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Varric had declared that night a celebration night, where everyone - yes, everyone, Chuckles - was mandatorily obligated to show up at the tavern for a break from fighting Corepheus.
Which went something along the lines of, "I seem to remember being promised days of festivities following the Breach being closed - days I tell you! Will these wrongs never be righted?"
Any attempts - mostly Cassandra's - to argue the matter fell on deaf ears. The dwarf would have his celebrations, and everyone would have to as well - whether they wanted to or not.
Evening had long fallen, and with a resigned but purposeful step, Solas made his way down to the brightly lit tavern. At the threshold he took in one last lungful of cool, fresh air, before entering into what Varric liked to refer to as "controlled chaos".
It was loud, humid, and packed. Solas swept his eyes over the assembled guests to see who else had been threatened, convinced, or coerced into participating.
Varric, he noted, had somehow managed to drag the advisors down, though Solas was sure a great deal of charm and blackmail had been involved - blackmail for the first two and charm for the spymaster. At the very least. Attempts at blackmail in her case would have assuredly backfired catastrophically. After a moment of consideration, Solas extends that to Josephine’s situation as well. Of course, it wouldn’t have been hard to simply invite her with any need for politics in any case.
Josie sat near the bar, nursing a small, colorful Antivan drink, discussing something brightly with a relaxed Vivienne, who, despite being clothed as casually as anyone had ever seen her, still looked over-dressed compared to everyone else.
Cullen, somehow managing to look both relieved and anxious, was sitting across from the Iron Bull, who was perpetually half turned to call out rancorous things to the rest of the Chargers and play a game of on-going chess with the Commander at the same time. It saved Solas the trouble of turning the Qunari down, although he might have enjoyed the distraction. Cassandra was on the other side of the Qunari - between he and his crew, looking vaguely uncomfortable but determined. Solas surmised Varric had promised her the next chapter in one of his books or something along those lines in exchange for her presence.
Eventually he caught sight of where Leliana was in the room, prowling leisurely in the shadows, smiling slightly with half-lidded eyes, like a bemused cat. She seemed content with simply watching the festivities, occasionally stepping out into the light only to whisper something into Josephine's ear, making the ambassador smile before slipping back into the shadows again. A joke, perhaps, or an observation about the other patrons or a funny story she'd heard on her rounds.
Varric, of course, was nearly at the center of the celebration, calling out toasts almost as often as the Chargers, all while playing a less vicious than usual game of Wicked Grace with a befuddled Cole, a smirking Dorian, and a very regretful looking Blackwall. Occasionally he'd make a loud exclamation of overzealous shock and push his winnings towards Cole as the other two looked on chuckling, saying "Beat me fair and square, kid." While the ever more dumbfounded Cole would murmur, "But you did that on purpose."
Despite the fact that Solas was not keen on being here - at the ominous behest of Varric, no less - he couldn't help but allow himself a small smile at that. They had warmed to the spirit of Compassion - perhaps even faster than he could have hoped.
He wouldn't have come, but Varric threatened to help - and provide ability to - Sera with her pranks, and Cole had warned him the threat was genuine.
He was actually surprised to see Sera was on the outskirts of the room rather than - ah, wait, she was sitting at a table with a barmaid who was blushing furiously. Never mind.
Despite the friction between the two of them, he was something akin to glad for her. Many people deserved someone to hold to in these desperate times.
Another scan of the room told Solas that the Inquisitor was still no where to be seen. Strange.
-
"C'mon, Chuckles, the paintings aren't going anywhere!" The dwarf had whined earlier that morning, "Even Nirne is going! You two can sit together in your No-drinking, No-fun corner and help carry all us drunkards home when the night is done! It'll be fun, I promise!" Solas had only irritably refrained from correcting him on the entire point of fresco stucco because he had no interest in being distracted from his work. He had a limited amount of time before the plaster dried too much for him to add any more pigment. However, it meant that if he wasn't done by late evening - when the party started - then he wouldn't be able to do anything further until the entire portion of the wall that was incomplete was scrapped off for him to retry anyway. Not that he'd tell the dwarf that. "If I finish by the time your party starts," Solas said shortly, refusing to turn around from where he applied deft strokes of paint with his brush, “You can expect to see me there, Master Tethras."
