solas is a (harellan) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-01-24 10:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dragon age, *log, evelyn trevelyan, solas |
Who: Evelyn and Solas
Where: Thedas, the Hinterlands, the Crossroads
What: A romcom approach to a new home
When: After a talk about living arrangements.
Warnings: Totally inappropriate romcom flirting
It made more sense to him for them to live together simply because it would be safer. Their combined wards would be more than sufficient to keep the templars at bay - along with all the other things that went bump in the night. Few in the Hinterlands would ask questions, provided he and Evelyn kept to themselves and did no harm. Solas leaned against the door to the small hut, watching Evelyn look around it. “It’s not much,” he said, and it wasn’t. There was a tiny living area, a small bed, and little else. He’d already moved a few books into a corner, laying a board across them to create a makeshift table. “But it should be sufficient, especially if we spend most of our time in other worlds.” And it would be safe enough, too. It was just outside the Crossroads. Close enough to the town to have some measure of protection in numbers but far enough away that prying eyes wouldn’t follow their every move. “Solas,” she laughed as she slid past him, one hand on his arm as she set her staff in the corner, “it’s fine. More than fine. We’ve had campsites smaller than this.” Pulling off her coat she shook her hair, the dark locks tumbling down her shoulder, before she folded it over her arm. She moved to set it down by her staff, claiming the corner as her own, before she glanced over to the other side of the hut. The home was small, the doorways left open and the rooms open to each other. From the living area she could easily see the cold fireplace. The hut had been bare, she assumed, abandoned and the contents long filched by passersby. While not ravenous, she felt the stirrings of hunger, and knew there wasn’t anything in the hut for them. “How long have you been here? Does the tavern still have the pies that I like so much?” She vaguely tried to remember who at the Crossroads had lived there long before the war but found herself coming up short. “Perhaps we should venture there for a meal? Say hello to everyone. With our staves her of course.” “Not very long,” he admitted, slipping further into the hut to watch her. “No more than a few weeks. I… am uncertain who lived here previously, but they have fled.” One of his ears flicked, the gesture dismissive. “I did ask in town, and they had no knowledge of whoever lived here previously.” He made a quiet, thoughtful sort of noise, nodding his head as she spoke. “I agree. We will need to acquire some foodstuffs for when we are here, and it wouldn’t be remiss to make ourselves known as friendly faces.” He lifted a brow with a wry smile. “The men and women of the Crossroads in our own times seemed willing to keep quiet about apostates who meant them no harm.” He gestured toward the main door, an after you sort of motion. Thinking on the people nearby in the future made her recall the small handful of apostates who had lived there before the war erupted. “Do you think they’re here now?” While she hadn’t known any of them for very long, she still felt something resembling at least acquaintance. Finding their personal effects and returning them to someone’s widow did that. Pulling the coat back on, she led them out of the house, once more taking in the sight of the small cluster of buildings not too far away. The idea of Solas being a friendly face had her grinning as they walked. She found him friendly but Dorian and a few others would never cease to leave the elf’s corner of the camp exasperated with all the Fade talk. “So what did you tell them when you were asking? What story did you spin? You don’t look much a farmer.” Though more muscular than most elven men she had met, Solas still struck her as a scholar. He chuckled quietly as he kept pace at her side, striding alongside her easily. His height - unnatural when compared to most elves - made it easy to match her. “I told them little. I’ve found it’s often better to let people make up their own stories. They’re more inclined to believe the ones they tell themselves.” They were in the town proper inside of minutes. “Perhaps to the butcher first? Dried fennec is barely palatable, but it will keep,” he said, taking a step in that direction. A farmer’s wife, a woman he’d seen the first time he came through, squinted at him, then at Evelyn. Her eyes went a bit wide before she hurried on. She wrinkled her nose at the prospect of dried fennec. Barely palatable was an understatement but she had gotten used to it. Cassandra had made a passing comment ones on her and Dorian’s delicate palates, a tease as much as the Seeker was capable of teasing, and idly Evelyn wondered how an elven apostate had such discerning tastes. Then again, it didn’t take much to think anything was better than dried fennec. She missed the wide eyes though, too accustomed to the Herald getting stares in her own world, or the mage or the Lady Trevelyan. Instead she kept her eyes on her own preferred spot, “And the baker after?” She gestured to it down the way even as she gently urged Solas toward the butcher. Suddenly she was glad she still had so much coin left in her pocket. She’d get that phone contraption from the other world later. He inclined his head. “An excellent plan,” he agreed, leading her to the butcher’s. The shop was modest and only one person, aside from them and the butcher’s wife at the counter, were there. The young man watched them with wary eyes, but the butcher’s wife gave them a smile and a warm enough greeting. Her