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The sound of joy was not common to Skyhold.
Isii was happy to hear it, but she felt disconnected as the cold air whipped around her. The snowfall was heavy that night, thick wet snowflakes accumulating into fluffy, crisp piles against the buildings. Despite the turn in the weather, the courtyard was filled with people, warmed by the steady flow of ale and wine. She studied the celebrants quietly, their loud and raucous merriment echoing off of the surrounding stone walls. Cullen was pink-faced from breathless laughter and the wintery chill of the mountains. Blackwall was quickly losing a drinking game against Bull, thick froths of ale catching in his beard as he slapped his leg, bellowing and cursing. Varric was as animated as ever, speaking with his hands as Cassandra listened, smiling despite herself.
A large tree had been dragged into the middle of the clearing, nearly swallowing the front corner of the tavern with its width. A young boy clung to the branches, carefully retrieving ribbons from his overflowing pockets and tying them onto the outstretched boughs. Isii studied the process curiously.
“Happiest of First Days, Isii dear!” Dorian grabbed her from behind, spinning her into a hug before she had time to respond. She squirmed, trying to save her face from being crushed against his chest as his grip tightened. Her voice muffled against the padding of his jacket; the only words he could make out were dammit and shem. He laughed, releasing her.
She rubbed her hand over her chilled and sore nose as he took a swig from the wine bottle he clutched, all pretense abandoned hours ago. “You’re well into your celebrations, I see.”
He grinned. “Had to find a way to keep myself preoccupied. You Southerners have an odd way of marking the occasion. You don’t even get the name of the month right.”
She shrugged, hugging herself for warmth as the chilled night air whipped through the courtyard. “I wouldn’t know.” She said. “I’ve never celebrated First Day.”
“This is your first First Day?” He asked before giggling at the repetition. She could tell he’d had quite a bit to drink. Though Dorian amused himself with most of the words that came out of his mouth, he was not often quite so generous with his tittering.
Isii watched as the boy shifted lower on the branches, reaching down to collect more ribbons from outstretched hands. “I can’t say I understand the point of the tree.”
“It’s the marking of a new year and the passing of the old one. It’s sort of a celebration of life sort of thing.”
“So you shems celebrate life by killing a tree and tying ribbons to its remains?”
Dorian snorted. “Each ribbon is supposed to stand for something someone is thankful for, some blessing from the past year.”
Isii looked up at the tree skeptically. “That’s a lot of ribbons for the kind of shit year we’ve been having.”
Dorian nudged her. “A lot of them are about you, you know.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “To some of these people… to most of them, admittedly, you are their own personal messiah.” Isii scoffed. “If they knew you like I did, I’m certain they would see otherwise. Still,” he continued, “they are alive and there’s hope the world isn’t going to come to an end. That’s enough to be thankful for, is it not?”
Isii parted her lips to respond, but was unable to produce anything more than a high pitch screech when a sudden rush of cold slid down the back of her jacket. She jumped, whipping around to the sound of Sera’s cackling. The elf grinned, her wet hands bright pink from the armload of snow she’d just deposited. “Gotcha!”
Isii’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a grin as she advanced, scooping up a handful of snow. Sera snorted, letting out a merry roar as she dashed across the courtyard, the Inquisitor hot on her heels.
***
It was the playful shrieking that first caught his attention, followed by the laughter of the group gathered outside. Despite his attempts to focus on his reading, his curiosity eventually got the better of him. Solas drew quietly from his study, making his way through the main hall – nearly empty as the events of the courtyard drew most of the inhabitants of Skyhold outside.
He could make out Isii’s voice as he pushed the door open, the distinct sound of her laughter, her sharp staccato in the crisp air. Sera was drunkenly bleating, fumbling under a small mountain of snow as Bull stood over her, a snicker rumbling low in his chest. Solas spotted Isii, her eyes as wide as her grin. She rushed Bull from behind, leaping up onto his back, her hands latching onto his horns as he stiffened in surprise. She hauled herself onto his shoulders, gripping the branch above his head and giving it a hard shake, unloading the heavy deposit of snow that weighed upon it. He sputtered as Isii threw her head back, howling with glee.
Solas smiled warmly. It was a rare but pleasing sight to see her indulge in childish games. Her smile was broad, teeth bright against dark skin, her eyes singing of mischief. Despite the outward appearance she put forth as the Inquisitor, he knew his vhenan was a playful creature at heart. He had been that way, once. Ages ago. Now he only possessed a vague memory of the exuberant relief he once felt after laughing himself to exhaustion or the deep satisfaction of such frivolous diversions.
