"Falon'din has been trying to dissuade Anduril for months without openly warring with her, but I fear it is only a matter of time. You saw the bloody swathe she cut through June's holdings."

Solas remembered, certainly. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to rid his memory of the sharp, metallic scent of blood that crept into and lingered in his nose when he had seen the devastation. June lived, barely, and had sought refuge with Elgar'nan and Mythal a weak and trembling shadow of what he had once been. June's lover, Sylaise had surrendered her holdings to Anduril without a fight, and had joined June under Mythal's protective custody.

Solas had seen opportunity where others might have seen tragedy, however. Slyly, he had suggested to Mythal that June, given his injuries and diminished power, enter Uthenera to recuperate. June had held the most slaves of any of the Evanuris, and his cruelty knew no bounds. He allowed the people under his control go for weeks without food, and the only water they had received was the putrid sludge tossed across their backs as they had toiled away on his latest project. So it was that Solas, with the unknowing, gentle guidance from Mythal, his friend, had rendered the first if his kin impotent.

Despite his original intention, laying June down to sleep had served one other purpose. When June had finally prepared himself to enter the long slumber, he had begun to look suspiciously, worrisomely, like Anduril had in Elgar'nan's throne room months before.

Mythal sighed deeply, her ethereal golden armor tarnished from her efforts to intervene between Anduril and her next victim. The huntress had not been joking when she had made the declaration that she would be the most powerful Evanuris.

"It's only a matter of time," Elgar'nan spoke, voice a deep rumble in his chest. "If she is allowed to continue, we will be unable to stop her without cutting a serious loss."

His wife nodded. "We need to weaken her somehow, but she has stolen June's power. As we speak, she is commanding his slaves to build a great lift to reach the void, and harnesses with which to capture these beasts she has seen."

"We need to kill her, vhenan."

As Solas observed the pair from the shadows within the private confines of Mythal's garden, he noticed for the first time that Elgar'nan was upset. It wasn't rage or annoyance that colored his voice, but sadness. Solas supposed that much was obvious. Andruil, after all, had been Mythal and Elgar'nan's only child. He could tell from Mythal's posture that she was appalled by the idea, but resigned to it none the less.

Elgar'nan continued. "I am sorry, but whatever has happened to her has driven her mad. She is not the same person we knew, and she is a danger to all of us."

And the People, Solas thought bitterly. Leave it to Elgar'nan to think nothing of the innocents Anduril had murdered in her insane quest for power.

Mythal remained silent for some time as she stared out at her garden, away from her husband, as she allowed all of the emotions she must be feeling flow through her. Never one to act without thinking, Solas imagined she was trying to reign in her visceral reaction to what Elgar'nan had suggested - nevermind that he was right to do so. When she finally turned around to speak to her husband, there was a steely glint in her eyes that spoke of her resolve.

"We need to move swiftly. She's already removed June and I imagine she is working to take Sylaise's lands. Without her there, it would be an easy enough assimilation."

Elgar'nan nodded. "She is moving West from the Brecillian. Sylaise holds the land near the Enavuris River in the Heartlands. Her temple is near the river's largest tributary, as a matter of fact. After Sylaise she may be foolhardy or strong enough to advance on Dirthamen."

Mythal shook her head. "No, I believe she will continue Westward. Ghilan'nain holds the Tirashan, and they are quite close."

Elgar'nan seemed surprised. "Anduril would never wage war on Ghilan. They've been bonded for Ages."

"Regardless of whether she chooses Dirthamen or Ghilan'nain after capturing the Heartlands, she is gaining momentum. We need more eyes on her," Mythal said carefully, her eyes moving across the expanse of her garden to fix him with her charged gaze.

Solas should have known she would be able to find him out, not matter how carefully he attempted to mask himself. He peeled the shadows of his disguise away from his body, feeling the magic scour it from his skin as he levered himself away from one of the arches near the breezeway.