Too delighted with the apparent victory of that confirmation to question further, Varric exclaimed happily and left - no doubt to focus his efforts on convincing Vivienne. A thought that Solas could not bring himself to feel particularly guilty about.
-
Solas was wondering how best to subtly cross the room when Varric caught sight of him. Grinning, the dwarf raised a glass high in the air - or as high as he could - and called out, “Here, here, the apostate deigns to join us at last!" He downed it.
Solas grimaced slightly as everyone's drinks rose to follow suit and people echoed the cry of “Here, here!” mostly for the fact that it had been called, not actually because of his arrival. With a start he noticed a slender hand rising from behind a couch facing away from him, and soon thereafter a sleepy Inquisitor followed - sitting up from where he had been apparently laying down, his hair slightly upswept endearingly. He repeated the chant with such absolute cheer that Solas supposed it was not worth turning around on the spot for. Varric had outed him, anyways, and it would be noticed if he fled now. He ambled towards the other elf, ignoring Sera's "Oy, about time!" And Dorian's affronted, "What are you talking about darling? I've been here for hours." to collective laughter and some mocking applause.
Solas saw a sparkle in Lavellan's eyes and he topped his head back and downed the drink, adam's apple bobbing. Solas hesitated for a moment before he realized the drink had been water. He snorted as he sat down, which earned him an entirely too smug smile.
"I'm glad Varric wasn't lying when he said you'd show up." Nirne said cheerfully, "I was all set to fall asleep on the couch in the back room instead of listening to these idiots for the rest of the night."
Solas blinked, "Varric promised you I would be attending?"
Nirne snorted, “More like called my bluff on coming only if you did. I was kind of relying on our shared …practicality regarding these sorts of events." A short laugh burst out at the last word, as if it was absurd that he call himself practical under any circumstances, but they were one of the few in a group of people who did not enjoy getting completely “shite-faced” and “Bugging the drinks 'til we get smashed with our faces upside the bar” as Sera put it.
Solas chuckled, at least Varric's insistence that he show up made more sense. "And here I was thinking he only wanted to see what I acted like drunk." He murmured.
Nirne laughed again, bright and sweet, a flush crawling up his neck and cheeks and, oh, curling over the tips of his ears. Solas shifted uncomfortably, his mouth suddenly dry.
But Nirne was already requesting stories of the Fade so insistently that he all but forgot, instead caught up in whirl of warm light and laughter - and the rapt attention of his lethalin.
-
It was several hours later, when the activity had died down, the pace took on that of a lulling murmur, after some of the patrons - including all of the advisors, Solas idly noted - had retired. Solas had relaxed fully, his back at ease against the couch, a small glass of water warming in his hands. Lavellan had reclined into the opposite corner, stretched like an extremely contented cat. Solas half expected Nirne to lift his legs and lay them over his lap - he also half expected that he wouldn't mind.
But all of a sudden, the elf leaned up sharply, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and drew up his hand, clutching something face down in his palm.
"Can I offer you an egg in these trying times?" He said, and Solas could see, very plainly, that the inquisitor was biting the insides of his cheeks to keep a straight face. He distantly heard Sera giggle and braved himself for being the butt of whatever prank the two had conceived of. His only consolation was that Nirne was a kinder influence on Sera's pranks. He felt a defeated pang of disappointment well up inside him as he reached out to take the mysterious object and saw a traitorous smile split half of Nirne's face.
"What -" he said sharply, drawing his hand back as he heard Sera guffaw and more laughter around the room break out.
He was staring down at an egg with an unamused face painted on it. Turning it slightly in his hands, he saw what he quickly recognized was an “elvish" ear and realized the joke. It was meant to be him.