Bull reached up as Isii leaned back, trying to leap down. He caught her and she yelped, limbs flailing No, No, Don’t you dare! before the Qunari flipped her over his head, sending her sailing into a snowbank. Laughter broke out among the residents of Skyhold, Cullen’s loudest among them until Isii righted herself, sending a fistful of snow squarely into the Commander’s startled face.
Solas quietly slipped back inside.
***
Her teeth were rattling by the time she entered the hall, her clothing soaked through. There was a stinging numbness, an aching under the surface of her skin that she’d only felt once before. Though rather than the cold terror from stumbling blindly through the mountainside beyond Haven, she felt exhilarated. Freezing, but exhilarated.
She dashed down the length of the hall, not caring if anyone was there to see, desperate to make it to her quarters. Her arms were shaking, shuddering from the chill as she took the steps up two at a time, finally cresting the rise up into her bedroom.
She was surprised to see Solas there, calmly sitting at her desk, reading. The air felt warm, the chill of the drafty room banished by the heat radiating from her fireplace.
“Inviting yourself into my bedroom, I see.” The flirtatious tone she intended was difficult to maintain through shivering breaths as he glanced up. “That’s very forward of you, Solas.”
He smiled softly, closing the book. “I promise, my intentions are purely innocent.”
“A pity.” She said, grinning.
He smiled patiently, looking her over. “You will want to change. I have had something prepared to assist in warming you.”
She could see a small kettle sitting on the desk. “Tea?”
He shook his head. “Not quite.”
She crossed the room, watching him curiously. “No peaking.” She said coyly as she disappeared behind the wall that her headboard rested against. Her tone was an invitation. They both knew it, yet he stayed in his place by her desk.
She stepped out of view, her numbed fingertips fumbling with the buttons of her jacket as her feet tried to squirm out of her boots. “What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath right now.” She called out to him.
“Shall I send word to have one prepared for you?”
“No.” She said quickly, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she peeled off the jacket, her skin shuddering as it was exposed to the open air. “I wouldn’t want to bother any of my attendants. Not on their holiday.” She began to loosen the lacings to her breeches.
“It is what they are being paid for, is it not?”
The fabric clung to her wet skin, making it difficult to remove as she slid them down to bare her thighs. “I’d rather not burden them unless it was absolutely necessary.” Her smalls had thankfully stayed dry, but her breastband was soaked from where Sera had shoved snow down her jacket for the second time that evening. “I’m already uncomfortable enough with the idea of having servants at Skyhold.”
“Oh?”
Isii slipped off the breastband, nodding despite the complete privacy of her changing area. “I do not like the idea of having servants. I do not deserve to be treated as their better, nor they as somehow lesser than me.” She pulled on her nightclothes— a sleeveless linen shift that ended at her knees. It was large on her frame, hanging low in the neckline and underarms. She had always suspected it had been originally intended as an under tunic for a human rather than a sleeping gown for an elf. Despite the welcomed feeling of dry fabric, the shift was thin and did little to stop her shivering. She grabbed her robe, slipping it over her shoulders. It was a thin satiny thing – a piece of finery gifted to her by some noble she could no longer remember. It did little more than cover her, but it would have to do. “Paid or not, it is still servitude. I would rather they were free to spend their night as they wished, rather than tending to my foolishness.”
When she stepped back into the room, his expression was one of curious evaluation. She tilted her head. “What?”
“Nothing.” He said quickly, lowering his gaze. “It’s just—” He paused, carefully choosing his words. “You continue to surprise me. I often find we have more in common that I had previously assumed.” She smiled softly, feeling a small hint of warmth returning to her cheeks. “Come.” He beckoned. “Sit by the fire.”
She leaned toward her bed, stealing away with one of the blankets as she hurried over to the fireplace. She sank down to the floor comfortably, wrapping herself in the soft woven cloth. He stood by her desk, quietly filling a cup with the contents of the kettle. Her fingers made quick work of uncoiling her tousled hair, shaking remnants of snow from her pale white locks as he joined her.
He handed her the cup without a word. She could feel its warmth through the delicate pottery, the drink freshly heated. A courtesy purchased through his magic, she presumed. The beverage was dark and smelled sweet and rich with an undernote she could not describe. Earthy? She glanced up at him curiously before bringing it to her lips.
Sugar brightened on her tongue, then cream, followed swiftly by a deep sumptuous flavor that she was not familiar with. Almost nutty, though the word did little to create a proper comparison. The flavor was broad. Heavy but in a pleasant fashion. It coated her tongue but was not cloying. Instead, it soothed her as it melted into her senses. She shot him a questioning look as he sat beside her.
“Have you not had chocolate before?”
