AN: I wrote this for Solavellan Day on tumblr, but I was late, so I guess everyone went home already or whatever. *shrug*

Rated: M for some very saucy language. :3

Disclaimer: blah blah I'm poor, no one at BioWare sue me please.

Solas sat quietly on a roughhewn bench amidst the bustle of the Dalish camp. The sun was setting on the Exalted Plains, and the clan of wandering elves had offered to shelter them for the evening in return for the aid the Inquisitor had given them. Aili had instantly agreed, much to the chagrin of the rest of her travelling companions, though they could hardly be surprised. For the most part, the elves had simply gone about their business as though the strangers where not present, and the members of the Inquisition had tucked themselves into a corner and tried to stay out of their way. The elven apostate was certain they were being watched however, the unseen hunters up in the crags surrounding the camp would shoot them down without hesitation if any of them tried to cause trouble.

Aili was different here. She was more relaxed, confident, and her already easy laughter was born of joy as opposed to a means to fight back the darkness. The hunters and craftsmen joked with her like an old friend. The Keeper had sought her counsel, which made her flush with pride. And the children, who would not come within fifteen paces of Solas or any other member of the Inquisitor's party, had taken to her like flies to honey, swarming around her excitedly and pulling her along by both hands. She reigned over her little horde with benevolence and warmth, patiently helping them make chains of blue and yellow wildflowers and letting them weave an abundance of oddly shaped braids into her white-blonde hair. She seemed happy.

"See something you like, Solas?" Dorian asked, coming to sit beside him with an insufferably smug grin on his face.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the apostate said dismissively.

"I believe," Varric commented wryly, sitting on the other side of him and successfully hemming him in, "Sparkler was taking note of that sappy besotted smile you were sporting a few moments ago."

"I am not besotted!" the elf insisted with a frown.

"You aren't?" the Tevinter mage asked, sounding scandalized. "Why in blazes aren't you? Look at that sweet little face, those lithe legs, that smile! If she blinked those beguiling eyes up at me the same way she looks at you, I would have to seriously reevaluate my stance on not being interested in women."

"No you wouldn't," Varric snorted.

"All right, no, I wouldn't," Dorian replied, "but my point still stands."

"Our little Dandelion's a keeper," the dwarf agreed warmly, "She's the kind of girl you take home to meet your parents and then they end up liking her more than they like you. You can't tell me that the sight of her surrounded by all those kids doesn't fill your head with visions of you and her raising a dozen grim-faced pointy-eared mage babies."

"Hopefully they'd inherit their mother's hair," Dorian quipped.

"Our lifestyle does not lend to thoughts of domesticity," Solas reminded them evenly, throwing the human a dirty look.

"All the more reason to think about it, I say," the Altus laughed.

"Here I thought you'd be eager to help rebuild that Elvhen Empire you're always on about, Chuckles," Varric added.

"Do you think Aili would let me be an honorary uncle?" Dorian wondered, stroking his chin.

"You, Master Pavus, are one of the last people to whom I would ever entrust the care of a child," Solas informed him bluntly. "Especially a child I had sired."

"Oh come now, Solas," the human mage complained, "How else will any child of yours learn anything about good taste in clothing?"

"I am certain they would manage," the apostate answered dryly.

"H-haren?" called an uncertain voice with a hint of a lisp. One of the children, a boy of six or seven years, was standing in front of them, digging his bare toes into the grass and looking like he wanted very badly to escape.

"What is it, Da'len?" Solas asked gently, trying to sound reassuring. The boy thrust a pudgy dirt smeared hand out to him, one of the little blue wildflowers wilting slightly in his grasp. The apostate blinked in obvious surprise, but took the proffered gift without comment, smiling faintly as he twirled it between his fingers. The child grinned widely, crinkling the band or freckles across the high bridge of his nose and showing off his missing front teeth.

"She said it would make you happy," the boy said, sounding pleased with himself.

"Oh?" the older elf commented, looking over to where Aili was having a rather animated chat with a girl with red pigtails before asking, "What is your name, Da'len?"

"E-effran," the child replied nervously, glancing back and forth between the dwarf and the human, who both looked like Wintersend had come early.

"What else did your lethallan have to say about me, Effran?" Solas inquired, trying to sound casual and refusing to meet the eyes of either of his companions.

"Saeril called you a flat ear, but Big Sister told him that he shouldn't call people that. She said you were Elvhen, just like the rest of us," Effran told him, fidgeting under the older elf's piercing gaze. "But then Faeya said that you couldn't be one of the People, because you're old, and you still don't have your vallaslin."

