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It all starts with a dull ache that lingers faintly in the back of his throat.
It’s like an itch, annoying, but not excessively bothering. He goes on with his day with little trouble, just clearing his voice and drinking more water than usual.
He also craves a hot beverage, but refuses to take tea and asks for honey and milk instead, causing mild disconcert in the kitchens.
Perhaps he talked more than he is used to, he muses. His vhenan does ask many questions and he is always more than happy to answer and explain, to teach her new things and see curiosity and rapture bloom on her face.
She comes to him that evening, after dealing with all her exhausting duties and meetings. A book under her arm, she timidly asks him if he wants to read some Elvhen with her and he cannot refuse, springing up from his chair without a second thought, smiling for the first time that day.
The ache has gotten worse and he can’t seem to make it go away. No matter what he drinks, eats or does, his throat still feels frail, as if covered in rough paper.
Still, he reads to her, both relaxing on the couch in the rotunda, a hand in her hair, the other holding the book.
“Your voice sounds funny today.” Scarlet comments with a smile as he turns the page. He raises one eyebrow, smirking. He knows she loves the sound of his voice.
“It does?” he feigns surprise. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, no!” There is an adorable blush on her cheeks - he can see it even under the red lines of her vallaslin - and she can’t stop smiling. “I love it. It just sounds… deeper. Hoarse, perhaps?”
She frowns, suddenly worried. “Wait, are you tired? Why didn’t you tell me?” She sighs fondly and reaches for the book. “Come on, it’s my turn now!”
But he moves it away from her, surprising her with a smacking kiss on the lips that makes her miss her mark.
“Hush.” he tuts lovingly with a smile, pushing her back against his chest. “And do not concern yourself, vhenan. I am fine.”
She tries to protest, but he resumes reading and soon they are both lost into the world narrated by the book and each other’s presence.
The next morning, his nose starts to run and a fire burns in his throat.
He heard about this. He saw this in the Fade. This new world calls it ‘a cold’, an illness of the body caused by a weakened state of it, contagions, sudden changes of temperatures.
It’s not a serious disease, but he saw it become fatal in the poorest zones of Thedas, where the living conditions were abhorrent and medicines and healers weren’t available.
He feels terrible, though. Illnesses like these were unheard of in ancient Elvhenan. Even among the most miserable slaves, such things did not exist, because the nature of the world, of the Elves themselves, did not allow it.
And since his awakening in this new world, he never fell ill.
Until now.
He realizes with horror that he will experience the cruelty of fever and the mortification of a running nose for the first time in his long life.
He tries to remember what the memories he saw in the Fade did in situations like these, but there were different versions, different remedies, and he is not sure which one is the most effective.
Maybe if he remains inside with something warm to drink it will go away. He doesn’t want to inform Scarlet of this and make her worry: if he is lucky, he should feel better within evening.
So he requests more milk and honey from the kitchens and retreats in the rotunda, which is surprisingly shielded from drafts and cold air. Skyhold is old - as old as him -, but it’s been built with care and effort and its stones can still shield its inhabitants with efficiency.
He stays there for the whole day, knowing Scarlet is busy with the nobles and ambassadors in visit. He sniffles continuously and at first he cleans his nose with the sleeve of his sweater almost without thinking about it, an automatic response to the wetness streaming down his skin.
But then he realizes it’s unhealthy and disgusting, so he makes sure to have his handkerchief close, keeping it on his desk or even holding it in hand when he is not writing.
He feels dizzy and every time he swallows a terrible pain runs up and down his throat; the concoction of milk, honey, and sugar seems to help, but he feels like puking when the servant asks him if he wants something to eat too.
“No.” he croaks out, startling the poor man - and himself. “Just this. Thank you.”
He can’t focus. The words on the books and papers are blurry, distant, unreadable, and his mind starts to wander.
First, he thinks about Scarlet. He has been harboring a deep wish in his heart for long now, the desire to tell her the truth and finally let her know everything. Two sides of him fight about this delicate topic every day - it’s dangerous, but she deserves it. She may hate him and curse his name forever, but she deserves to know.
The worst outcome of them all, though, is that she may offer him her help and he cannot allow that. He can’t do that to her.