Elgar'nan appeared irritated when he followed his wife's line of sight to him, but for once it seemed he was willing to suffer Solas' presence. "Never far away, I see."

"Never," Solas replied with a faint smile. There was some challenge in it, but nothing malicious. He reminded himself that, for now, they were on the same side.

"My friend," Mythal interrupted their silent posturing, and addressed Solas. "I trust you've heard the majority of what was said."

Solas merely nodded.

"I want you to use your stealthy abilities to get a lead on Anduril's plans. In order to stop her advance, we need to know where she's going. Can you do that, just like you used to?"

Used to. Solas and the other Evanuris were once just regular men and women brought together by a never-ending war. Each had their own talents, and Solas had been particularly proficient at approaching enemy lines undetected and then razing their supplies, stealing their intelligence, and otherwise hampering their every step. He lived solely through tricks, riddles, and his own cleverness. When the war ended, their enemies sealed away and forgotten, Solas would have faded into obscurity but for his friendship with Mythal, discomfited by the worshipful attentions of the People. His isolation had not diminished his penchant for causing trouble, however, even through the Ages.

Solas nodded at once in reply. "Yes, although I cannot help but ask after your own temples. The Arbor Wilds are in Anduril's path, if she is thorough." Solas knew the woman was focused on her task in usurping power from her kin. He didn't think that she would balk at slighting her own mother, as crazed as she was.

Elgar'nan shook his head. "There are nothing but trees, acolytes, and shrines in those woods. There is nothing of worth there for Anduril to take."

Solas bristled. "Nothing of worth? There are people there - families!"

"Yes, yes, and I'm sure your new-found bleeding heart will mourn their loss if Anduril even attempts to take the Arbor Wilds. I highly doubt it's a realistic possibility."

Once again, Mythal interrupted. "Solas, can you do this for me?" Her eyes were searching for his response before he even said it.

"Of course, my friend," he replied. "I will make the journey South once I've had time to prepare."

"Solas!"

The yell, accompanied by a hurried motion of snapping fingers, drew him from his thoughts in a rush. Blinking rapidly to focus, his gaze settled on Ellana .

"You're staring into space again," she said with a frown.

"I apologize." His attention returned to the set of crystals in front of him. He was supposed to have been helping Ellana enchant them. The opaque, powdery clump of faceted minerals he held before him was a common enough element within Arlathan's homes and walkways. It was also abundant within the shrines and temples dedicated to the Evanuris. The qualities of the mineral, coupled with a moderately difficult enchantment, assisted in the sustained presence of Veilfire. While one could summon the spirit fire easily enough, sustaining a blaze required some work. Transferring the source of the fire from oneself to the crystal eliminated the need for constant attention, and in so doing preserved ones mana for other tasks. The crystals degraded after a time, however, and it was for such a reason that Solas found himself assisting Ellana with the rather mundane task, even though his mind was clearly preoccupied.

"What's on your mind?" she asked, pressing and folding her mana delicately, almost sweetly into the crystal before her.

"You're always asking such questions," he replied. Solas had no such finesse for enchanting. His strengths lay in the forceful, and sometimes violent, manipulation of the energy of spirits and the world around him. He could charge the very air around him with magic, disappearing and emerging from the fade at will. It was a courtesy to others that he even bothered with the eluvians. Though such a manipulation of space had been explored by Elgar'nan, Solas had spent the time and gained the knowledge to refine magic. Space and time were his masters, and they had little need for subtlety.

"If you don't want me to ask, then don't stand there with that pensive expression. You're as plain to read as a book, do you know that?"

Solas couldn't help his smirk. "Am I? I believe you are only the second person to ever say such a thing."

"Then no one else must be looking close enough."

"Are you implying you're looking closely at me?"

"Of course I am," she responded without thinking, then audibly snapped her mouth shut. The realization that she had just blatantly flirted with one of the Evanuris must have been a strange one, never mind that the two called themselves friends.

