Chapter Text
‘You deserve the truth.’
Her eyes are big and bright in the pale moonlight. Dark lines of the vallaslin mark her face, long, slender, somehow elegant. A hesitant smile plays around her lips; there’s a touch of fear to that smile, uncertainty and worry. He knows it’s probably one of the worst conversation starters. Who knows what goes through her mind? Something between illegitimate children or acts of treason and murder, probably. But he loves her too much to keep lying to her.
‘And what is the truth, Solas?’ she asks. Her voice is gentle and sweet, like caramel, like chocolate, like honey - has a pang to it. He practiced his speech, gently leading her to a conclusion, smooth, considerate, clever and thought out to make her really understand. And he cannot remember a word of it now. The words just rise in his throat and he hears himself saying, without deeper thought:
‘I’m Fen’Harel.’
Her face goes blank for a second, and then a snort escapes her throat.
‘And here I thought you want to have a serious conversation, my heart.’ She says. Her voice is light, giggly, and it metaphorically waggles a finger at him.
‘I do.’ This is not a reaction he expected or was prepared for. His thoughts scatter a little. He expected her to be… shocked. To yell at him. To start throwing punches or run away. He expected… well… anything but a snort. ‘And this is the truth.’
‘Come on, Solas, you can’t honestly believe you’re the ancient Elvhen God of Mischief.’ Her voice is still light, peppered with a choked giggle. But her eyes turn cold. Her gaze stills on his face and her jaw hardens ever so slightly. She knows him, after all. And he can almost see the cogs, turning in her head as her quick mind connects the dots. Didn’t she call him out once or twice on keeping things from her and Fade is a convenient excuse, isn’t it, my darling? Wasn’t she there when Blackwall asked him have you taken a part in a war, Solas, didn’t she hear his answer? Her hands tighten in his, but she doesn’t try and break away.
Her next question is unexpected as well.
‘Why?’
‘Why… what?’ he asks slowly.
‘Why did you… stay with us? Why did you join the Inquisition? Why did you choose me?’
Her fingers start to tremble in his hands and he reflexively tightens the grip.
‘If… if you’re him… why?’ her eyes water and she drops her head. A small sob shakes her shoulders and Solas cannot help himself. He gathers her in his arms, presses her close. His heart is pounding.
‘At first, I just tried to… fix a mistake.’ He says gently, resting his cheek on her hair. He breathes in her scent, sharp and grassy, with a forest undertone. She always smells of trees and magic, and this is no different. ‘But in doing so, I caused another problem. Your problem. Corypehus. And I thought it’s only fair to… help. So I stayed.’
Her hands slowly travel up his back and rest just below his shoulder blades.
‘And you… you are so vibrant.’ He caresses her hair, relishing in the softness of her strands. ‘At first, you were a mystery. Nothing about you makes sense. You are a Dalish elf, you shouldn’t be andrastian, and yet you are. You shouldn’t have a natural feel for the Game, and yet you conquered Halamshiral with grace worthy of a queen. You seem so… small and fragile, but I’ve seen you work towards rebuilding Skyhold as hard as any man. You listen, and you try to understand, you don’t just jump to conclusions, and I simply… fell.’
‘Will you stay?’ she asks into his tunic. He feels dizzy for a moment. The way she clings to him, hands spread on his back, her chest pressed close, head rested against his shoulder - it all tells him in volumes how much she wants him to stay.
‘Only if you’ll have me.’
She raises her head and looks at him. Tears mark her cheeks.
‘I love you, you idiot.’ She says. ‘God of Mischief or not. Not saying I’m not pissed beyond belief, but I’ll yell at you later. I love you. Remember that. And we will deal with Corypheus, yes? Together. You and me.’
He nods, still flabbergasted. How is she even possible?
She takes his hand and gently leads him away from the clearing. Her fingers tremble a little, but her face remains calm. They return to the camp together, as he never expected. Cassandra looks up from the sword she’s been sharpening and greets them with a tiny smile. The campfire is low. Kerei feeds it some wood chunks, casts a spell and the flames spring back to life. Solas sits – almost falls – onto a log. Kerei and Cassandra talk for a moment in lowered voices; plans for the next day, small talk about the current mission plan, quick reminder of the route they plan to take back to Skyhold. Solas listens to the melody of their voices and feels surreal.
It feels…
As if it wasn’t supposed to happen.
He was supposed to keep quiet about his past, she was supposed to be angry for this, they were supposed to fight there, she wasn’t supposed to lead him back here by his hand, he was supposed to be alone now. And yet he sits by the warm fire, and she rests her back against his knees. Cassandra is done with her sword and leaves for the night.
The night is quiet. The air smells of crushed grass, burning logs, the oil Cassandra used on her sword, soft leathers of tents. Kerei sighs with a quiet contentment and looks up.
‘I love you no matter what.’ She says gently. ‘Remember this.’