So now, in this pitiful state he is in, he obsesses over that problem, that desire, without respite. He looks at his books without really seeing them, sipping sadly his milk and mulling the future.
Then he starts to fantasize. A family with her. A house in which to live together and raise their children. No more duties, no more weight over their shoulders.
A bad cough builds up in his chest and his body shakes as his fit of wheezes fills the rotunda. Curious people glances down at him, but he barely notices them. He feels too warm, almost sticky. He realizes he is sweating and pushes away the cup of steaming milk.
The candles hurt his eyes. Their flames remind him of Scarlet’s hair and eyes and he nearly reaches for one, wishing to touch it. Where is she? He wishes she was here with him.
He wonders how she would look like in an elven marriage dress. Astounding and gorgeous, he has no doubts.
“Solas…?”
He coughs again and his chest feels like it’s being gnawed by powerful jaws, unrelenting and hungry, every time he inhales and exhales. Is this how a cold feel like? He remembers seeing spirits replay scenes like this - children sniffing in their beds, elders coughing on their chairs, strong warriors reduced to shivering and whiny babies as the ache in their heads and bones punctually came back.
But he could have never imagined this.
“Ahem. Solas?”
He slowly looks up at the second level. Someone is leaning on the balustrade, but he can’t see them very well. His eyes sting and he rubs them with his knuckles, sniffling to keep at bay the snot - the snot - threatening to run out of his nose.
“Are you feeling well?” the voice continues. He thinks he recognizes it. He knows that person, but the name doesn’t come to mind now. That never happened to him, he usually has such a good memory and…
“I’m fine.” he mumbles and is surprised by how different and gruff his voice is.
“Are you sure?” the man insists. “Because you have been coughing a lot and I do not want to see any lungs splattered on the floor, thank you very much.”
Dorian. That’s the man’s name. Solas glares at him and opens his mouth to respond, but only a loud sneeze comes out.
It echoes in the rotunda and the crows above squeak and cries out in surprise.
“Maker!” he hears Leliana exclaim. “Who was that? Is someone ill?”
“I’m fine.” he repeats stubbornly.
He is. This is merely a cold and it will go away in no time. He is sure his body can take it; he endured so much worse and he cannot let something as silly as this stop him from spending time with Scarlet, slow him down in his researches, and ruin his day.
“You certainly don’t sound fine.” Dorian retorts, but he ignores him and gets up with a grunt, collecting the books and notes he needs and leaving the rotunda with slow, heavy steps.
“Fine, leave! But go see the healer before you pass out!”
A wave of nausea hits him like a sack of bricks when he enters the main hall and the scent of roasted meat and potatoes invades his nostrils. It’s almost dinner time and Scarlet is surely coming to spend the rest of the day with him.
He cannot let her see him like this. Most importantly, he cannot risk her catching the same thing he has.
He knows this is contagious. His presence alone can cause her to contract this insufferable illness and that’s the last thing he wants.
So he retires to his old room, for the first time since they got together - almost two years now. He still remembers the exact month and day of their first kiss, the one in the Fade, but it’s the second one the one they consider the start of their relationship and he remembers the date of that one too. He would remember the date of every single one of them if they weren’t so many, so different and varied in nature - heated, sweet, timid, bold, inexperienced, enthusiastic, eager, quick, slow.
He is glad for that. He wants to kiss her again.
It could lead to trouble and pain, he remembers thinking the day of their second kiss, but then he gave in, because damn it all, I cannot stay without her.
He was deep into it then and he is even deeper into it now. Felassan must be laughing at him, maybe even glaring at him, but he knows he would be happy for him, just like Wisdom would be, just like his other spirit friends in the Fade are.
To be honest, he isn’t sure how he reaches his room. He is distractedly aware of Varric telling him something that sounds like ‘Shit, Chuckles, are you alright?’; he almost trips on the stairs and the light entering from the windows blind him; he can vaguely see forms and figures letting him pass or moving away not to touch him, most likely guests and nobles frightened by his look.
How does he look, exactly? Paler than usual? Is there snot on his face? He can’t feel it, but he can’t feel much anyway, except for his muscles, which hurt a lot.
This is unlike anything he ever felt before. He didn’t have to worry about catching colds while fighting the Evanuris. There were no illnesses, no running noses, no coughing fits in ancient Elvhenan.