He hadn't even fully opened his mouth the convey how unimpressed he was when Nirne burst out laughing.
The unadulterated mirth turned his half scowl into an exasperated smirk, but the Inquisitor soon dissolved into a nearly worrying fit of goggles.
Nirne was clutching his stomach, nearly sobbing in delight, and Solas now began to feel affectionate annoyance. He had slid down on the couch, and Solas heard Varric snort from behind them somewhere. With a start he realized that Nirne actually was crying, tears spilling over his cheeks, and the exasperation returned.
"Looks like our herald has finally cracked." Varric said.
The laughter that had perhaps started to die down in the Inquisitor’s chest burst out in full, shocked force. "Cracked!" He wheezed out once as everyone around the room groaned. Nirne squeezed his eyes shut as his body wracked with renewed hysteria. Almost in a panic, Cole called out, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe! But he's happy about it."
At that Nirne fully slid onto the floor, head tipping back against the couch cushions and rich, full peels of laughter rising out. A sort of ache grew in Solas' chest at the sight of his flushed, exposed skin, but he ignored it.
“Da’len!" Solas tried to chide, failing to hide his own bemusement behind his chagrin, “Really, you are acting ridiculous."
He had set the egg down on the table where it wobbled, the stern face shaking at Nirne's eye level, and Solas realized his mistake too late. He snatched the egg up only to turn and see his lethalin was now a giddy, giggling heap on the floor.
"Ow, ow ow my tummy!" Cole wailed quietly and the room echoed with shouts and laughter again. Solas, however, had decided he'd had quite enough. He bent down and scooped the limp - but still shaking and tittering - elf into his arms, careful to hide the egg from sight.
"Oooh, a dashing apostate to the rescue!" Someone called out as he headed towards the door. He ignored them, and again when Dorian indignantly called out, "Again, don't know what you're talking about, I’m just playing Wicked Grace.”
They exited the tavern to hear fading laughter, the cool breeze causing a different kind of shiver to snake it's way along Nirne's body. He tightened his grip absently, berating himself the moment he did. He glanced down to find his charge was starting to recover already. The elf in question was blinking away tears that had tracked down his cheeks, gasping in lungfuls of air.
"Are you quite finished?" He said dryly.
Nirne hummed contentedly, perhaps entirely too at ease in Solas' arms, “Mmmm, no, I expect not." Solas ignored the way Nirne's voice rolled as his head met the nook of his chest, and hot breath tickled his neck.
Solas flashed him a warning look, but instead of the desired effect, Nirne started laughing again, desperately trying to hold it in and failing. His jugular was exposed for a third time that night and Solas almost faltered in his steps with the sudden desire to bite down on that neck, to feel the pumping blood and vibrations of laughter in that throat -
He drove the thought off, No! wishing the icy air was more effective in sending away such thoughts.
Solas shook his head, “What has gotten into you, da'len?" Just the faintest worry creeping into his voice.
“You - you - you -" Nirne tried to rally but eventually gave up until the laughter cleared, forehead bent into the crook on Solas' chest, hair tickling his chin, hot breathy laughter burning his skin.
"You made the same face!" He finally managed to get out before he was giggling again, smearing wet tears on Solas' neck where his sweater ended. Solas snorted despite himself and the pearls of laughter grew louder as Nirne's struggle grew harder. Solas could feel sweat gathering on Nirne's back from the exertion, and yet all he could think of were filthy thoughts of what that would feel like if Nirne's shirt were off, if it wasn't from laughter but because he had-
No. Solas furiously admonished himself, really, he hadn’t drunk anything so why…?
He hadn't even realized that Nirne had stopped laughing until a slightly worried, a soft voice, "I... I haven't upset you, have I?" curled around his ear. he glanced down to see a slightly nervous Nirne peering up at him through his bangs, eyes wide. His expression had grown thunderous as he held an internal monologue, but instantly his face softened.
"No lethalin. But I hope you don't die from laughing. It's hardly any way to go."
