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Despite his doubts, he finds her that night, in the Fade. This time she does not keep him out, in fact, a part of her subconscious mind seems to reach for him, to actively seek him out. It should not thrill him in the way it does. He takes a deep, steadying breath. This could be risky, he had to be completely in charge of his emotions, had to keep them in line.
He takes a moment to calm himself.
And then he shapes the Fade around them.
***
They climb up the frosty stone steps as the wind whirls flakes of snow about them. If the lack of confusion, recognition, or awe on Elgara’s face was any indication, she is not aware of the fact that she is dreaming. It was to be expected. There was a logic to dreams that did not apply to the waking world. Here, the mind could flow seamlessly from one event to the next, from one location to another, visiting familiar places that were now long gone, without once questioning their validity. They felt so potently, incredibly real and in a way, they were, - and so much more.
Solas moves towards the Chantry, but she pauses for a moment too look around.
“Why here?” she asks, with an air of confusion. Ah, so she does sense that something is off. Perhaps she even realizes that she is dreaming after all.
He smiles and makes a displaying gesture.
“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you,” he explains and moves on.
“But we talked about that already…” she objects, but still follows him through the doors.
They walk in silence then, through the hallway and winding passages, into the cell.
It was strange to stand in the phantom of this room again. Able to observe it all in hindsight. How careless he had regarded her then. And how cruel and thoughtless the other imitations, especially the humans had treated her then, in their paranoia. And now she had risen to become their savior. To command the entire Inquisition. It was remarkable, the favor granted to her by the mark only went so far, most of her triumph, the trust of the ‘people’, had been hard-earned. Changing minds seemed her expertise.
He remembers his initial disposition.
She did have his sympathy, in those early days, but it had been overshadowed by his fears and frustrations. All he had truly cared about then was the anchor. He had thought of her as little more than a vessel. A temporary host for his orbs’ power. But she transformed quickly from a vessel into somewhat of a tool when he remained unable to reclaim it.
But now? Now she was a comrade, a friend, however short that may last, and perhaps, no there was no point in denying it, she was definitely even a person. The anchor had changed her, made her… more. It was what he believed. It was what he had to believe.
“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor.” He says, his voice echoing against the damp walls.
She sighs and shakes her head.
“It is strange to think that I was so frightened of you touching it again. I didn’t consider how many hours you had already been exposed to it.” She clickes her tongue and shakes her head at herself. “Oh how stupid and paranoid I was back then. To think that I really …” she trails of, laughs, and then shakes her head again.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know what to say. A million things whirl in his mind. There are no words for this situation.
Luckily, she soon breaks the silence.
“Anyway, now, in hindsight and a good while after my mental breakdown.”, she starts with a mocking smile that turns tender “I’m glad someone was watching over me.” She tilts her head and he can feel her eyes burry into his. Can feel her cheeks heat up. “I’m glad you were watching over me.”
The corners of his moth curve into a smile.
“You were a mystery.” He says simply and then turns to face her. Her eyes are impossibly bright. “You still are.”
She laughs. “A mystery, huh?”, she asks and arches a brow. “Well that is the sweetest thing anyone has called me in a long time. Beats ‘the Herald of Andraste’ and ‘Inquisitor’ by a longshot.”
“Is that so?” His gaze softens.
“While I understand your resentment, Inquisitor is a title of honor, bestowed upon you not by fate, but by the people. It is a sign of trust, a reward well-earned by the virtue of your actions.”
Her smile deepens. “Well if you put it that way, I suppose Inquisitor is not all that bad.” She smirks. “Still not as charming as ‘mystery’ though.”
He chuckles. And he can feel the delight, feel the satisfaction that his reaction gives her radiating in the air. A delicate shudder runs through him. There is a pull to her, amplified by the Fade. He tries to divulge the conversation, but is simply unable to take his eyes off her.
“I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing.” He disclaims. Those moments had been pure fear. He had lived through much suffering and many mistakes, yet those few days had been one of the, if not the, hardest time of his entire existence. Not least due to the sheer idiocy of the imitations. “Cassandra suspected duplicity,” he continues. “She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”
Elgara waves a dismissive hand.
“I wouldn’t take it personally,” she says. “Cassandra’s like that with everyone.”
He gives a hearty laugh. “Yes,” he agrees.
The air was tingling again. He can feel her tug at him, subconsciously, beckoning, wanting to get closer. He turns swiftly and leads them back outside.
Perhaps he should simply stop now, leave her dream, end it all right here.
But after a while, he starts talking again.
“You were never going to wake up,” he discloses and despite the wind and continuous snow, the air is no longer cold. It should be warning enough. Yet he continues. “How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade.” He shakes his head. “I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach.” He could feel the memory of that dread ebb at him again. “Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra. Or she in me,” he explains. “I was ready to flee,” he confesses and she breaks into a fit of laughter.
“You were? Back then?” she asks and he inclines his head with a soft smile. He would spare her the fact that he had considered to leave at Haven as well, before her warning. “You could have spared me a lot of worry,” she complains jokingly. “Well, a lot of everything, really. Cause you know… I think it’s safe to say that I probably wouldn’t be here anymore.” Her face stirs something in his chest, her smile is so heavy with gratitude that he can practically taste it. “Again, ma serannas,” she says.
He just nods. He can’t bring himself to answer. The back of his neck tingles, a sensation that spreads throughout his body.