‘No fever’, he thinks with a groan as he drops the books on the desk and finally sits on his bed, unfamiliar and cold. His room is neatly cleaned every day even though he doesn’t use it, even though all his stuff is now kept in Scarlet’s quarters, but he doesn’t feel comfortable in it. It’s cold and empty and doesn’t feel like home like the room he shares with Scarlet.
His head is spinning. The walls are spinning and he suddenly feels squished, small, frail. He lies down on the bed - the pillow doesn’t feel right - and longs for Scarlet’s presence.
What is the best way to tell her? Vhenan, I am the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. Don’t be scared, I am not the cruel beast of Dalish legends. Please, believe me, I can show you proofs.
What if she refuses him? Is he ready to live with her hatred, to do what he has to do knowing she despises him and believes him nothing more than a monster?
‘No.’ he immediately answers himself. ‘No, I am not ready for that. I will never be. But she deserves to know.’
What if she accepts him? What if she wants to come with him and help him? Would he let her?
‘No.’ he thinks, trying to breathe and get some air into his nose. It makes a weird sound and he grimaces. ‘No. It’s too dangerous and she doesn’t deserve that. But she deserves to know.’
He feels like crying. A small part of him, small like a child, is scared and unsettled by this situation, by this fire scorching his head and bones, by this heaviness he feels in his lungs and nose, by the throat that aches every time he swallows.
Is he dying? Here, now, alone in this room, when there is still so much to do - Corypheus who needs to be defeated, the Orb, the Veil, Scarlet and the truth, he needs to tell her the truth and then…
“Solas? They told me you were here.”
The familiar voice startles him and his head snaps towards the door. It slowly opens, creaking on its hinges, and Scarlet’s red hair, round face, and big golden eyes peek into the room.
“Solas!” she gasps, then she enters, closes the door and runs to the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” he tries to say, but his throat hurts too much, so he has to whisper: “I fear I am dying, vhenan.”
Horror fills her eyes and she touches his forehead, while taking his hand. Hers is cold and dry, while he feels very, very warm and terribly damp.
“Creators, you are so hot!” she exclaims, moving her hand to his neck to check the pulse. Solas smiles sweetly at her.
“You are marvelous too, vhenan.”
She blinks and stares at him for a long second, wide-eyed, before snorting and allowing herself to smile despite the worry on her face and voice. She also looks relieved, though.
“You are not dying, you silly.” she says tenderly, stroking his cheek. “You just caught a very bad cold. I thought your voice sounded odd yesterday!”
“My throat hurts.” he complains weakly, then he frowns. “You shouldn’t be here. You are going to catch it too and…”
“Hush.” she repeats the same word he told her yesterday. She smiles at him and leans down to press a kiss on his forehead. He gasps with indignant, worried anger and tries to move away to put distance between them, even though it hurts him terribly to do so.
He wants to fall asleep in her embrace and breathe her sweet scent.
Then it hits him and he panics.
“I can’t smell anything.” he croaks out, gripping Scarlet’s hand. “Vhenan. I can’t smell anything.”
“It’s normal when you have a cold.” she explains. Her smile is tinted with surprise, but she doesn’t ask him why he is so frightened and shocked.
She asks him if he can sit up instead and he nods, letting her help him. “Let’s go to our room.” she says, holding his hand, her other arm already resting on his waist to support him. “It’s warmer and I can take care of you better there.”
“I don’t want to infect you.” he babbles. As soon as his feet touch the ground and he gets up, knees quivering, a wave of nausea creeps over him and he wobbles.
Scarlet tightens her grip on him, holding him with delicateness and strength at the same time. She lets him lean on her - he doesn’t want to crush her, but he feels so weak and the room won’t stop spinning and…
“You won’t infect me.” she promises, slowly taking him to the door. “Don’t worry, you will be fine, ma sa’lath. The healer will give you the right therapy, you will rest and relax and after a good, warm meal…”
Before she can finish her sentence, he doubles over and vomits all over the floor.
He passes out immediately and finds himself in the Fade, perfectly aware what just happened, of what he has just done.
He avoids all the spirits he encounters, doesn’t call his friends, too ashamed to share with them his experience. Vomiting on your girlfriend’s feet isn’t exactly an event one wishes to share.
