Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Trouble

She sprang awake.

Fen'Asha was back on solid ground. Back in Skyhold, in her chambers. The mountain breeze drifted through her open balcony doors. The moon was gleaming, seemingly staring down at her. Enormous.

She touched her lips. The kiss. Haven. It had been real, hadn't it? Or was this another sick joke, another depravity set upon her by dreams? She felt warmth, sweat clinging to her form. That seemed real enough and she settled herself, touching feet to cold floor and making her way to the balcony.

What happened?

She remembered seeking out Solas, asking him to join her in Crestwood. Being coy. She winced at the thought of herself playing such philandering games with such a refined man. She hadn't flirted in ages. She was sure that was apparent through her bumbling. "I'm very interested in what you're reading," she had said.

But they shared a drink and he took her to Haven, right?

Maybe something else happened. She remembered his lips, soft and gentle. She remembered her handcuffs. A captive. Two captives.

"Haven is familiar," Solas said. Voice drifting. "It will always be important to you."

It was important to her. It would always be important to her.

Fen'Asha exhaled. He was there. It was real. As real as the looming moon.

She decided she needed to see him again, to confirm, to find answers.

She padded down the tower stairs, into the main hall, past some guards. They stared as she walked away, finding the fireplace at the entrance to the hall and moving past to the rotunda into the area Solas claimed as his own. The one with the mural, the books, the papers.

"Sleep well?" came his voice. He was there, reading.

"I had a strange dream," she said. "But there was a happy ending."

"I apologize," he said. "The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered. I should not have encouraged it."

He did take her to Haven. Something had happened. Her memory of his lips was not some extravagant fiction spun by sleep.

"So your tongue was just following your urges?"

"I suppose," he said. He was finally looking up from his book.

"And you wish to repress those urges?" She managed a smile.

His lips were pressed thin.

"Are the rules different in the Fade?" She raised her eyebrows again, turned her head.

"Things have always been..." he looked down. "Better. Things come easier to me in the Fade."

"I see," she said.

"I am not certain this is the best idea," he said. His eyes drifted back to the book. "It could lead to trouble."

"Trouble?" She knew he was right, at least in theory. She was the Inquisitor. A Dalish elf. She was younger. He was older. Wasn't he? Maybe he was into brunettes. Non-elves. Maybe he was...

He was reading.

"I'm willing to take that chance," she said. "If you are..."

"I..." he said. He looked up. "If I could have some time to ponder it. There are considerations."

His jawbone necklace shone in the candle light.

"Take all the time you need," she said.

He looked at her. Looked at her robe, its ethereal material snug to still-moist skin. The curves underneath. "I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams," he said. "But I am reasonably sure we are both awake now. If you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking."