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“Your children are being uncooperative today,” Keela announces as he walks into the kitchen.
Solas doesn’t need to ask how as his eyes sweep over the space and find Aneirin crawling through the chair legs, cataloging his adventure with excited babbling as he goes. His twin brother is resting nearby on a plush rug with feet caught between fingers, the remnant of tears in bright blue eyes that watch magelights dance and sigh above his head. Fenera is no where to be found, nor does he hear her boisterous voice or steps echoing anywhere, which offers little comfort.
It is a day that will likely demand he employ every trick he has learned throughout the last six years, or a patience cultivated over ages when all else fails. Although he could hardly say he looks forward to any possible mayhem ahead he is not dismayed by it either. “It is peculiar that they are only mine when unruly, considering the oftentimes stubborn and contentious habits of their mother.”
She gives him an indulgent look as she shuffles papers into her leather satchel. “I received another summons from the Gil’Renanlen this morning. They want me to accompany them to Denerim after the meeting today. I imagine I will not return until tomorrow then.”
“We will manage.”
A loud, wild squeal startles them then, growing louder and louder as feet stomp from the direction of the gardens. In a flash Fenera streaks by covered in nothing but mud and leaves, and in her wake she leaves smudged footprints and an exasperated nursemaid not far behind. She makes a fast curtsy and apology, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and exasperation alike, before she disappears after her slippery charge.
Their escapade can still be heard out of view and Taliesin begins to wail anew now no longer distracted and likely outraged by this latest offense. Their other son seems to have caught his clothes on the edge of something in the confusion and is dangling half upside down, a frustrated cry building up force on his little face soon to be unleashed.
Solas clears his throat. “Not until tomorrow?”
With efficient skill, Keela plucks Aneirin from his precarious situation and places him in Solas’ arms, pecking his cheek with a smirk as she does so. “Dareth shiral.”
“A moment,” he calls to her when she’s halfway across the room.
Carefully he leaves Aneirin next to his sniffling brother before catching up to kiss her more thoroughly. He pulls her close to taste the honey of her tea on his tongue and thrills in the way she lets out a content sigh, in the way she grips his tunic with the same want that hasn’t faded over the years. The moment is not long enough, but at the same time it is, for he has learned the value in every small second when all he could once think upon were centuries. They have learned that there are no perfect mornings and even so, when they are spent together, they always are.
Somewhere in the villa something crashes followed by a scandalized shout, and their sighs shift from surrender to armor building before a battle. Solas presses one last kiss into her forehead before letting go, but never fully. Never again. “Dareth shiral, vhenan.”