He broods and mopes in a far corner of the Beyond. At least he isn’t feeling like he is dying here, but he knows what awaits him once he wakes up.
Time doesn’t exist in the Fade, so he stays there until he feels the pull from the other side, the distant, but insistent tug of something that lies beyond the world of spirits.
He lets it pull him and braces himself for the burning shame that will run over him as soon as he looks Scarlet in the eyes.
He prepared some things to say, words to apologize, hoping he didn’t really puke on her.
“Do not worry.” a spirit who is passing by tells him with all the innocence of the world. “You only ruined the carpet.”
- - - -
His eyes slowly open and the first thing he sees is a tall, familiar frosted glass window. Then he turns his head and sees Scarlet, leaning over him and smiling with relief and love.
“Ma vhenan!” she says, brushing her thumb on his brow and cupping his cheek. “How do you feel?”
He makes an inarticulated sound and swallows with a grimace. His throat doesn’t hurt as much as before, but there is still a distinct sting. She kisses his forehead and he hums happily, smiling at her.
“You are still feverish.” she murmurs, then cradles his face in her hands - which are cold, but also so, so soft - and watches him with tenderness, her smile spreading a good kind of warmth all over his shivering, weak body.
“My poor vhenan.” she coos, pressing light, delicate kisses all over his face. “You will get better soon. The healer came and said it’s nothing to worry about.”
“So I am not dying?” he manages to say and relief flows through him like a warm stream.
“Of course not!” She sits next to the bed and holds his hand, rubbing circles on his calloused knuckles. She kisses it and his heart swells with love. “You only need to rest.”
“Good.” he mumbles, watching her with sad, puppy eyes. “There are so many things I still have to tell you.”
She giggles and kisses his knuckles again.
“You can tell me once you are feeling better. Now sleep.”
“Many, many things.” he continues, playing with her fingers. He wants to touch her hair and kiss her lips and, when her smile broadens and her cheeks get pinker, he blinks and asks:
“Have I ever told you that you are absolutely stunning, vhenan?”
She snorts and kisses his hand again to hide her face, but even in his feverish state he understands that and gently lifts her chin.
“You are so kind and selfless.” he continues and now it’s his turn to take her hand and bring it to his lips. “Why are you with me?”
“Shhh, ma sa’lath.” she whispers, fixing the heavy blanket draped over him. “Hamin.”
But he doesn’t want to stop and presses his mouth on the palm of her right hand, the one without the Anchor, the one without the Mark slowly killing her. He feels tears prickle his eyes.
“You deserve better. You deserve everything good in the world - and not this world only. I want to give it all to you.” He kisses her fingertips, then looks at her. He can see her through the tears and she looks worried, sad.
“Ar lath, ma vhenan.” he says and she leans in again and kisses him.
“Ar lath, ma vhenan.” she repeats, then smiles and dries his eyes and long eyelashes with her thumbs. “Rest.”
“I am sorry.” he mumbles. His cheeks feel warmer. “I did not mean to…” A sudden sneeze comes and he groans, falling back on the pillow. He sniffles and is already raising his hand to clean his nose on the sleeve - he is wearing a clean cotton shirt, he notices -, but Scarlet precedes him and presses a handkerchief on his nose.
“Blow.” she says gently and he does as he is told. When he is finished, she taps his nose to make sure it’s clean and sits back on the chair, holding his hand again.
“I am sorry.” he repeats feebly. “For this and for what I did before.”
“Don’t worry about it. The carpet has already been cleaned.” she laughs, dimples on her cheeks. Her vallaslin shift and her eyes look like fragments of gold. He wants to kiss her again.
“I was not referring to that only.” he frowns, dizzy again. His head feels light, but Scarlet’s touch and presence anchor him here and he feels safe. “The other thing too. I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was not.”
He shakes his head and huffs; he can’t articulate his words, but Scarlet is patient and kind and waits for him to conclude.
He gives up in the end, too weak to force his mind to pronounce the right sentences, to let out what’s pushing so hard against his head and heart to be released.
“It’s alright.” she soothes him with her voice and touch. “You will tell me later.”
“Yes.” he smiles and she smiles back, nodding at him to close his eyes and sleep.
Just then, someone knocks on the door below and Scarlet calls without getting up: “Come in!”
Three pairs of footsteps can be heard, then Dorian, Varric, and Cole appear, each bringing something different: the Altus is carrying a book, Varric has brought many white pages and ink, Cole is holding a steaming bowl of soup in his hands.
“Hello!” the spirit boy greets, then he shows the bowl to Scarlet, who beams at him. “It’s the food you requested to the cook.”
“Thank you, Cole! Put it there on the table.”
“So, how is our friend?” Dorian asks with an amused, but affectionate smirk, standing beside Scarlet.
Solas takes a moment to think, then replies: “I never felt so bad before. Not even after a battle.” His voice sounds terrible, but at least he is able to talk a little better now.
“Really?” Varric chuckles, heading towards the couch. “I thought you looked bad earlier this morning, but I didn’t think you felt so bad.”
“He is not used to this. It’s new and scary and he feels sorry for the people who experienced this before.” Cole intervenes and Solas’ heart skips a beat.
“So you don’t get ill often? Not even when you were a child?” Dorian asks and he shakes his head, hoping it sounds plausible.
“I always had good health. I…” he coughs and nausea slowly comes back, making him groan. “Fenedhis! This is terrible!”
“Hah! He gets even grumpier when he is sick!” Dorian snickers, sitting next to Varric on the couch and opening his book. The dwarf is already scribbling on the blank pages and Scarlet tells him to use her desk to write better.
“Thank you, Inquisitor. I need to find a good idea for this part or Cassandra will skin me alive.”
“Why are you here anyway?” Solas asks, scowling. The lovely moment he was spending with Scarlet has been interrupted and he isn’t in the mood for Dorian’s snarky comments and Varric’s smutty novels.
“Such gratefulness! Such kindness! Thank you, Dorian, for breathing my same sick air! Thank you, Varric, for being here instead of you warm seat in the hall! Thank you, Cole, for witnessing my snotty nose and mottled face!”
Solas scowls even harder and Scarlet shoots a glare at her best friend, who smiles at her innocently.
“Are you done?”
“I complained about everything, so yes.”
“We are here to help and keep you company!” Cole finally explains with a huge smile. He has taken Varric’s place on the couch and is sitting with his hands on his lap, calm and relaxed. “The healer said your stomach is sensitive. Your body wants to throw out everything in it.”
Solas stiffens and his eyes widen. This cannot be true. Maybe he heard it wrong. Maybe the fever…
He turns to Scarlet and her face tells him he heard that right.
“The illness you caught isn’t dangerous, just annoying.” she says with a tender tone, caressing his hand. “You will need to eat and drink a lot, but you might throw up often too.”
“Don’t worry, Chuckles, we won’t stay here for the night.” Varric reassures him, noticing his embarrassed expression. “Just for a while, to keep you and the Inquisitor company and make sure everything is under control.”
Solas sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. Then a strange euphoria, a bubbling feeling that beats the uneasiness in his body, grows in him and he starts laughing, a raucous laughter that turns into a series of coughs.
Scarlet pats gently on his back and he smiles at her as soon as he can breathe again - tears are shimmering in the corners of his eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the coughing fit or because of the happiness and love he feels.
“Thank you.” he says, speaking to everyone, and everyone smiles at him.
Scarlet presses a kiss on his bald head, then convinces him to eat.
“Don’t worry, it’s not tea.” she says, showing him the bowl. “I will put the healer’s medicine in it. It will make you feel better in no time!”
She feeds him and he basks in the sensation that act gives him: he always manages to relax when he is with her, but now he is weak and all his worries and fears are unable to faze him.
He takes the spoon into his mouth, watching her intently, and can see how relaxed and content she is too.
Dorian and Varric are leaving them be, knowing this is a private moment, and are discussing the dwarf’s book near one of the windows, in low, conspiratorial tones.
Cole is looking at them, instead, but he is discreet about it and Solas can feel him smile even from the bed, even with the fever numbing his senses.
“Tell me if you feel bad.” Scarlet tells him after he has finished eating the soup. She gives him another kiss and he lies down on the bed. He keeps his hand on her lap as she starts sewing a scarf - “Something to keep you warm during our missions in Emprise du Lion!” - and it seems the soup and the medicine are already having a positive effect, because he doesn’t feel as tired as before and can participate to the conversation.