She shook her head, looking back into the cup. Chocolate. She had heard the shems speak of it, but she had never thought to seek it out for herself. She brought the cup to her lips again, draining its contents slowly, allowing the warmth to spread across her tongue, slipping sensually down her throat. She was smiling even before she lowered the porcelain from her mouth, looking at him with pleasured, lidded eyes. “Thank you.” She said softly.
“It was to your liking, I take it?”
She nodded, scooting closer to him, pulling the blanket over them both. He seemed resistant at first, but relented as she nuzzled her face against his chest. Perhaps he was simply not accustomed to such forms of affection. There was always a note of hesitation in him when she brought their bodies close together. If even for the briefest moments, she knew it was there. But she could tell the closeness pleased him from the way he embraced her, a low sigh rumbling below her ear as she listened to his heartbeat. Ma vhenan. Their physical intimacy was only a recent development. It had only been a week since he had kissed her on the balcony, only a week since he had whispered ar lath ma, vhenan. She had replayed the words in her head many times since that moment, the low murmur of his voice, the taste of his lips still fresh on her own.
He loved her.
Solas was a good man. He brought out a tenderness in her she had forgotten was there. She was so used to deflection and aversion, of keeping herself from getting overly attached to the things that life gave and took so easily.
But he was different. She had seen that, even before Haven fell, even before he led her to their new home. There was something different about him, something that drew her to him, that made her heart flutter at the sound of his pleased hums and the rarity of his laughter. Though it was both thrilling and terrifying to admit, she loved him too.
He held her for a time, broken by nothing but the sound of their breathing. She felt the warm tingle of his magic on her skin, dampened fire in his fingertips, caressing away the cold as he had for her before. Only now it was not the panicked actions of a healer trying to revive a patient. It was tender. Meaningful. She could feel the chill in her skin lessening. The faint remnants of her shivering melted away. She lifted her head to peer up at him. He looked at her lovingly, his gaze soft, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. In that moment, he was truly happy.
He brushed damp hair from her face, giving his head a nearly imperceptible shake. He wordlessly guided her body until she sat between his legs, her back to him as he slipped his fingertips through her hair. A contented sigh escaped her as he gathered the pale locks, slowly weaving the strands against her scalp.
“Braiding my hair, vhenan?” She asked with a soft laugh. “Not a skill I would expect from you.”
“And why is that?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” She asked, her voice singing of her grin. “Hair is something you lack.”
His quiet laughter sent a pleasured tingle across her shoulders. “You assume I have always been as I am now?”
“It is hard to imagine you any other way.” She sighed as his fingers gently raked against the tip of her ear, collecting loose strands. Her eyes closed, running her tongue across her lips. “It’s been an age since I’ve had anyone braid my hair.” He hummed low in response. “My mother used to do this. Then my Keeper, after her.” Her expression fell slightly. Though he could not see it, Solas was a perceptive man. She knew he would see the implication of that statement. She was thankful when he did not pry further. They had an unspoken understanding between them. The past was the past. They would tell each other these things when the time was right.
“It is odd to see the shems have a celebration in the dead of winter.” She said, directing the conversation elsewhere. “The Dalish have no such customs.”
“They used to. Or at least, their kin.” He said quietly. “In my journeys through the Fade…” she grinned, her eyes closing once more. She always loved listening to him speak of the Fade, of visions long forgotten. In those moments she liked to try and imagine them, to see them as he had. “… I saw the way things were in ancient Arlathan. They had a tradition to mark the depths of the days when snow would fall and the daylight hours were short. A ritual of sorts. Something to show your admiration to those you cherished, to honor those you held most dear.” He said, securing the end of her braid.
She leaned back against him, pleased to feel his arms instinctively wrap around her. “And what was this ritual?”
“It has been lost to time.” He said. There was a note of sadness there. The things he had seen of Arlathan must have been wondrous, because he often spoke of it with a note of longing in his voice. “The elves forgot many things when the world began to change, when the Veil cut them off from the natural forces of the Fade, when those who led them were taken away. They would still mark the occasion, for a time. Rather than calling upon the magic they had lost, they would exchange gifts and favors; shower those they loved with adoration and tenderness. And then, over time, the elves forgot that as well.”
She laced her fingers with his own, pulling his arms tighter around her shoulders. “We could always start again. Try to recreate what was lost.” She glanced up at him. There was confusion in his look, but something different. Something more. “Though I don’t need a gift from you to mark the occasion.” She continued, smiling. “Ma dar’enansal.”
His confusion softened and he smiled. “Ma dar’enansal, vhenan’ara.”
“Ar lath ma.”
“Ar dar’sulevin.”