eyes lingered on Evelyn and then Solas’s ears, something Solas deliberately ignored, as he studied the options available to them. The druffalo flank steaks were large but generally tastier than fennec, and it wasn’t as though they lacked for money. If ever they did, they could just kill some spiders. There was money enough, if one knew where to look, and plenty of broken weapons littering the Hinterlands one could sell. The butcher’s wife grinned at Evelyn. “Was wondering why an elven man might come all the way out here,” she said. Solas’s ears flattened against his head and he flicked his gaze at both women, but made no comment. Evelyn blinked owlishly at the woman, a moment of confusion before understanding dawned on her. “Oh!” Then her cheeks turned a rosy pink, barely covered as her hand rose to obscure her mouth. She should have expected this reaction. Small towns with no trouble liked their gossip and this was one of the more interesting things to happen to them. It was also probably one of the easiest covers to don, and Evelyn was nothing if not quick on her feet. She turned her bashful face to Solas’ shoulder, her hand slipping down to grasp his as she pressed herself to his side. “Maker, I thought we weren’t being obvious,” she breathed with a sigh, casting a conspiratorial look to the wife, who beamed back at them. She turned her face up to Solas, chin against his arm, a playfully knowing look pulling at her features, her eyes dancing. “Or did you tell them about us?” She squeezed their interlaced fingers to catch his attention. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so… willing to engage the lie. Solas jumped when she pressed her face to his shoulder, his brows lifting when her fingers twined around his. She was warm and soft against him, leaning into him like a woman would lean into her lover, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Except to play along, even if it wasn’t on her level. “It was my intent to keep it a secret, emm’asha,” he said, the lie coming with surprising ease to his lips. He lifted their twined hands, his eyes intent on hers, and brushed his lips softly over their fingers. The butcher’s wife let out a little gasp - likely one of delight. Turning to the other woman, Solas settled one hand on Evelyn’s back, just a touch too low to be proprietous. Just low enough to convey intimacy. “But we would both appreciate your discretion,” he said, knowing that statement would see the rumor spread across the town within the hour. It was a little lie, barely anything really, and any was better than trying to explain the truth, whether it was about the time traveling or the magic wielding. Still, she hadn’t expected the elvish, nor the way he held her hand. It was just as surprising and charming as she thought it was, judging by the sound from the other woman in the room. The men - from what Evelyn could see out of the corner of her eye - were less impressed. She scarcely stifled a laugh at Solas’ request, already imagining a dozen and a half ways this rumor would catch on with the other townspeople. Elves and humans coming together wasn’t unheard of but it wasn’t all that common. Seeing as how they were also new, she expected everyone to have some kind of story about them, and knowing it would be far more entertaining than anything she or Solas could come up with. So she merely lingered at his side, asking questions about the druffalo, about the weather, about the prices in the tavern. Occasionally she’d deflect to Solas for his opinion, all gentle smiles and doe eyed stares until they gathered up their purchases in their arms and left, waving goodbye to the couple and promising to come back soon. She didn’t quite let go of his arm as they left, only loosening her hold to gently grasp his elbow. “Well this is going to be interesting,” she said dryly. His expression was almost as dry as her words, except, of course, when he was looking at her. His eyes softened just the slightest bit for her, something he had to force. But it wouldn’t do for people to see him looking at her with anything less than adorable if they wanted their farcical cover to be maintained. It was a convenient story, one that made some measure of sense, however. And so he would accept it, even if it was a sharp bone in his throat. A human for a lover. How she would laugh if she knew. “I had hoped to pass us off as… something else,” he admitted. “Half-brother and sister, perhaps. Still, that she came the conclusion on her own means we need only live up to their expectations. Should anyone ask for details, tell them we’ve just come from the Marches to escape your family.” He waited a beat and gave her a warm, winning smile. At least she wasn’t completely contemptible. “Emm’asha.” A pet name that would only hold as long as they didn’t come across any Dalish. She gave him a sidelong look, the warmth allowing her not to break her character, even if it seemed he suddenly grew two extra heads. “Half brother and sister?” That somehow sounded even less believable than their current cover. Perhaps it was the idea that Solas would be fond enough of a human to take one as a lover but she could only imagine his disdain of being related to one. His smile to her made her lips mirror his but still she jostled their shoulders against each other as they walked to the baker. “What does that mean? Emm’asha.” She tried the word out on her tongue, mimicking it as best she could. Orlesian she could do with ease. A bit of Antivan and Tevene when necessary but elvish wasn’t a language she knew - or needed to know - and she took to the word slowly. He stiffened slightly at the sound of Elvish on her tongue, bracing himself for revulsion, hatred, resentment. He felt none of