Solas let her suffer in silence for a while, struggling mightily to hold in his laugh at her expense, though if he were honest, he may have replied in kind. Ellana was lovely, and though he wasn't new to the art of sex and romance, he wanted something different from this friendship. He just didn't yet know what that something was.

Then, like the creeping, inky blackness of the void, Anduril's war drifted back into his thoughts. She cast a pall over the small space of peace he'd hollowed out for himself here with Ellana, and were the huntress within strangling distance, he might be so inclined to wrap his fingers around the vile woman's throat.

"You're aware of the discord between Anduril and the other Evanuris, correct?" Solas suddenly asked, unable to keep his thoughts from spilling over his lips and into the quiet space. Despite himself, his thumb brushed nervously over the jagged edge of one crystal.

Ellana hesitated only a moment. "I am aware that she invaded June's territory and drove him away. Those two have always been at odds, though. Is something more going on?"

Solas fortified himself with a deep breath before he carried on. "Yes, as a matter of fact." She deserved to know. Everyone deserved to know what Anduril was doing, but especially those who may very well be in harm's way. "Anduril has declared war upon the other Evanuris. She is traveling westward from June's lands toward what Mythal and Elgar'nan believe to be either Ghilan'nain or Dirthamen's territories." He set the crystal down then, turning to face Ellana to hopefully convey the severity of what he was about to tell her. "But I believe she will come here next. Logically, this is the best choice of territories to invade. It is lightly guarded, full of relics that contribute to Mythal's power, and more so - brimming with people like you. Priests, acolytes, and pilgrims seeking Mythal's favor will be here, and Anduril would be a fool if she didn't see the opportunity to pad her forces before taking on Dirthman."

"You aren't certain, though?"

He shook his head once. "No. After I leave here, I will be traveling to Anduril's last known location in an attempt to discover the truth of her plans. I wanted to say something so that you are aware, at the very least, of the danger you might be in." After a pause, Solas reached up behind his neck and drew a thick, rawhide string over his head. Attached to the fastening was a bleached white jawbone. It was plain, or appeared to be at first glance, but there was a magic that surrounded it, thrumming pleasantly against his skin as he held it out to Ellana.

"What is it?" she asked, carefully reaching out to take the bone in both hands. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surface, and at the same time grew familiar with the enchantment Solas had placed on the item long ago.

"It's the key to all of the eluvians that I control." Solas explained. "Should Anduril turn her gaze here, flee with this. Anywhere that belongs to me is warded and secreted away. You'll be safe."

Ellana's brows pinched down above her eyes as she considered the object, obviously meaningful to him. "Thank you, Solas, but you shouldn't worry so much. I'm sure I will be fine."

He wished he could share her certainty.

"Stop that frowning!" she grumbled before slipping the pendant he'd gifted her over her head. "Has no one told you if you persist with that expression, your face will be stuck like that for the rest of eternity?"

He huffed quietly at her as she made light of the danger she was in, but the sight of his key resting against her chest eased his worry for her safety, if only a little. He surprised both himself and Ellana when he drew her unexpectedly into a hug.

It was a strange sensation. Solas never hugged anyone, or at least he had very vague memories of such embraces from his childhood. Even so, he'd felt the compulsive need for comfort, though he wasn't entirely sure why he'd chosen to envelop Ellana in his arms and hold her to him. The strangeness of such a gesture quickly evaporated when she slipped her arms behind his back and replayed him in kind. The sense of belonging he felt was almost overwhelming.

"I'll be fine," she said. "You go and do what you need to, and I'll be here when you return."

Somehow her reassurances made him want to leave even less, but he relented after a few more moments, and forced his mind to the task of undermining Anduril's plans. He was very skilled at being the proverbial thorn in her side, after all.

Just like old times, indeed, Solas reflected with a wry smile. It was a simple enough task evading Anduril's patrols. These were not the battle-hardened veterans from the Endless War, after all. They had not been advised to keep an eye out for his trickery. If a man suddenly found himself without a weapon or turned down a wrong path, he might dismiss the occurrence out of hand - he had simply forgotten or gotten his orders mixed up. Never in their minds would it have occurred that Solas was on the prowl, ensuring that he would not be caught, even as he stole into the veritable city of people that Anduril called her forward camp.

