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[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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[dirth]

[ Solas watches her, drinking her in, wondering what is going on in her mind. To be able to read her like a book, to unpick the thoughts in her head - but he cannot. Of course he can't. That is not one of his powers.

The kiss to his forehead has him sighing a soft noise, leaning forward, touching her skin to his. When she speaks, though, he cannot resist the quiet groan, the sound slipping from him like a hiss of air. ]

You should be careful with the terms you use. It could get you into trouble.

[ Hahren, she says. Elder. Something that he is to all the elves of Thedas, if they were willing to accept it. There is more to it, words easier to say in Common than otherwise, but he cannot get into it all.

He'll lose himself to it entirely. ]

You can visit me. Later. If you wish.

[troubleyan]

[She does wish. And if she visits him later, in his rotunda, what then? Sound carries upwards, to whatever people are awake in the library, to the rookery. Her words will carry. If they speak, it will carry.

(And if he should tell her to be quiet for him? If he should cover her mouth with his hand or fill it with his fingers to keep her gagged, then -

Maker, the lengths to which her imagination will go.)]

And if I do, what should I call you then?

[She knows all his names now, all his identities. The two elves - Fen'Harel, Solas - finally melding into one singular entity for her. Familiar and necessary and so fucking complicated.]

You should know by now that I like getting in trouble.

[dirth]

[ Solas watches her, remembering her time with Fen'Harel in flickers of memory; delicious echoes of pleasure that makes him want more, want to reach out and wrap his arms around her, to claim her. It would be so easy, but...

He breathes out a sharp little noise. She is daring him, he's aware of it, making him want to push and push until the two of them come together and break. Leaning forward, he steps into her space again, the energy of it one she would be familiar with.

Deep down, Solas and Fen'Harel are the same person. They will remain the same. ]

What do you want to call me, da'len? What name comes to your lips when you think of me?

[ He could be fouler, demand her to tell him what she will think of in the middle of the night, when her fingers search out her pretty cunt, and she brings herself pleasure - but that will come later, when he is certain they are alone. ]

What do you want?

[troubleyan]

You must know what I want - I'm not hiding it anymore.

[She doesn't take even half a step back, doesn't cower or flinch; she remains unafraid of him, even when he's so sharp she could taste it.

If she touched him now, would she cut herself?

What name comes to her lips - ] Solas. [Always Solas, all the time. It was Solas before meeting Fen'Harel and it was Solas a few times, on accident, in her head alone.

Any other title feels unnecessary, feel feigned. She can breathe 'Solas' and make it sound like sir, or something else entirely. He hasn't met that part of her yet, only getting it from memory now. In glimpses.

She remembers it more accutely, more recently. It's still an open wound for her, not a fading scar.

When she leans in as well, it brings their faces close, the distance between their mouths easily closed. She doesn't close it, but whispers his name again.] I think Solas, when I...think. Of you.

[dirth]

[ It would be simple to give in to desire, to have her pressed into the doorway, his fingers exploring her skin to see if the echo of memory lives up to the reality. He could do whatever he desired and keep her claimed for himself, drag her to his chambers and have her screaming his name for him. All of it thrums through him like his blood is burning, but he manages to maintain control of himself.

She leans to him, and he leans to her, magnetised. Drawn in by her power twinned with his, the want overpowering.

Solas' lips curl into a pleased smile as he tilts his head, to speak to her ear - and to dodge the kiss she so clearly wishes for. ]

I expect you will think of me tonight. You will remember my cock, and how well I know how to use it. Time has not eroded my talents, da'len, but strengthened them.

[ He can fuck her as well now as he did in the past. ]

Do you think you deserve it, now that you know who I am? That you have earned the right to ride me, claim me?

[troubleyan]

[It's a kiss she doesn't quite know how much she craves until it's denied. A little whimper of pure frustration escapes her when he deviates to speak near her ear, the sound soon cut short by her breath hitching.

He's right. She'll think of him tonight, both sides of the same coin. She'll think of his body and how well she knows it fits against hers, how utterly his she was once, how utterly his she could be again. She'll think of him with her hand between her legs, but she'll think of him with her heart on her sleeve too.

How well she has known to care for him, to suffer heartbreak for him, to do all manner of unladylike things for him.

Her stomach in knots, her heart in her throat, Evelyn's pulse races and her tongue feels heavy in her mouth and she wants to bite it and not say this part, but it's as much Fen'Harel as it is Solas and - ]

I think I've earned the right to earn it, over and over. I think you want to see me try.

[dirth]

[ Watching her, Solas feels an echo of the power and control he once had, stripped from him in his long sleep and with the loss of his orb. He is not the man he had been those many years before, but he still has enough to earn her desire, her want - and perhaps that is enough, for now.

He can remember the weight of her in his lap, the taste of her skin and how wet she was for him, the way he could mould her under his touch. He can remember the want that she felt and how heady it was, to give it to her without hesitation.