Varric snorted at the word 'old'. Dorian's smirk was nearly three times as insufferable as it had been when he'd sat down. Solas shot each of them a frown that could rival Cassandra's, making Effran squirm guiltily.

"L-lethallan said that a long time ago you fought a giant spider with your bare hands. The battle raged for three days and three nights, and afterwards you were completely covered in guts and venom. It was really disgusting and the poison stung your skin, so you went to a stream wash it off, and you scrubbed so hard that your vallaslin came off…and all of your hair." The boy ended the tale in a mumble, but it was still loud enough for all three members of the Inquisition to make it out.

Varric laughed so hard that tears started rolling down his face and Dorian's roar of amusement was so powerful it sent him toppling straight off their wooden bench. Solas gave a long-suffering sigh and cast a cold glance over at where Aili was still sitting amongst the throng of Dalish youngsters. She caught his eye and gave him a deceptively innocent smile, batting her eyes at him and wiggling her fingers in a cheeky little wave.

The smile he gave her in return was sly and slightly predatory. He gave a dark chuckle at the flicker of uncertainty that slid across her face. He glanced back at Effran, who was obviously petrified that he had said something that was about to land him in a world of trouble.

"Would you do me a favor, Da'len?" Solas asked the child in a warm voice, mischief sparking in his blue eyes as his gaze flicked back to the Inquisitor. "You did such an admirable job of delivering your lethallan's message, I wonder if you would mind doing as much for me?"

"W-what...should I say?" the boy asked, still fidgeting, but clearly relieved that no one had scolded him yet.

"Felassan," Solas told him, the old language rolling deftly from his tongue. The boy tilted his head in confusion.

"An...an arrow?" Effran asked uncertainly.

"A slow arrow," the apostate corrected patiently. "I believe the Dalish have a story by that name. If you are curious, you should ask your new friend for a recitation."

The child still looked puzzled, but seeing this as a legitimate excuse to escape the strangers, he simply nodded his head and scurried back towards his friends.

"All right," Dorian spoke up, sounding indignant, likely suspecting he was being left out of something fun. "What was all that nonsense about arrows supposed to mean?"

"It means," Solas began, smirking at the look of obvious perplexity on Aili's face when his message was delivered, "that not all retribution is swift. My bow is drawn taut, and now I will wait."

He rose to his feet and walked away, and the dwarf and the human still sitting on the bench exchanged dubious glances.

"I'll put three silvers on Chuckles," Varric offered after a moment of silence.

"Well, I never turn down an excuse to throw away money," Dorian commented. "You're on."

Not long after, when the long light of sunset bled into the hazy shades of dusk, the Dalish gathered to light their evening fires. Keeper Hawen approached Aili, and asked her to do the honors of starting the evening hymn to Sylaise. Grinning from ear to ear and blushing slightly, she cast a somewhat self-conscious glance at her companions before nodding her head in assent.

She stepped forward, calling forth a plume of fire to hover in her open palm and setting the logs in the largest fire pit ablaze. Then, she closed her eyes, lifted her chin and began singing in Elvhen.

Her voice was soft and mellow and filled with quiet longing in the same manner a distant trill of birdsong in the winter silence seems to ache for spring. It rose into something high and pure and hopeful as one by one the members of the Dalish clan added their voices to hers. Before long, the entire camp was singing, the beautiful haunting sound echoing off the nearby rocks and sweeping out onto the darkening plains.

Despite claiming no affiliations with any religion, Solas smiled wistfully at the group of elves surrounding him in the semidarkness. They had next to nothing but their familial bonds and their indomitable faith that someday things would get better, and yet they were thankful for even that small mercy. For food and shelter. For companionship and love. And even for their gods, despite their apparent absence, as they clung to every scrap of their once proud culture.

The song ended, and several people came forward to praise the Inquisitor for a job well done.

Solas smiled to himself, watching her intently as she beamed in unexpected pleasure at the flood of admiration, slowly sauntering up behind her. He slid one hand about her waist, the touch feather light, but full of promise, and brushed his lips against her ear.

"You have a beautiful voice, Vhenan," he told her in low lilting Elvhen, "but my favorite song is the one comprised solely of my name as I bring you pleasure."

Aili whipped her head around to stare at him in horror, her face a blazing scarlet as she sputtered a nonsensical reply and darted her eyes about to see if anyone else had caught what he had said.

"Is something wrong, Inquisitor?" Solas asked innocently.

"What if someone had heard you?" she hissed at him in disbelief, shoving his shoulder in admonishment.