Solas padded quickly between a line of tents, their oiled canvases slipping along the tips

of his fingers as his palms pressed against the fabric. Should Anduril wish to discover who had made off with her plans, she'd have no trouble discovering the signature of his magic he now pressed into every surface he touched. Let the beast of a woman stew in her anger - at the mere thought that she had once again been outwitted and outmatched by him.

He peered around the bulky outline of one of the tents, watching as droves of slaves bustled about cooking meals, sharpening blades, and forging armor. More still sparred with one another, training diligently, if a bit fearfully, for the someday task of being living fodder for a war in which they little understood.

A cry of pain caught his attention, and drew his gaze to a line of shackled slaves standing before a large tent that bled magic - Andruil's magic. At the front of the line stood a young girl, no older than her twentieth season, whose slave collar was being wrenched by a soldier with such vicious force that she was choked at the same moment she was driven to her knees. The sight made Solas's blood boil, and he would have rended that soldier into pieces and scattered him to the four winds were it not for his current task. Even so, he remained hidden behind the line of tents, watching further as another came to stand before the girl. This was a woman, what Solas thought to be a priestess of Anduril's, and in her hands she held a small, rounded stone. A focus, he realized. It was a small thing, he knew, but it wielded enough magic that it could make a reasonably powerful person into a menace. Despite the crackling song of unbridled energy at her fingertips, the priestess only uttered a small reassurance to the girl as she was held against the ground on her knees, before gently touching the focus to the girl's forehead. Soon after, the woman held up her opposite hand, streaked with blood that oozed from a cut on her palm, and pressed it on top of the focus.

Solas felt the magic rise up around him and snap through the air like a thunderclap. He had never experienced this manner of spell before, and when the guard released his grip on the girl's collar, her head drooped forward, and on her once bare face were now the slave markings belonging to Anduril.

The vallaslin. This was how they were made!

As the next slave was made to approach the priestess, Solas watched with greater attention, now focusing on the magic and the way the spell was constructed. If he could study how to made such a vile thing, he could absolutely unmake it. Of that he was certain. He waited and watched the procession until the very last slave had been branded, a violent, dark anger settling deeply within him. He would right this wrong. He would rid all of the People from the binding magics of the vallaslin even if it killed him.

After she had completed her task, the priestess wiped her hands clean on a spare cloth as if to absolve herself of her wrongdoing, and disappeared into the large tent. She emerged a moment later without the focus in hand. Solas hummed thoughtfully to himself. If the focus, an item of obvious importance, was being kept within, surely Anduril's correspondence would be there as well.

Solas boldly left his hiding place and crept along the side of the tent where the slaves had stood until he came upon a loose panel of fabric. It wouldn't do to go in the front door. Quickly, he lifted the edge of the sidewall and slipped beneath, finding himself then exactly where he imagined he would be. The tent was filled with artifacts belonging to both Anduril and June, and along the far corner sat a stately desk piled high with crystals containing all manner of messages. Solas immediately made for the collection, but failed to see the dark shape hurtling toward him until it was too late.

Solas felt the impact on his side before he was thrown off balance. He recovered quickly, fade-stepping out of the range of a lethal blow from the blade of a dagger. He fade-stepped once more as his assailant lashed out again, and this time Solas came away with his quarterstaff in hand. The next blow delivered from the dagger was caught upon the length of his staff, and the momentary halt in motion allowed Solas an unobstructed view of the attacker.

Honestly, the all black clothing complete with that ridiculous hood should have tipped him off, but he did not expect to see Dirthamen in the middle of Anduril's camp so far from his own home.

"Is there a really good story behind this, Dirth, or are you just going to kill me without satisfying my curiosity?"