Nirne huffed, "Agree to disagree. That sounds fantastic. As opposed to everything else that could possibly happen to me." He mumbled indignantly.
Solas, despite himself, laughed softly, then agreed. "Fair point. I'm still hiding the egg from you."
Nirne was startled into more warm laughter against Solas’ neck, causing his skin to flush. And the urge to, ah, maybe return the favor drove Solas to put his full force against the door to Skyhold as punishment.
The force was indeed enough to startle Nirne out of his chuckles and the pain distracted Solas from his inappropriate thoughts as his elbow smarted.
He walked into the rotunda, ignoring Nirne's flustered sighs of admiration at the newest addition to his paintings, and after a moments hesitation, sidled into his room and laid Nirne gently on the bed.
He had partially meant to chastise himself, partially to draw the conversation away from the murals. Instead he watched Nirne wriggle around on top of his sheets and felt he had been set aflame. He could be a spectacular fool sometimes.
"You were - and still are - ridiculous." He said with a chuckle - and a slight edge to his voice. He had partially been talking to himself.
Nirne huffed out a guilty laugh, “Yeah, it's just that, well... I haven't had anything actually really laugh about. I mean some things are funny, but I can't remember the last time I broke out laughing. Before the Breach, I guess. And I don't know, it's all so absurd, everything, and, well I - I don't know, I guess it had all kind of built up." He gave another anxious laugh, one hand coming up to squeeze the tense muscles behind his neck, "I guess Varric was right about me needing that more than I thought." He said somewhat apologetically, eyes flicking up through the fringe of his mussed hair so nervously that it made Solas' heart clench.
Solas sobered instantly, feeling a deep surge of self loathing. He would gladly play the fool and have Nirne laugh at him every day if it meant easing the burden he'd so cruelly placed upon the bright spirit before him.
He offered a crooked smile, resigning himself as he looked down on his lethalin, "you … eggasgerate, I'm sure."
Nirne stared at him blankly, and just as he thought he might actually have to repeat the pun, a hand rose up and Nirne leaned half away from him on the bed, trying to stifle the snorts and giggles. Nirne stuttered for a couple moments - and Solas was just beginning to worry another deluge of laughter had been summoned, Nirne blew out a great contented sigh and laid back, shaking his head - but assumedly finished.
He smiled up at Solas from the pillows with half lidded eyes, exhausted but unadulteratedly happy. Solas wondered if perhaps he was inebriated after all. Solas hadn't smelt any alcohol on him for all the time they spent in the tavern, nor now, but he'd never seen Nirne like this either.
The image of sleepy, pleasured Nirne was doing terrible things to Solas' conscious mind - not even thinking about when he slept. He'd never seen Nirne so... So utterly at peace. On his bed no less. He relished it, ached that he had no doubt caused it to elude Nirne.
Stop thinking, he urged himself quietly.
He swallowed and kneeled by the bed right as Nirne reached out and captured one of his hands.
A contemplative look crossed Nirne's face. "I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life." A faint frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as he played with Solas' fingers. Then he snorted, “Who would have thought the highlight of my life was a bald joke? Everything is downhill from here." Half distracted by the tantalizing tease of skin on skin, Solas only murmured, “You have yet a whole life ahead of you, lethalin."
Nirne's experimenting stilled and he threaded their hands together before laying them on his chest. Solas could feel the fragile heart beat with his finger tips. Nirne had looked away, towards the door, as if reminded of the outside world. His expression was hidden from Solas; his voice sounded strained and tired, though.
"Remind me of what parts of the world aren't falling apart at present?" Came the worn voice, “Just assuming I survive Corepheus."
Solas cursed himself, “You will surpass all trials before you." He said firmly, “On this I have no doubts."
Nine had turned back towards him curiously at the firm set of his tone but quickly looked away, “Hmmm. Your faith in me is both unnerving and likely misplaced." He said, looking both unconvinced and sadder for it.
