled, and she bolted down the stairs. 

Nare smiled at Tamaris. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky you,” Tamaris drawled. “You get to suffer my morning-gremlin attitude all alone.”

Nare chuckled, and they made their way down the stairs at a more measured pace and wandered toward their favourite café at the end of the block. 

It was a perfect crisp early-September day. The sun was a lovely warm wash of light, and the air was fresh and cool without being cold. The leaves hadn’t started changing colours yet, but the quality of their verdancy was starting to shift from the lush springlike undertones of blue to the more autumn-like undertones of yellow. When Nare pointed this out to Tamaris, Tamaris huffed in amusement.

“That’s such an artist-y thing to say,” she said. 

Nare gave her a chiding look. “You say that like you aren’t an artist yourself.” She pointedly eyed the delicate vallaslin that curled around Tamaris’s left eye — vallaslin that Tamaris had carefully tapped into her own skin, and the same skills which had imbued Nare and Athera with their vallaslin as well.

“I don’t often work with colour, though,” Tamaris said. 

“Isn’t your client this morning for a coloured tattoo?”

“Yeah, but that’s different than painting,” Tamaris pointed out. 

“Your tattoo work is amazing, though,” Nare said.

Tamaris smirked. “Fine. We’re both amazing artists with mind-blowing skills. Are you going to buy my coffee for me because I’m so awesome?”

“I’m the student here,” Nare said with a grin. “You should be buying me coffee.”

Tamaris tsked. “Fine. Just this once though, you leech.” She pulled open the café door and gestured sarcastically for Nare to enter before her.

Nare chuckled and slid into the café. They placed their orders together, then sat at a sunny table to enjoy their coffee and fresh scones — vegan blueberry for Nare, and lemon-glazed for Tamaris. 

Nare took the lid off of her cup and blew on her coffee. “So you’re coming to the start-of-year mixer tonight, right?”

Tamaris slumped in her seat and shoved a hand through her lush midnight curls. “Explain again why you want me to come to this mixer thing. I’m not a student.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not a student,” Nare said. In truth, she just wanted to get Tamaris out of the apartment before she started forming roots.

“It kind of does,” Tamaris said flatly. “It’s happening at the campus bar.”

“Lots of non-students go to the campus bar,” Nare pointed out. “It’s a nice bar.”

Tamaris grunted. Nare leaned toward her slightly. “Come on, Tam,” she wheedled. “Come to the mixer. Athera’s coming.”

“She works at the university now,” Tamaris pointed out. “It makes sense for her to go.”

Nare wilted. “What else are you going to do if you stay home?”

Tamaris’s reply was prompt. “I’ll rewatch The Archdemon Rises 3 for the fifth time and paint my nails.”

Nare declined to mention that Tamaris’s eggplant-purple manicure was still intact since she’d last done her nails two days ago. Instead, she widened her eyes pleadingly. “Please come? We’ll make a girls’ night of it. It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

Tamaris eyed her stonily for a moment, then sighed. “Ugh, you and your baby blues. Fine, I’ll come.” 

Nare beamed at her and took a bite of her scone. A leisurely half-hour later, they stepped out of the café.

Tamaris stretched her arms over her head. “All right, I’m headed home,” she said with a yawn. “You sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow so we can go to that museum exhibit together?”

Nare shook her head. “I want to see it before my meeting with my supervisor tomorrow.”

Tamaris smirked. “Hoping to impress him with your up-to-date knowledge of the local art scene, huh?”

Nare poked her playfully. “Yes, okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tamaris said. “You always make a good first impression.”

Tamaris’s tone was dry, and Nare gazed fondly at her seemingly standoffish friend. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ll see you later.” 

Tamaris nodded and headed back to the apartment, and Nare turned in the opposite direction toward the modern art museum. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped open her browser to check the price of tickets for the special neo-Avvar exhibit; she was fairly sure she’d get a discounted admission with her student ID, but some of the museum’s special exhibits were even free for students, and Nare couldn’t remember if— 

She suddenly slammed right into someone. 

She stumbled back, then squeaked in alarm as she tripped over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her phone dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed for it even as she tried to find her footing, oh no oh shit she was going to fall down–

A strong pair of hands grabbed her arms, and Nare gasped as she regained her balance. “Shit,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry, I – my phone, I was distracted…”

“The fault is mine. I apologize.” 

A heated ripple of recognition spilled down her spine. That voice. She knew that voice. She’d been replaying that voice in her head for months and wondering what the person who owned that voice looked like: how tall he was, how big his hands were, what his lips looked like shaped around the liquids vowels of that divine Arlathani accent… 

Lightheaded with disbelief, her heart in her throat, Nare lifted her eyes to his face.

Her breath left her in a punch of shock. Gorgeous. He was gorgeous. An impeccably shaven head, a mere hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes which put him somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s, lush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow, a delicate divot in his chin and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and his eyes… 

His eyes were perfectly lucid, a perfect quixotic blend of light grey and pale blue that Nare couldn’t quite name, and they were so warm. His eyebrows were creased with a hint of concern, and when the crease in his brow deepened, she realized that she was staring.

“Are you all right?” Professor Solas said. 

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Which was a good thing, because the only words Nare could think were you are fucking hot.

She nodded dumbly. A tiny hint of a smile curled the left corner of his lips, and he released her arms. “I apologize for the collision,” he said, and he crouched down to pick up his book and her phone. “I should know better than to read and walk at the same time.” 

Nare watched stupidly as he rose to his full height. Fenedhis, he was tall.

He held out her phone, and Nare carefully studied his face. There was no recognition there. There was warmth in his handsome face, but no recognition. He didn’t know who she was. 

Not that she would necessarily expect him to, since he was a professional and an intellectual, and professional intellectuals probably didn’t online-stalk their new grad students to find out what they looked like. 

She took her phone with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You are not hurt, I hope?” 

Ugh, he was so good-looking. Why did her supervisor have to be her exact ideal physical type?

She dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I — no. I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice. 

“Good,” he said. “And again, I apologize for the collision.” 

She shrugged and tried to nod at the same time, then wanted to smack herself for being so fucking awkward.

“Take care,” he said. A moment later, he was walking away from her. 

She finally dragged in a breath and watched greedily as Professor Solas walked away. For someone who had such a mild voice and such kind eyes, his gait was certainly confident. 

Confident and sexy. 

Nare blew out a breath and forced herself to turn away. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Why was her heart beating so hard, not just in her chest but in her entire body? 

Why was her mind completely taken over by the thought of Professor Solas stretching her naked body out on a desk, those warm grey-blue eyes scanning her from head to toe before he taught her all kinds of torrid lessons that she would never forget?