He averts his gaze again and clears his throat. Then, he simply continues his story.
“I told myself, one more attempt to seal the rifts,” he admits and reaches with one hand towards the memory of the Breach. “I tried and failed,” he confesses and retracts his arm. “No ordinary magic would affect them.” No, only the one that had created it could. “I watched the Rifts suspend and grow,” he discloses “Resigned myself to flee and then…”
The memory flashes before his eyes. Her hand in his, shaking, trembling as it pulls from the Rift. And then with a ripple, with a force that nocks their arms back, it unravels and just like that, everything is different. All his emotions, the tangle of apprehension and then, the incredible, boundless relief, still cling to him when it all fades.
His mind is drunk with elation.
“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he repeats and walks back to her, his thoughts still clinging to the memory. “You had sealed it with a gesture. And right then, I felt the whole world change,” he confesses.
“Felt the whole world change?” she repeats, angling her head and arching her chest forward.
“A figure of speech,” he says, trying to dismiss it as such.
But she starts to walks over, slowly, closer and closer, brows arched and one corner of her lip raised in teasing desire.
“I’m aware of the metaphor,” she says. “I’m more interested in felt.”
His mask slips.
“You change… everything,” he breathes. And it was so painfully true. And in so many more ways than one.
“Sweet talker,” she says, and is now close enough for her scent to drift over. The intoxicating blend of spices and honey fill his lungs.
His eyes trail straight ahead. From the corner of his vision, he can see hers do the same. His throat is tight and yet everything feels so light. So impossibly wide and open and warm.
He takes a moment to just enjoy it all, to simply appreciate the beauty of it. To bask in this feeling.
The sensation of her being close enough to touch, and yet far enough to resist. He can allow himself that much. Soon he would have to wake them up and leave her dreams, to once again keep his distance, but for now though, just for a little while longer, this was acceptable. It was more than he deserved, but it was beautiful, and it was enough.
But she has a different idea.
He can’t even flinch. Soft fingers dart to his cheek in one swift swoop, and turn his head, and before he has even a moment to process it all, she sweeps her lips over his. Quick, coy, light, teasing.
His restraint bleeds away. Every reasonable and practical thought seems all but forgotten.
She turns away quickly, with an innocent smile, but he is not about to let her get away with it that easily. How could he ever have thought just standing near her, just basking in the tension of it all, could be enough? He shakes his head, at the situation, at his resolve, at her impossibly soft lips and foolishly wide eyes and then reaches for her, grabs her firmly and pulls her closer. Their lips meet again and she gasps. Her hand brushes against the hollow of his cheek. He pushes against her, gently dipping her. Her legs wrap around him, trapping his right leg as she shifts against him. Her emotions spill into the Fade and he can feel her pleasure, feel her desire. Suddenly he is incredibly aware of all the places they are touching, of every move she makes, the way her hips slide against him, and the heaving and sinking of her chest…
He loses all pretenses of restraint. There is no going back. He kisses her with every fiber of longing in him. His hand glides to her behind. His tongue coaxes her lips apart and sweeps into the sweet warmth of her mouth. She lets out a soft moan. His heart thrums in his ears. She clings to him, hands digging into his shirt. Her tongue slants over his, around and around in a magnetic, vigorous dance. He groans. He could practically feel her heart beat against his chest. Her heart… Vhenan.
He brings her up and breaks the kiss, but his arms are still around her. Her eyes flutter open, and he shakes his head again, just once more… and before she has even begun to regain her balance, he dives back again for one last, deep, short, kiss.
It was incredibly selfish.
He breaks away, again, and shakes his head, again. But this time he immediately puts some distance between them. Her hand slides from his cheek. He looks into her eyes and her expression crushes him. So earnest, so longing, so … loving. He will hurt her. This will hurt them both. No matter how much he wants it…
“We shouldn’t. It isn’t right,” he manages to say, panic rising in him as he steps even further away. “Not even here.”
She tilts her head in dazed confusion, biting the corner of her lip.
“What do you mean ‘even here’?’”
Ah. So she did not realize they were in the Fade after all. The look on her face is remarkably amusing and it eases some of his dread.
“Where did you think we were?”, he asks, angling his head.
At that, she takes another look around, settling for a moment on the Breach. Realization begins to seep into her features.
“I closed that,” she says, eyes narrowing and then adds with a slight shiver “And Haven…”
She meets his eyes again.
“This isn’t real…”
“That’s a matter of debate,” he asserts. “Probably best discussed after you… wake up,” he says and snaps them from the dream. Snaps them from the bright, lively colors and warmth of the wind.
He can still see her face when he opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling, still recall the way she tastes.
His pulse races, drumming in his ears. He rubs his temples and curses himself for the small sigh of delight that escapes him.
So much for keeping his distance.
It will be much, so much harder now, to resist her.
He would have to come up with some excuse, offer some explanation for his inappropriate behavior. And he would have to do it before she sought him out again. Oh how he dreaded that encounter, and yet the prospect also gave him a slight, troublesome pleasure.
If he would see her now, there was little doubt that she would shatter his resolve completely. That he would allow himself to court her.
Would that truly be so bad? A little voice in the back of his mind inquires. But he silences it firmly.
It was wrong. It would a distraction for them both and unfair to her, not to mention inevitably hopeless.
He sighs.
And yet … And yet…