The silent snarl delivered in Solas' direction was full of teeth, sharp ones, as pale lips pulled back over even paler skin. Spidery black veins ran across the surface of Dirthamen's face, and his eyes were clouded as Anduril's had been when she had returned from the Void. Apparently the ghastly condition was catching, as he'd suspected.

"What, nothing?" Solas taunted, shoving on his staff and sending Dirthamen stumbling back a moment. He drove his staff forward again, hitting the dazed elf on the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack. "You always were one of those scary, silent types."

He moved faster than Solas anticipated. Striking out with a foot and hitting him in the knee, Dirthamen then rolled back onto his feet. Solas stumbled at the impact, his leg momentarily giving out on him. Taking advantage, Dirthamen wrapped a spell about him, then flung the condensed energy at Solas, driving him backward into the desk and sending the crystals clattering to the floor. Solas responded in kind, focusing his mana to harry Dirthamen with a rain of ice shards.

Back and forth the two powerful mages exchanged spells and blows, and the crystals that had fallen to the floor, sufficiently jarred from the impact, had activated and were relaying the information contained therein. Solas was the first to notice this, and shot a powerful burst of energy at Dirthamen. As the other man recovered, Solas made for the crystals, searching and listening for one that contained the orders he needed to recover for Mythal. For an instant he heard the telltale cadence of Anduril's voice, and something about moving on from this encampment, before Dirthamen again interrupted him.

The deadly tips of a pair of daggers hovered dangerously low over Solas' throat, and it was only through a quick fade-step that he had managed to catch the strike before the blades tore into him. He balanced Dirthamen's forearms on his shins, trapping his arms back against his own chest while Solas' staff held the man's neck forward, preventing an escape.

Anduril's voice droned on in the background through the crystal as Dirthamen struggled and Solas tried to catch the orders she was giving. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally the information he needed was readily provided. Anduril was moving to sway Ghilan'nain to her side, and then she planned to seize Falon'Din's holdings, before finally marching on Arlathan to take on her own father. Seeing no point in remaining any longer, as bracing as fighting with Dirthamen was, Solas fade-stepped out from under the other man, then once again out of the tent and back to Arlathan. He didn't realize that Dirthamen had caught a very interesting scent.

He had discovered Solas' secret.

Bloody and bruised, Solas didn't bother healing himself as he strode into Mythal's garden. She was waiting for him, able to sense his chaotic energy from the moment he stepped into her realm.

"You're bleeding," she told him. It was a statement more than a question.

"I imagine so." Solas replied, wiping his chin with the back of his hand where a rivulet of blood had dripped from his lip. "Dirthamen is rather slippery."

She couldn't hide her surprise at that revelation. "Dirthamen?"

"Was in Anduril's camp, guarding her missives like some kind of attack dog. The profession suits."

Mythal scowled at him, turning from him to consider the new information, though Solas had more to tell.

"Officially, she's moving to bring Ghilan'nain into her fold. It appears that she is seeking alliances, not to kill outright as she attempted to do with June."

"So June resisted her offer?"

Solas hummed as he attempted to formulate an adequate hypothesis. "You remember the condition Anduril was in when she returned from the Void?"

"She looked sick," Mythal spoke, beginning to catch on despite his not even completing his thought.

"I think she is able to transfer it to others. I noticed June displayed some similar traits before he entered Uthenera. When I fought Dirthamen, he seemed much worse, but also displayed the same qualities."

"We need to warn the others," she said at once. "Ghilan'nain is likely already compromised, but Sylaise and Falon'Din should be aware of it. I'll make mention of it to Elgar'nan when he returns."

Solas hummed again, thinking on the likelihood that the others might not be on Anduril's side. Falon'Din seemed the only sure bet. Solas and the pathfinder had enough in common with one another that he assumed the other man had been just as engrossed in his own preoccupations with little consideration for the outside world. However, the close relationship with Dirthamen may have been a problem.

