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„It’s beautiful,“ Elgara says as she enters the Rotunda, eyes fixed on the drying Fresco.
Solas just arranges the last of his utensils in its proper place and then turns to face her.
“I am glad you think so,” he reciprocates with a smile.
She smirks as she walks over and musters the wall with a scrutinizing expression.
“That picture,” she makes a small gesture with her head, “it reflects what transpired with the mages, doesn’t it?”
He nods, arms clasped behind his back.
“This is your fortress. I simply wish to preserve your actions with these displays.”
She guffaws.
“I wouldn’t call it my fortress,” she says “well, not mine alone, anyway.” She sifts uncomfortably and then her eyes widen in realization. She gives a hollow laugh. “Oh creators, I really do live in castle now, don’t I?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her expression.
“Indeed you do.”
She shakes her head. “Deshanna would…” she hesitates,” actually, I’m really not sure what she would do. I don’t think any of us could ever have imagined…” She lets out a breath of air and meets his eyes, brows raised. “How the fuck did I get here?”
His lips curl upward.
“Have you really already forgotten the days of strenuous travel through the biting cold and miles upon miles of snow?” he says with a sly grin.
She huffs, amused.
“I’m trying to,” she says. “I have regained the feeling in my legs now, and I’ve managed to heal even the blisters of my blisters.” She shrugs. “Did not know that was even possible, I blame shoes.”
He laughs and she turns her head back to the Mural.
“So you will probably keep recording my actions, won’t you?”
“That was my intention.”
She gives an exaggerated sigh.
“Well, I’d better not screw up then, or else my failings will be displayed in the Rotunda, seeped into stone, conserved for ages, for all to see.”
He raises a brow.
“I would think the potential end of the world would be motive enough. But if this offers you some additional motivation, I am glad to be of assistance,” he teases.
She laughs.
“Ah, yes, the fate of Thedas still rests on my shoulders,” she frowns. “Almost forgot about that,” she says and rubs her neck. “Probably because I fell through that shaft and hit my head. Hard.” she mocks. “Or maybe a part of my brain is still a bit frozen, the walk through that blizzard did seem to stretch on forever.” The grip on her neck tightens. “Or maybe time-travel has some unknown side effects…” She starts to fidget a bit. Her once teasing expression turns somewhat worried.
He chuckles. “Or perhaps you simply have a lot on your mind.”
This snaps her back to the present and her smirk returns.
“Nah, my royals are still on time-travel.”
Solas laughs and shakes his head.
She flicks her tongue. “But anyway, ‘thank you’,” she jeers the sentiment, “for reminding me, falon.”
His chest swells. It was still strange to hear her refer to him by that. To hear that painfully familiar, somewhat intimate term on her lips, and know that it was meant for him. But it’s true, he thinks. They are… friends.
When she speaks again, her voice is bright, but her smile turns slightly bitter, heavy with the weight of the world.
“No pressure, right?”
“None at all,” he says, gently.
Elgara laughs, but it sounds somewhat strained, pained.
Solas moves closer and rests an encouraging hand on her arm. She meets his eyes. He tries to ignore the desire that those deep hazel pools rise in him. His ears suddenly feel impossibly hot, but he is careful to not let his sentiments show.
“But joke as we may, you are not alone,” he says. “You might lead the Inquisition now, but there are entire forces at your side.” Her expression softens. The worry slowly slithers from her brows and her lips, those full, impossibly red lips, curl in relief. He resists the urge to let his gaze linger on her mouth. “You have your advisors, you have your comrades… and you have me.” Her eyes gleam at his mention, making his chest swell with more joy than was appropriate. His heart jumps. Fenedhis lasa. “Never forget that,” he whispers and can’t seem to take his gaze off her face.
The spark, the light that so often played in her has returned to her eyes. She clasps his hand, the one that still rests on her shoulder and squeezes it. For a moment the air is incredibly electric. He is suddenly painfully aware of just how little space separates them. Her lips are right in front of him, if he moved just a bit forward, he could brush them with his own. Feel her. Taste her. His skin burns.
Pull away he tells himself, but seems incapable of following through.
She leans closer, her eyes fluttering shut.
No.
With more effort than he’d like to admit, he retracts his hand and averts his gaze.
He bites the inside of his mouth as they both stare at the wall.
“Thank you,” she mumbles after a moment, and from the corner of his eye, he can see her twirl strands of crimson hair. How he wishes to sink his hands between them, to …
No.
He just nods.
Then she lets out a breath that washes away some of the tension.
“I would like to try it sometime, if you don’t mind?” she says, cheerfully.
He just looks at her, confused. His mind was admittedly still a bit … unfocused.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the wall.
“Painting,” she says. “I think I’ve heard about this method, it is elven, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he confirms simply. And a part of him, a selfish, sentimental, nostalgic part, wishes he could tell her more.
She inclines her head in acknowledgement, and continues.
“Only very few still practice it. None of them were part of my clan.” Unsurprising. “So I would like to learn,” she discloses and quickly adds “only if you don’t mind, of course.”
His eyes trail the lines of his work.
“Creating a fresco is … difficult to master, but I suppose I could teach you some of the basics, if you wish,” he offers.
From the edge of his vision, Solas can see the corners of her lips bend into a pleased smile and he couldn’t keep his from doing the same.
“I’d like that,” she says.
He just hums, both concerned and undeniably pleased at the prospect of spending more time with her.