Perhaps it was because he was a fool, perhaps it was because of the heady warmth of Nirne's palm pressed against his own. Perhaps it was because he knew all that ailed Nirne was his own doing. Perhaps he longed already for Nirne to smile again, if only for a little while.
He leaned forward, determined to convince him, “You are one of the most remarkable people I have ever met, lethalin. You surpass all my expectations and qualm all my fears by making them a distant thought. I have never met anyone like you and I doubt I ever will again. You are unique, in all of Thedas I would never have thought I'd -"
He cut himself off. Perhaps he was drunk. Was it possible Varric had spiked the water? Ridiculous.
And yet…
"I have never met anyone like you." He repeated, rather than finishing.
But Nirne had sat up, expression rapt and bright, causing a pang in Solas' stomach.
When was the last time someone had looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world? Who was the last person to hang on his every word like life itself depended on it? Never mind that it sometimes did when he took part in exercising powers he shouldn't have - Nirne didn't know that. And sometimes he was just blathering on about the Fade or a magic technique. He knew he blathered. He had been repeatedly informed of this by many people.
And Nirne was not one of them.
Nirne seemed to realize he was staring and the gaze dropped - another pang, this one in his chest - the grip on Solas' hand loosening.
"Ir Abelas." He said faintly, leaning out of Solas' space.
"For what?" Solas challenged, “You are one of the most important people to me, lethalin, and -" he tilted his chin to give a dry smile, “The majority in that category are either spirits or dead."
A slight blush creeped up Nirne's face, and Solas watched on with morbid appreciation. “As are you to me." He murmured, fingers gripping Solas' hand tightly.
"I just -" a frustrated sigh escaped the young elf, eyebrows creasing to mar Mythal's vallaslin. Solas resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it away. Nirne's next words caught him off guard.
"Is it wrong that I'm so happy?" The elf questioned.
Even as Solas opened his mouth to loudly exclaim it was not, could never be, that he deserved all possible happiness and more, Nirne rushed to explain himself.
"I mean, sometimes I think about what I would do if I could go back and stop the Breach from ever happening. The Divine from dying, the conclave from exploding. Corepheus." A crooked frown tapered off on his face and this time Solas did not stop himself from reaching over and easing it with a thumb. Nirne's hot breath shot tingles along Solas' spine. Surely no one’s breath was consistently that warm.
"And then I think," Nirne's expression had been cleared only to look tortured, as if the confession hurt to say, "I would have never met you. Any of you." He pulled their hands up to press them against his forehead. Hot. Perhaps he was running a fever? Before Solas could check, he shook his head with a scattered huff, lowering their hands back to his chest.
“And I don't know if I'd be willing to go through with it. Isn't that awful? A chance to fix everything and I'd sacrifice it all for my own selfish reasons."
Solas gave a soft sigh of surprise, “No, it's not selfish. You are helping people. Thedas needed you regardless - the Breach gave you an excuse - an opportunity - to help where others would not. And you are helping, not just victims of the Breach - everyone. Just because this world has suffered unduly does not make it less than a world that hasn't. What if the Conclave had failed? And Corepheus would have still been out there. You have done so much more than simply deal with the Breach." A beat, then he added gently "It is okay to be happy, Nirne. Even while the world is falling apart. Perhaps especially then." He squeezed Nirne's hand, earning him a soft smile.
"I guess the good things are made up of all the bad. You're probably right, ha’ren." Nirne said softly, emphasizing Solas' apparent "wisdom". Solas stifled a snort but Nirne didn't notice, his attention apparently garnered by something over Solas' head.
Nirne had raised his eyes to peer around the darkened room, wide and curious. "Is this your room?" He asked, a tinge of some unidentifiable excitement in his voice.
"Did you expect me to carry you all the way to yours?" Solas murmured lightly, running a thumb over Nirne's hand.
Nirne flushed, alarm curling over his features, "No, no of course I-"
"Teasing," Solas murmured, "I'm only teasing, lethalin."