Perhaps sending Elgar'nan to warn him was a bad idea. If Falon'Din caught whatever it was Anduril was spreading around, that would give Solas an excuse to seal him away in Uthenera as had been done with June. The others wouldn't go without a fight, obviously, and they would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way.

Solas wiped the blood from his lip once more. He would need to take advantage of Elgar'nan's forces, as much as he hated the idea. Solas didn't have near enough sway over any one group of people to raise an army. There was always a way to buy someone, however. He just needed the appropriate currency.

The thought hit him like a runaway bronto.

The vallaslin!

"I'll leave the details to you, my friend," Solas replied. He was eager to be away and explore this theory.

Mythal nodded, distracted by her own musings. "Send Ellana my greetings."

He smirked, knowing he was unable to get much past her. "I will."

"Do you enjoy being bound to Mythal?"

Solas didn't expect to receive a blow to his bruised midsection for the question, but Ellana had yelped in surprised and hit him with the tome she had been reading anyway.

"Stop sneaking up on me!" she growled, snapping the heavy book closed and holding it by the spine as she brandished it at him. Her ire all but vanished when she took in the state of him. He must have looked worse than he felt, because she immediately set the text down on the desk at which she had been sitting and ordered him to sit before sweeping out of the room.

Solas really didn't see the need for such fussing. Sure, he was a bit sore and his lip had only just stopped bleeding all over his armor, but he had suffered worse in the past. Despite the unnecessary attention, Ellana returned to him holding a cloth and accompanied by a wisp. The wisp floated over to him immediately. It chimed and brightened, hovering about his head like a firefly.

Ellana stood before him, and gestured to the desk chair. "Sit."

"I'm fine, really. Nothing hurts. It only looks bad."

She huffed angrily, fixing him with a peevish glare. "Solas, I'm not nearly as tall as you are, but so help me, if you don't sit in the damn chair I am going to find something that will knock you down to my level."

He sat.

Ellana seemed mollified by his cooperation, and moved forward to stand before him. Bending at the waist, she brought the wisp close to the wound on his lip to see better before pressing the cloth against the split skin. He sucked in a pained breath, drawing sharply backward and out of her grasp. She followed him, leaning further over his body as he withdrew from her.

"What is that?" He grumbled, curling his lip at the sting of whatever the cloth had been soaked in.

"Medicine," she replied, straining to reach him.

Solas had leaned so far back in the chair to avoid the biting substance that he was now balanced on only two chair legs. "You're sure it's not acid?"

"Stop whining. It isn't that bad. Besides, I need to clean it before I can heal it."

"You really do not-"

"Hush already."

She removed the offensive cloth from his mouth a breath before he felt the warm, itchy sensation of healing magic brushing over his skin. A moment later his lip was whole and unmarred once more, but she was leaning in again. The cloth pressed against the skin of his forehead, to a wound he hadn't realized was there, and the stinging sensation coupled with the surprise of it made him flinch so terribly that he lost his balance.

He fell flat on the floor and Ellana followed, sprawling over him with a thud that rattled his already abused body. Strangely, he didn't seem to mind all that much. Uncomfortable though it was, it had been a very long time since a woman had actually fallen into his lap. Solas would be lying if he said that the woman being Ellana was not an added bonus. He'd been harboring an attraction for her for sometime, but he hadn't imagined he would acknowledge it in this particular circumstance.

Ellana scrambled backward, curses and apologies spilling from her lips as quickly as she could manage. Solas wasn't quite ready to let her go. A little forcefully, perhaps, he surged upward and used that momentum to flip their positions. He loomed over her, a hand tangled in the hair behind her head, and he stared down at her with an uncertain intensity that left him floundering for a notion of how to proceed. He'd fumbled this - gone about it all wrong. Ellana wasn't like the woman of his youth. He didn't want that. The trouble was that he did not know how, exactly, he was supposed to show someone he cared for them. He'd never done such a thing before. Book, plays, and ballads all made it sound so easy.

"What are you doing?" Ellana asked tentatively, finding her voice.