Again, he doesn't kiss her, resisting the temptation of it, but he is smiling all the same. Smiling for her. ]

I do. I will see you try... Later. You have a report to make, and then we will see if you have earned me in this time, too.

[troubleyan]

[She doesn't notice how heavily the body yearns until she feels her fists relax when he draws slightly back; she's dug her nails into her palms in anticipation of a kiss, something feral and deep, the way Fen'Harel would - why tell her that his talents have grown further since she returned to her time if not to make her wild with imagining in what way?

She lets out a soft hiss, and jerks her head towards him, her eyes narrowing.] You're such a teasing, arrogant arse... [And she expects to get in trouble for that offense, maybe, but sounds fond the way she says it. Maybe because her eyes are glittering with some form of mischief.

Old god of trickery, wasn't he?

The humour cools off, and she takes a step away from him. With all the haughtiness of a well-bred lady, she flicks her long braid over her shoulder so it hangs down her back.]

Take advantage of this time to figure out what it is you want from me, Fen'Harel, because I do not play to pass time.

[She steps past him, swift as an arrow, and darts into the grand hall, leaving Solas with his thoughts.

The length of her hair will be a way to measure how long she spent in his past, the brain reaching the small of her back now when she'd had her hair cropped closer to her chin before. More details for the report she'll write for her advisors.

It takes four marks on her candle to finish writing. She slips into her empty quarters, get her own fire running, and puts quill to paper through the night. By the time the sun rises over the Frostback Mountains, Evelyn Trevelyan is spotted stepping into Josephine's office to cause great surprise.

It takes the full half morning for her to bring her advisors up to speed - and for them to update her on what she's missed, too - followed by food and an individual checking in with each of her companions. She leaves Solas for last, with nervous trepidation.

It's almost night again by the time she steps into his rotunda. She has since bathed and changed back into her Inquisition garments, a blue jacket and soft trousers that she usually wears in Skyhold. Her hair has been rebraided, worked around her head like a little coronet, pinned into place by one of the servants that insisted on assisting her with her midday bath.

She's still nervous, but for different reasons. When she steps into his space, it's her face she sees in the murals he's been painting, her achievements and her battles, and she feels her mouth dry. How has he felt about her, before this whole time travel thing - did she cause this, or was it there before? Admiration, obsession - what was it? What is it now?

And Solas, look at him now. Tall and carrying himself with that regal arrogance that had always baffled all the noble pricks in Halamshiral, in Skyhold. She gets lost in the angles of his profile, in the width of his shoulders, in the distracting sight of his fingers holding a brush so full of certainty. So capable.

Oh no.]

Is this a bad time?

[dirth]

[ Solas allows her to leave, to let her words hang between them as she disappears to do what she must - to write her report, to catch up with her advisors, to allow them to know that she has returned. He will not get in the way of that, not when he has enough things to think over and fill his mind with, not when he has to allow himself to consider what is ahead for them both now.

The hours give him time to sort through the memories that have awoken inside of him, as if they were always there but laying dormant until the moment she truly travelled through time. They're fresh, but with that ache of time having numbed them; he can feel the taste of her mouth against his own, but like the feeling of having the favourite food from years before.

Drifting in his thoughts, he might not have noticed her arrival if he was not so primed for it, the day passing them by with nothing changed between him and the rest of Skyhold. She has not told anyone, then, and perhaps her report to the advisors will dance around the issue of his connection to Fen'Harel. If he was going to have to flee and remake his plans then he would prefer to have some kind of warning, but it does not seem as though she intends to ruin him any time soon.

Tilting his head, he watches her as she enters, closing the book he had in front of him. More incorrect knowledge about the Fade, so a rather irritating read. ]

Not at all, Inquisitor. How might I be of assistance?

[troubleyan]

[It's because sound carries up, and the rotunda gives way to the library, the rookery, she tells herself.

So they have to be careful with their words, because Evelyn has not detailed the connection between Solas and Fen'Harel. Worse yet: she has not mentioned Fen'Harel at all in her reports.

She holds her hands together behind her, and walks towards him.] I heard from my advisers that you lingered in Dirthamen's temple for days trying to find me in the Fade. I wanted to thank you for such concern...

[She raises her marked hand, waves it - concern for his orb, for his power, she knows.] For my wellbeing.

[dirth]

[ Even if they were alone here, Solas might well be careful; this is not the privacy of a bedroom, where a barrier might be erected to keep their whispers private. Anyone could be listening to the careful dialogue that they're sharing, and he does not intend to allow anything to get them into further trouble.

His eyes drink her in, searching, devouring; he knows the nakedness of her skin now, knows how she looks bared and filled with desire, and the memory is haunting. ]

I was doing what I could to return you to Skyhold. It was... Necessary.

[ He shakes his head, glancing away, suddenly oddly shy. ]

Your wellbeing is important to us all.

[troubleyan]

[Maker's breath, the way he's looking at her. It makes her mouth go dry, her stomach flutter. Her voice cracks a bit:] Well, here I am. Back again - at last.