those things because, he realized a second later, she wasn’t mocking him. She was curious, nothing more, and her curiosity was a gentle, kind thing. “It is a pet name,” he said, being deliberately oblique. A proprietary one to be sure, and one that an elven man hiding away with his human lover likely wouldn’t use. The kind of emotion that hid behind an arrangement like their apparent one was too passionate, too deep, too primal and elemental for something as banal as emm’asha. It also made him sound like a hulking brute. Ah now there was a Solas she had known, a bit more guarded and formal, though they still kept holding to each other like a couple might. But she wasn’t offended or startled, they were simply playing parts and she filed away the knowledge for later with a simple, “Hm.” There wasn’t much time to dwell though, not when they were entering the bakery, Evelyn leading the way. Though she finally let loose of his arm, her hand trailing down to his before letting go, she let that gesture be conveyed, and watched as the young woman manning the bakery - the baker’s daughter it seemed - go wide eyed at the two strangers entering. This apparently would be how the way of things. Casting a look back over her shoulder, she asked, “Did you want anything in particular?” “Something hard and crusty,” he said easily, ignoring the look from the baker’s daughter. In some ways, this was even worse. A human and elf together was… remarkable. They would be under even greater scrutiny. He suppressed a sigh. They didn’t need the scrutiny. Not when they were mages. That was dangerous enough, especially if someone noticed. Still, he squeezed her fingers as she drew away, a lingering caress. “Perhaps sourdough.” As she moved away, he watched her, his eyes lingering on her hips like a besotted lover’s might. She did, he thought, have quite lovely hips. “Sourdough,” Evelyn asked with a smile, watching as the girl scurried about for their order. At least the poor thing more nervous than chatty, keeping any thoughts to herself. Whether it was because it was the two of them, as they were, being there or the fact that they were two strangers at all, Evelyn couldn’t guess, but she kept her smile warm and her requests gentle, in case Solas was in the back glowering. She wouldn’t be surprised. With bread and a small cake, Evelyn scooped up their wrapped purchases and ushered Solas out of the bakery with a soft bump of her hip. The girl only awkwardly waved bank, thanking them for their purchases, before the mages closed the door behind them. “I think we’re doing fine on the making friends front.” Her stomach growled in agreement and Evelyn laughed, abashed. “So I think that means our actual meal is next?” He bumped her back, a faint flush spreading across his face. It had been far too long since he’d even considered flirting with a woman, and now he had to pretend he was a woman’s lover. A human woman’s lover. For a moment, he was wrapped up in the idea of what that would be like. She was rounder than an elven woman, not quite as lithe and willowy. Her hips were wider, her breasts fuller, her lips - he broke away from those thoughts, clearing his throat. “Fresh produce,” he said stiffly, trying to keep his face congenial. “I can make a sweet glaze.” “Ooh.” Color her impressed. Evelyn’s eyes went wide, brows shot up, and she cast an appreciative look to Solas as they made their way through the town. A few children ran past them, scarcely a glance up, but a farm hand passed them by, nodding politely to both as before lifting a smile in Evelyn’s direction. She gave him a polite one back before turning her face to Solas. “Produce, dinner, and that’s it I think. Don’t want anyone wondering why we have so much money on hand or where it came from.” That did bring up another question, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully. “What should we tell them we do?” Solas snorted softly. “We are,” he said softly, shifting closer to her so that his voice didn’t carry, “two lovers hiding from your family, emm’asha. We don’t do anything except attempt to appear innocuous.” He stood so close to her now that he had to dip his head to meet her eyes, and he was taken by the color of them. Bright and vibrant. Beautiful. Jerking back abruptly, he cleared his throat. “If you have any skills, perhaps we can utilize those. I will convince them I am something of an apothecary, if I must.” He turned from her, making his way to one of the stands of produce, needing to put space between them. Needing distance and air that wasn’t full of her and her presence. Surely this magnetism she possessed was simply because she was the only person he could relate to. A mage, Thedosian, from a time similar to his. He hadn’t experienced the events of his life alongside her, but she had experienced her life alongside him. They were connected. He could see it in the way the Fade touched them both. With a quiet groan, he selected the ingredients necessary for the sauce - a comfort from age long past - and wondered why he was sharing this food with her. She was just as taken with the moment as he was, and taken off guard. She couldn’t recall a time she was ever this physically close to Solas, and though she didn’t mind posing as a happy couple, they didn’t need to act like such in that moment. And yet there was a world of tension between them suddenly, heavy enough to give her pause. He pulled away and she blinked, startled. “Skills, right.” Suddenly her mind was blank, jerking back to the train of conversation she had before she was so utterly derailed. “...Seamstress perhaps. Needlework. Though if if anyone asks, I’m a terrible one. I know how but I haven’t held a needle since…” Since she was pulled away to the