Nirne relaxed but, if possible, blushed more, and oh, that was decidedly not good, swallowing thickly as the smaller elf mumbled, “Of course. Right. Yes."
Solas tilted his head. Nirne was acting so unlike himself, more vulnerable than Solas had ever seen him. A quiet thrill insisted Nirne trusted him. But he felt it was more as if emptying himself of laughter left Nirne light-headed and meek.
It have him dark and hungry thoughts, thoughts that did not deserve Nirne, nor their friendship.
"I doubt my room is all that exciting in any case," he said softly, “Hardly more exciting than the mattress you claim could 'fit an entire Dalish clan'." He said, arching his eyebrow.
Nirne gratefully accepted the change in conversation, “It could! And, well it's not as if I get to see your guys' rooms! And it's also not as if anyone invites me. Except for Iron Bull. And, well, I keep telling him I'm petty sure I'm not ready for that."
A flash of something boiled in Solas' chest. Jealousy, he realized.
Pride, he reminded himself, you wrong him with your hunger.
His voice was cool and his expression schooled to neutrality when he said, “Oh? I hadn't realized you preferred to bed men."
Instantly the color drained from Nirne's face and he pulled his hand from Solas' to curl it out of sight by his side, “Yes, I suppose I do." He mumbled.
Solas cursed himself, was there nothing he could help without exacerbating another situation?
Nirne was studiously looking anywhere but his face. He was already half draped across the elf, but to solidify his feelings, he reaced across and firmly rethreaded their fingers.
"I only mean I do not imagine the Iron Bull to be nearly deserving enough of you." He said with a sigh, “Though I recognize it is not my business."
A slight frown curled over Nirne's lip, but he as looking at Solas again, and didn't attempt to disentangle their fingers.
"Why? He's a good man." He said softy.
Solas attempted to tell - to remind - himself that he had no right to argue this. But that voice was distant and fleeting before his own indignation.
"He is a Qunari spy who was sent to get close to you. He told you as much. Of the available options for your company, which are poor already, he is especially so." He said.
An eyebrow rose in disbelief at this assessment, “So who, exactly, is 'deserving' of me?"
Solas tired to bite down but it came out regardless, “Of those around us?” He paused, "In my honest opinion, no one."
A faint trickle of shocked laughter answered him, as did a faint flush, “So by your standards, I would live and die alone."
Solas blinked as Nirne dared him to disagree.
"Ah," he conceded, "I suppose you are right. I recognize, however, that you don't need my blessings on the matter."
A full grin tugged itself onto Nirne's features. "Oh good," he said, amused, “Thank you so much for reminding me of that. Here I'd thought if need to ask you if I could date anyone."
Solas bristled, but it was at himself. Of course Nirne didn't need his permission. What a stupid thing to say. Still, Nirne was grinning, thankfully not offended, and seemed to have reclaimed his easy teasing and confidence which usually overtook most of their conversations.
Nirne sighed then wiggled from where Solas had half lain his head, "I do believe that I am well enough to move." He said, somehow looking resigned.
Solas chuckled despite himself, “You'll not collapse into a fit of hysteria upon entering the second floor?" He was only half joking.
Nirne smiled back, "Wouldn't dream of it, ha'ren."
He sat up, leaning over Solas, and for an indescribably agonizing moment, Solas almost kissed him. Moonlight from the window filtered through his hair and splayed across his face. His eyes gold in the night, and there was something so soft, so gentle in them, when he regarded Solas, that Solas could not doubt for one moment that he was unequivocally, inexplicably loved.
He couldn't breathe under it.
Then Nirne hummed, tracing Solas' brow with a lithe finger, before getting out of the bed and breaking the moment, thankfully, for it would have otherwise broken Solas.
Solas followed suit, leading his lethalin out to the well lit rotunda.
“Dareth eran’en. But on the sweeter side." Nirne softly offered, a brush of a hand against his arm as he walked past Solas.
Throat tight, Solas echoed the sentiment, although he was sure his dreams would be anything but safe.
Or sweet.