Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Consummation

Solas and Fen'Asha danced throughout the garden, taking the night air under the floral trellises. She felt at home in his arms as they traced their way through the green, the stars above shimmering reminders of the larger world.

"There are spirits hovering by the Veil to observe the thrones of powerful nations," said Solas. "The machinations, betrayals...I had forgotten how I missed court intrigue."

"You miss this?" Fen'Asha said. "When were you at court?"

"Never directly, of course," he said. "An elven apostate is seldom invited to speak with empresses and kings. From the Fade, I have watched dynasties form and empires fall. It is sometimes savage, sometimes noble. Always fascinating."

Fen'Asha looked at him, feeling admiration and caressing his neck. She pulled him closer.

"Celene should prove a steadfast ally," he said. "And Briala as well."

"I hope Briala is able to use her position to help our people."

"Our people?" Solas said, cocking his head. "Oh, you mean elves. I'm sorry. I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves."

"Nor should you," replied Fen'Asha. "We are not defined by the shape of our ears."

"I joined the Inquisition to save the world," he continued with a sigh. "Regardless of who my people are, this was the best way to help."

Fen'Asha nodded.

"I believe Briala is doing quite well on their behalf," he said. "She is an admirable woman."

"And you are an admirable man," said Fen'Asha. She blushed slightly but committed her hand to stroking his jawline. "Not many people know who they are the way you do."

"Thank you," said Solas. "Both for saying that and for seeing that. Few in this world can see me instead of just seeing a pair of pointed ears."

"I like your ears," she said. She drifted, looking him over.

He smiled slightly.

"I love everything about you," she said, pulling him closer for a soft kiss.

Solas pulled her closer still, circling his arms around her and clasping her tightly. The kiss grew deeper, the taste of wine on his lips, his tongue.

She heard voices in the distance and pressed against him further.

The voices solidified into Josephine, who was calling for her.

Solas lifted his head from the embrace, his arms flaccid at her sides.

"Garas sahlin quenathra," muttered Fen'Asha.

Cassandra's voice followed. She was sure she saw the Inquisitor head for the garden.

Solas angled his head, looking for the source of the voices. Fen'Asha dove deeper within, tracing soft, nipping kisses along his neck and pressing closer.

"We can't seem to find Varric," said Cassandra. "Or Solas."

Solas absorbed Fen'Asha, tugged her closer still. She felt his excitement boiling within, felt his heat rising. Without a word, he was off. He led her through the garden, under more trellises and through passageways and corridors until he found what he was after.

It was a small room with meagre furnishings. There were drapes hanging over chairs and dressers hidden by cloth and cobwebs. It was one of many forgotten rooms in the Winter Palace and Solas closed the door behind them as he led her further in, the moon at the window providing a slight glow.