[As if he didn't find her first last night. She licks her lips around the lie and looks around the room.] It might be difficult to include the experience on your murals...

[dirth]

We are all glad to see you returned.

[ Some more than others, surely, but he's got no reason to say it aloud. He watches her again, hesitating before he nods. ]

I am trying to include things that happened in the present, but if you would like to discuss your ventures in the past then I can offer my company.

[troubleyan]

[An opening, there it is. He told her to visit him later, but perhaps it should've been the other way around.

Had she been a mage, maybe she would've found him in the Fade.]

Your company would be appreciated, Solas. I took notes of the magical artefacts I saw, I think you might want to look over them - they're in my quarters now.

[dirth]

Very well.

[ He is giving her an in, and that might have to be enough for now. He steps away from his desk and chair and motions for her to begin to move. ]

Lead the way, please.

[troubleyan]

[She leads the way. This evening, the fireplace in her quarters has been turned on before her arrival, and someone (who really deserves praise and a raise) has brought up a tray of grapes, bread, cheeses and dry meats in case the Inquisitor gets peckish.

She has not checked yet, but she's sure that her storage room still hides all those bottles she's found across Ferelden, full of different vintages.

The grand doors that lead up to the balcony are blessedly shut.

Still, as she leads up up to her quarters after locking the door behind them, she realises she's never had him in her quarters before.

And, also, that these used to be his quarters.]

Must be strange to see us all making ourselves at home in your old castle, changing what the rooms used to be - was this an outpost once? Not your bedroom, I don't think - I mean, I might have gotten a bit turned around, but I recall climbing up even more steps, and a whole other view of the mountains from that room - or are we not talking about it out loud now either?

[dirth]

It's not as strange as you might think.

[ Solas follows after her without pause, making his way up the winding staircase to her chamber. He doesn't even consider how odd it might seem to some of their fellows, for him to suddenly be perfectly okay with entering her private space when before he had been a little more... Distant.

It comes hand in hand with having fucked her, he supposes, even if that was centuries ago.

Hovering by the door, he sighs softly. ]

I am glad to see it filled with people again, after all that happened. Things change, over time, and so do the rooms in this place. I am sure someone remodelled it.

[troubleyan]

[She needs a lot of effort to not fidget. See, she wants to appear cool, and level-headed, and not like the woman who cried out for him like a wreck, as the portal claimed her and returned her back to this time. Her time.]

Castles aren't the only things here that tend to change. [A brief pause. She gestures between the two of them.]

I mean that people do also. [And then there is silence, as she struggles to ask if his memories of her are new or if they have always been there, if they were inevitable.]

[dirth]

Do you think I would've been able to treat you as I did if I had remembered?

[ Darling, your thoughts are a touch too obvious, and he steps closer, leaning against the nearby wall. ]

My memories awoke when you returned. Not before.

[troubleyan]

[Solas and his fucking wall leaning. She swallows around a knot in her throat and walking back over to him.]

Treat me as you did? Meaning, what - distant, cautious, and reluctantly amused whenever I surprised you?

[dirth]

That is my natural state of being.

[ One has to protect oneself, after all, when you're literally the devil in Dalish lore. ]

[troubleyan]

And the awoken memories, what are they like? [She is curious, you see. He would understand curiosity.] How fast did you get them? Did they begin while I was still in the past with you, or was it only when I got back?

[dirth]

It was like a flash, at first, and then a little like remembering a dream you'd forgotten.

[ A sigh. ]

It was as soon as you returned. The cycle was completed.

[troubleyan]

[Her gaze drops to the necklace she almost yanked off him in some form of fury yesterday, and she feels another pang of longing. He's the same person - Fen'Harel, Solas, Dreadwolf, they're all the same elf - but it feels like she is meeting him all over again while missing him.]

The hardest thing was to not reveal too much. Time travel is fucked up enough as it is, but I went so far back that I had a fear of telling you something on accident which would change the course of history completely. I know, it's rather foolish of me to think myself that important to the course of history but...

[She pulls a face, sighs.

The second hardest thing was trying to keep them separate, trying not to let it show that she knew him in her present. Trying to forget all the complex feelings she felt for Solas even before meeting his younger self -

But to speak of that would mean to acknowledge those feelings existed. So instead, she says very seriously:] The second hardest thing was to look at all that hair, Solas. Your beautiful hair.

[dirth]

[ Solas is who he is and who he has always been, but there's no denying that he was changed by the experience of his losses. He was wounded, physically and emotionally, and there was no way to go back from that, not really. He cannot recover and be the man that she clearly misses.

It's a shame, but not one that he will feel much guilt over. ]

I recall him recognising some things - the Anchor being one - but that was not something that I could explain. You were something of a conundrum.

[ But then she continues, and Solas pauses for a moment before he heaves a little sigh. ]

Having hair like that was far too conspicuous.