"You did not seem to mind teasing me in front of a rather large group of children earlier," he reminded her pointedly, but his smile was playful. "Besides, I was under the impression that you enjoyed it when I spoke to you in Elvhen."

"Not like that," she stuttered in mortification, "I mean, not in public!" She buried her face in her hands. Solas simply laughed.

"So, this is your idea of vengeance?" Aili asked, her voice still a bit strangled.

"Not at all," he assured her with a smirk. "It is but the thrum of a bowstring after an arrow has been loosed. Your young friend delivered my message, did he not?"

"Felassan?" She replied, her eyes widening in dawning comprehension. "Does that mean you're going to keep doing this?"

His roguish grin was her only response as he turned and went to join their friends.

The goal of the next day's outing was to search for the wayward supplies of the Orlesian soldiers, as well as tracking down the various herbs that the Inquisition scouts had written requisitions for.

The Inquisitor was crouching down to gather a few stalks of embrium when the first attack came.

"Your hands are so nimble and delicate," Solas commented nonchalantly, once more speaking in Elvhen. "I cannot look at them without dwelling on the intimate way you touch me. The way they burn sensually across my skin. Would that I could feel them now, and return the favor in kind."

Aili promptly toppled over in surprise, glaring up at him from the ground, her blushing face smeared with fresh streaks of dirt. Both Dorian and Varric laughed heartily at her expense, despite lacking the context.

"What was that all about?" Varric asked through thick chortles.

"I was merely noting the various applications of embrium," Solas informed him with a faint, cryptic smile.

The rest of the morning passed in much the same manner, with the companions' activities frequently halted by Solas making a seemingly off-hand comment in Elvhen, which never failed to send Aili tripping or flailing or sputtering in indignation.

Occasionally she managed to sneak in a witty retort of her own, but it was obvious who had the upper hand. The fact that she was clearly becoming more and more distracted by his remarks was not helping matters. Her face was almost continually flushed, and she stole glances at her tormentor which were warm with something other than aggravation. Solas on the other hand, who undoubtedly noticed these attentions, bore an incredibly satisfied smirk and seemed to have added a slight hint of a swagger to his usual gait.

Varric and Dorian egged them both on by turns and faithfully kept a score of their transactions: twenty six to ten, and it wasn't even midday.

Aili was picking her way up a steep hill, leading the party as usual and keeping an eye out for one of the supply caches, when Solas called something out to her in Elvhen once again. She yelped in surprise, losing her footing and tumbling backward down the knoll and skidding directly into Varric, knocking him to the ground.

"Fenedhis!" She cursed loudly as she stumbled back onto her feet, pulling the dwarf up by the arm and shooting Solas an exasperated glower. "You can't even see that in this armor!"

"I assume it is still there," Solas said smilingly, "and in more or less the same condition as it was the last time I saw it."

"You. Are. Incorrigible," she fumed, stomping over and poking him accusingly in the chest.

"Does that mean you admit defeat?" he asked, snagging the hand she had prodded him with and bringing it to his lips. "Have I finally managed to dominate your resolute focus? A pity, I was certain that my tongue would need to be more creative. And engaged in a much different task."

"I can't take you anywhere," Aili complained, but her gazed was fixed on his mouth, her interest clear.

"Oh, but I could take you anywhere," he professed with a soft deadly confidence, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "If we were alone, I could show you. The veil is thin here, and the spirits gather to watch the fighting, drawn by death an suffering, but I would show them you. I would grant them a memory of unparalleled beauty. Your scent, your taste, the sound of you unraveling in my arms as I-"

She grabbed him roughly by the front of his jacket and slammed her mouth into his. He grinned triumphantly against her lips, wrapping his arms around her firmly as he deepened the kiss.

Varric gave a low whistle and Dorian snickered loudly. The sounds of their audience snapped Aili back into reality, and she jumped back from Solas as though he had burned her, breathing hard. He held her gaze steadily, his expression betraying nothing, while his eyes brimmed with a torrent of impure intentions. Aili gulped thickly and glanced over at their companions.

"Can you two...go pick elfroot or something?" she asked breathlessly, grabbing the older elf by the hand and pulling him towards a nearby copse of trees. "Solas and I need to have...a discussion. About the Fade. And elf things. It's very important. We'll come find you afterwards."

Solas laughed at their astonished expressions as he allowed himself to be dragged away. The human and the dwarf exchanged a look.

"So...who won?" Dorian asked after a moment.

"Well," Varric replied with a knowing smile, "Chuckles may have won the battle, but I get the feeling Dandelion is about to win the war."