Or maybe it’s the company.
‘Yes. That must be the real cure.’ he thinks as he watches Scarlet with love-struck eyes.
“How was your meeting with the nobles from Val Chevin?” Dorian asks and Scarlet lets out a deep sigh.
“A pain in the butt, but it was useful.”
“I love your butt.” Solas blurts out before he can think twice about it. Apparently his fever is still strong.
Varric snickers. Cole laughs content.
“Oh, great! He is delirious now!” Dorian snorts. “This cold is truly something to fear.”
Scarlet blushes and gives a loving squeeze to Solas’ hand before going back to the scarf. She keeps smiling for all the next hours, until the sun starts setting and they have to light candles and glowing orbs to illuminate the room.
He vomits only twice and both times Scarlet is there to help him, patient and not disgusted. Cole assists her while Dorian prepares a light concoction to soothe the discomfort of Solas’ stomach and Varric puts a damp cloth on his forehead.
After what feels like an eternity, he wakes up from his sleep with a jolt and sees the others on the stairs, saying goodbye. It’s completely dark outside and only the candles are shining light in the room now.
“Call us if something happens or you need help.” Dorian is saying, Scarlet’s hand in his. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here with you? I slept in worse places.”
“I am sure. I can take care of my puking boyfriend.” she says with a smile. “Thank you for everything.”
“You know where to find us, Inquisitor.” Varric grins. “Say goodnight to Chuckles for us too.”
“Goodnight.” Solas says loudly, even though his throat hurts, and the three companions turn and wave at him.
“Have happy dreams!” Cole says sweetly.
“Oh, I am sure they will, Cole. They can smooch each other in the Fade without problems.” Dorian grins, winking at Scarlet, who swats his back and urges him to go away.
“Goodnight, Chuckles! I will come back with a copy of Hard in Hightown tomorrow!”
He smiles at them and waves back until they disappear beyond the balustrade of the stairs and leaves the room. Only then he sees the flowers and books resting on the table near the couch.
“They are gifts for you from the others.” Scarlet explains, following his gaze. She comes back to the bed and he sees happiness shine in her eyes. “To wish you a fast recovery.”
Something stirs in him as he looks back at the presents. It’s an emotion he felt before, during his time as the leader of the rebellion against the Evanuris: it’s friendship, camaraderie, and he realizes that he has been considering this place his new home for a long time now, not just because of Scarlet, but because of all the people - people, they are people! - who surround them as well.
Even though there are illnesses and diseases in this Veiled reality, living here with Scarlet, living together in this world with their friends… that feels good too. That feels beautiful, right too.
Would it truly be so bad to abandon his plans and lose himself into her, into their life here, forever?
“Ma vhenan.” she calls softly and he looks at her. “I will sleep here next to you, alright? Just call me if you need anything.”
She is pushing the couch next to the bed, so they can sleep near each other. He smiles, pleased, because the mere thought of sleeping without her is terrible.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks with a tender smile as she slips into her nightgown.
“Yes. Infinitely better.” he smiles, sincere, then frowns as she rests down on the couch and fixes the blanket on her legs. “Vhenan, let me sleep there.”
“Hush.” she tuts, kissing him. “It’s very comfortable and warm, so don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” he says, taking her hand. He rolls on his side to face her, grunting because he is very sore, and continues: “Thank you for everything, ma sa’lath.”
He feels a lump of tears in his throat and she must notice his emotional state, because she moves closer to him and presses his hand on her heart.
“Don’t even mention it.” she says. He can see her smile in the orange glow provided by the candles and the marvels of Elvhenan are nothing compared to that. “I will be here for you, always. Remember that.”
“And I for you.” he smiles back and uses his other hand to tuck a lock of red hair behind her ear. He taps her nose, making her giggle, and she asks timidly, her lips brushing against his fingers:
“Will you visit me in the Fade?”
He chuckles - the sound hoarse, but familiar again - and nods.
“Always, vhenan.”
They fall asleep like that and the Wolf dreams of the new home he found, the sickly coldness of fever replaced by the sweet and reassuring warmth of love and hope.