She didn't seem frightened or uncomfortable - confused more like. So was he.

"I -," he hesitated, eyes roving over her features that had become as dear to him as his anything. "I am attempting to figure out how best to love you."

Her eyes widened a fraction as she heard his confession, and again he considered that he might have pushed too hard, too quickly. Then the surprise seemed to fade from her face, and morph into something warm and gentle. It took him a moment to realize that she was smiling at him.

"May I make a suggestion?" she asked.

He raised a brow, feeling a mirroring smile beginning to emerge on his own lips.

"You could start by kissing me."

Who was he to say no to such an appealing demand?

Slowly, nervously, Solas lowered his head and moulded his lips to Ellana's. She obliterated his hesitation when she reached up, and with both hands weaved her fingers into his hair and pulled him more firmly against her. Ellana's boldness resulted in a flurry of motion - of lips, teeth, and hands pulling, grasping, and claiming what both of them had wanted for some time. Somehow they managed to rid him of his armor and, as he worked his fingers against the knot in the sash holding her robes closed, find their way from the floor, to the desk, and then finally to her bed.

There was a brief pause, when they both hit the bedding, where they took a moment to look upon one another. Solas drew her closer to him, running his lips along the line of her throat and pressing a kiss to her collar, it was with the realization that he wanted this more than he had ever wanted anything. He wanted this, whatever it was, to last. He wanted to wake up in the morning and find that their friendship hadn't changed for anything but the better. He wanted to stay with her, linger for as long as she would have him.

Solas murmured a rush of endearments against her skin as he kissed a path down between her breasts and across her stomach. His fingers danced across the skin of her hips, curling reverently around the curve of her arse and down the backs of her thighs. Ellana sat up abruptly then, goosebumps erupting over her flesh as she brushed her hands over his jaw. Carefully she slid into his lap, legs draping over either side of his hips as she brought them even closer together. She looked at him, seeming to peer into him before her gaze dropped to his lips and then she was kissing him again.

Solas hummed his satisfaction at the contact, and she responded in kind when she tilted her hips forward and pressed the length of her body flush against his own. He very nearly choked, when the action more or less trapped his erection between their bodies. It was strange to acknowledge his desire in such a way. While he was certainly capable of becoming aroused, he was often too busy or too preoccupied to act on such impulses. Now, however, it seemed that part of his body was demanding his attention.

Emboldened by Solas' reaction, Ellana shifted her body forward once more, grinding her pelvis against him. With a growl, Solas' hands firmly cupped the swell of her arse before tugging her roughly against him. At the same moment, he rolled his hips against hers, and the contact forced him to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Ellana gave herself no such restrictions, and moaned loudly next to his ear as her forehead fell forward onto his shoulder.

With her robe open, Ellana was all but bare to his gaze, and her lack of undergarments allowed him to feel the heat from her quim rubbing against his cock. Still within the confines of his trousers, his length throbbed painfully, and it was all Solas could do to utter his next words.

"Ellana, is this- Is this alright?"

She whimpered and pressed against him against, grinding herself down on the rigid outline of his cock as she reached behind him to fist his hair and tug. He hissed between his teeth at the momentary sting on his scalp, bucking up into her again.

"Ellana-"

"Solas, please!" she growled, tugging on his hair again.

Their coupling was artless and needy, but Solas couldn't bring himself to care as he felt Ellana move on and around him. His senses were full of her - taste, touch, sight, smell, and the sound of her breathless whimpers had him driving himself closer and closer to the edge.

After they had both sought their release, Solas' arms still held Ellana firmly against him, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. He considered asking again the question that had brought him to her in the first place, but he was loathe to let such a topic of conversation broach the comfortable, companionable silence that now existed between them. Ellana's fingers sleepily traced delicate runic patterns along his shoulder blades, and beneath her attentions he could not bring himself to think on the vallaslin, Anduril or the impending war. He was concerned for only Ellana.

He'd ask again in the morning.