Fever Dreams
This is a revision and expansion to the giveaway piece “Solas has a Fever,” written for @wrenbee, who wanted a scene that explores what might happen if Solas got sick. Of course, he is just a huge, pathetic puppy about it. Lucky for him, there’s Sene.
Some fluffy hurt/comfort for @submissivesolas. <3
She found him asleep, half-naked in the late, pink light of morning. He’d been sick. Solas never got sick, but there was something really bad going around that early spring. It was a flu thing, and he’d probably picked it up off one of the children in the Beshel Clan outside the village. They all liked to crawl all over him. He was as tall as a mountain, and they liked to remind him of this. Mount Solas, they’d say. Let us rub your bald head! He could not help himself.
The Beshel Clan had a dairy farm and a great deal of land, and Sene and Solas spent a lot of time there, doing whatever. It’s where they bought all their dairy–milk, butter, cheese, and all. Whenever they went, the mothers would all stand by and laugh as their children scaled Sene’s alarmingly big and handsome husband. They would sip their tea and look at Sene with their blushing vallaslin, and they did not say much, but she knew what they were thinking, which was to ask when she was going to get pregnant with this man’s child, and she had a mind to tell them whenever the fuck I want, little ladies though what she really meant was SOON as it had been almost a year since their wedding in Crestwood, and they were ready. They were, but Sene was stubborn and she just didn’t want to give them their satisfaction. Whatever, she thought. Whatever and so there.
That day, Solas had woken up early in the morning, before the sun was even warm yet. He seemed disoriented and feverish, and he wanted to be held. He was a little pathetic—just this big sick puppy who loved her. So she brought him a glass of water, and she put a cool cloth on the back of his neck, as cold as she could get it, dipped in a bucket of water she’d brought up from the cellar. They kept a large tin down there, usually for drinking, but he was way too hot that morning. She had to bring things down.
After he went back to sleep, even though it was a little early, Sene was awake, so she went outside to prune the roses. Sene sucked at pruning the roses, and she hated wearing gloves, so she always got pricked and probably scratched, too, along her arms and somehow even her legs. She could not for the life of her figure out how, despite being so athletic with a bow, she could be so clumsy in everyday life. But the pruning needed to be done, and she knew that Solas would appreciate this small contribution in the garden. Little love languages. She was worried about him, but it was not enough to speed up her thoughts. She just knew how awful it was to be sick, even just a stupid fever, and she wished she could just pet it away.
She came back inside after the sun was up. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, and she sat at the table alone and read the post. She read all about how Cullen Rutherford, former Commander of the Inquisition Army, had just moved to a large plot of land out in the cuts. With the addition of Mr. Rutherford, the story read, Crestwood has now become home to no fewer than three former Inquisition leaders, including the Inquisitor herself. Sene was very excited for this. She was very proud. Cullen had sent word of his impending arrival several months back, and she wondered if he would be alone. She wondered if he would have anybody with him.
Cullen had always been a very dear friend to her and especially Solas during difficult times. She was glad for the opportunity to spend time with him again. Though he was dreadful at Diamond Back, always second-guessing himself. In any case, she wrote him a quick note on parchment, inviting him to dinner in a week as soon as Solas had recovered, and she put it into an envelope, and she went back outside and up the grassy walk, past the white fence that Solas had built the summer before, and she put the letter in the mailbox for the courier to pick up that very afternoon.
When she got back inside, she went to check on Solas. Sort of tangled there, flushed. He’d discarded the cold compress to the floor. She got into bed and just lie there next to him, looking at him, hoping he would open his eyes but also knowing he was sick and wishing he would just stay asleep until he was healed. He was very hot. She could feel it coming off of him, and she knew now that this would be an all-day thing and maybe even two until the fever broke completely. She sighed. She waited. He stirred eventually. He opened his eyes, and he smiled when he saw her.
“Big hair,” he said, his eye lids heavy. He put one red curl behind her ear and he let his knuckles graze at her freckled jaw. “Pretty girl. What is wrong with me, vhenan? Am I dying?”
“You’re sick,” she said.
“I am hot, but I am also cold. As a mage of considerable power, I cannot, for the life of me, understand how this is possible.”
“You have a fever, Solas,” she said.
“A fever?”
“Yes. It’s okay.”
“I haven’t had a fever since I was a kid,” he said.
“What did your mother used to do when you had a fever?”
“I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes, shifting uncomfortably in the sheets. He seemed thirsty. “Lots of ice. Probably.”
Sene thought on this, in earnest. “Well, I can’t make ice. Obviously,” she said. She gave him a glass of water from the bedside table and watched him drink the whole thing. “But you can make some ice, and then I can go do something nice with it.”
“Like what?” he said, handing her the empty glass
“Like wrap it in a fancy towel and put it on your head.”
This made him grin. “I would enjoy nothing more. But I am too tired to make ice, vhenan. Making ice is very difficult.”
“What do you mean?” she said. “I have seen you freeze entire bandits into blocks of the stuff.”
“That is different,” he said. “It is different when you’re killing bandits, vhenan. That is ice in motion. Something like ice, it’s sort of like jumping very far. It’s much easier when you’ve got a running start. Crafting ice out of stillness is like trying to make a standing jump from one side of a ravine to the other.”
“That actually makes sense,” said Sene.
“I don’t remember what it means to have a fever,” said Solas.
“Your blood is hot,” said Sene. “That’s what it means.”
“Is that your expert medical opinion, vhenan?” He smirked. Lazy, but still.
“Hush,” she said. “Be quiet, Solas. No smirking right now. Use your considerable mage powers and go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Can you carry me into the living room?” he said. “You can bring me juice from the cellar, and I will watch you go about your day. I would like to watch you dusting the bookshelves. You smell like the garden.”
“I pruned the roses,” she said. “But I do not have plans to dust the bookshelves today.”
He smiled and closed his eyes. “You pruned the roses?”
“Yes.”
“Did you scrape up your shins, vhenan?”
“Yes, I did.” She swung around her legs and showed him.
He kissed the little red lines. “Carry me,” he said.
“I can’t carry you, Solas. You are way too heavy.”
“Drag me then. Come on, Isene. Don’t go delicate on me now.”
She shoved him. He groaned.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Then she pet his eyebrows and kissed the bridge of his nose. “You’re so warm,” she said. “Maybe I should send for the healer.”
“Do not worry, Sene,” he said. “You’re always so worried.”
“I am not always so worried.”
“You said it yourself. My blood is just hot. All liquids must cool eventually.”
“Is that your expert medical opinion, vhenan?”
“Indeed, it is,” he said.
“You need to drink more water.”
“Probably, that is true,” he said. “Though I would prefer orange juice.”
“Are you sure you want me to drag you out of here?”
He nodded. “Yes, please. I am terribly bored and alone.”
“You’ve been awake for five minutes.”
“And yet, I am terribly bored and alone.”
She sighed. Solas was the kind of man who could fight huge, floating battles in the sky through cracked ribs and concussions but for whom minor bothers like head colds and paper cuts could cause substantial distress. It was terribly endearing. She helped him get to his feet. He was a sturdy man, even with a fever, and he glided along easily. She dropped him on the blue linen couch in the living room beneath the wide window, but she half-closed the curtains to keep out the sun, and she watched him crash face-first into the pillow.
He said, “You are my nurse.”
And she said, “I am not your nurse.”
“Would you like to be my nurse?” he said. And he smirked again.
“I’m going to finish up in the garden. When I get back, I will be your nurse.”
“What left is there to do?” he said. His eyes were closed. She wondered what he saw there.
“I’m going to water the daisies,” she said. “And then I am going to pull out all the weeds.”
“I would like to watch you doing those things, vhenan.”
“I know, but I am not dragging you outside, Solas,” said Sene. “You are sick.”
“I do not want to be sick.”
She palmed his hot cheeks, and she kissed his hot forehead. She let herself linger. He was a little restless, but he put the hair behind her ear and smiled again, and he was very sleepy—she could see it in his eyes. Even great men like Solas must sleep to recover from their ills.
“Sleep,” said Sene. “I will be very nearby.”
“Will you bring me juice?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
He let her go, shielding his eyes from the day as he sort of sank into and off of the couch, his limbs long and spilling over. He had one foot on the floor. But it was where he wanted to be, so she let him.
Those days the living was so sweet and sheltered, that Solas’s fever was turning out to be the one and only true tragedy of their lives. For this, Sene thought, as she went to the kitchen to pour him a glass of juice, despite his hot head, she was grateful.
This is a sequel piece to my (nearly finished) Inquisition-era Solavellan story The Dead Season, starring Sene Lavellan and Solas. ^_^