Circle. She shook her head and he was moving to stand, and she was slowing her steps behind them. It was rather silly, she thought as she dwelled on the moment, and she dismissed it quickly. She hadn’t given it much thought but Solas was an attractive man, knowledgeable and helpful, and she was simply glad for the company. That was it. The excitement (if it could be called that) was weighing on them both and she was glad they had each other, if only to lean on. That’s what it was. “I’ll meet you in the tavern,” she called out to him, the wind carrying her voice as her feet carried her to her destination. It wasn’t far and in short order she scaled the few steps and took a seat at a booth, smiling gratefully at the barmaid and asking for some mead. He took his time going to the tavern, his ears pressed flat to the sides of his head, a growing sense of unease washing over him. This was, he realized, a rather dangerous charade. An elf with his human lover in a town full of humans? The only reason he didn’t drag his hand down his face was because his arms were full of foodstuffs. True enough, he was never bothered by the people at the Crossroads in the future. But that was the future, and this was now. Now, when they had no reason to hold themselves back. Now, when they could decide one of their own ought not mix with a creature like him. He couldn’t stop his snort. If only they knew. At least, for his own pride, it was just a charade. Nothing would ever come of the deception. When he entered the tavern, he made his way slowly toward Evelyn, collecting himself and putting all his macabre thoughts from his mind. As he approached, the barmaid giving Evelyn a mug of mead looked up and met his eyes. A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. “Bit old for you, innit he?” the barmaid asked. He felt heat rush through him. If only she knew. Then the barmaid laughed, the sound riotous and grating. “But then, the older ones always know what you like best without trying as hard.” Evelyn, unfortunately for Solas’ comfort, giggled softly along with the barmaid. “That they do,” she agreed, her eyes dancing before giving Solas a quick wink. Though she never picked lovers on their ages, the Circle only giving one very limited options, she did like her older lovers, experienced and unabashed. Now she was supposed to count Solas in that category, even if they were just pretending, and her cheeks ran as scarlet as the barmaid’s hair as she briefly imagined what he might be like. “Do you want one too?” She tapped her finger along the side of her mug and slid along the booth to give him room. Depositing his things on the table, Solas hesitated. Her invitation wasn’t forward or even untoward. For him to sit across from her, in a booth, might send the wrong impression. They were runaway lovers, and runaway lovers were always madly in love. So he settled beside her, trying not to hold himself stiffly, wondering where the arrogance of his youth had gone. Hadn’t he had as many lovers as the stars? Hadn’t he been able to seduce a woman with suggestive looks and sweetly honeyed words? And yet, with this woman, he felt like an awkward, fumbling youth: infatuated and foolish, though he was neither. Well. Perhaps he was a fool. “No, thank you,” he said, dismissing the barmaid with a shake of his head. His hand lifted from his lap and, after another hesitation, landed gently on her thigh. Absently. It was easy to see under the other booths, and there were patrons in the tavern. Let them see his hand on her leg now, let them see that he liked to touch her. He could apologize later. Even so, he pitched his voice low and murmured in her ear, “If this fiction bothers you, there are other places we could hide.” The Dalish wouldn’t be happy about taking in a human, and he wouldn’t be happy about going to those blind children, but two mages? They would take in two mages in a heartbeat. And with great hospitality. She didn’t stiffen or flinch as he put his hand on her, though her smile did turn shy, almost playful. Maker if she suspected their ruse would lead them this far she wouldn’t have suggested it, not for anything other than they were so very clearly friends, and this was so very clearly not friendly. “It doesn’t, Solas,” she whispered back, head inclining towards his as she took her mug in her hand as looked around the room. Other than a quick glance in their direction, just to see, most of the patrons were now back to their own conversation and dining, and she relaxed against the booth. “But it bothers you?” That much was clear, and she turned her eyes to meet his, concern and worry etching on her face. “This will be the worst of it. Tomorrow and after, it won’t have to be like this. Staying here is fine with me and now that we’ve… established the story, that’s it. We don’t have to do much to keep it.” A wry smile twisted her lips as she lifted her mug. “Just no wild rows in the square and we should be fine.” The fact that she cared for his discomfort stunned him. It was rare that anyone considered him, which, truthfully, was because of his own behavior. He alienated others - what else was he to do, given circumstances? - and thus they did not care if they hurt or offended. Generally speaking, he didn’t care either. He was used to being alone. But this slip of a human woman cared. His feelings mattered to her, and that was stunning to him. With a low laugh, he turned his head and brushed his nose against her ear. Why not continue the charade? This much physical touch, this much contact with another person, was almost novel to him. It had been so long, and he was basking in it, reveling in it, soaking it into himself to cherish. “Indeed,” he breathed against her ear, his breath a gentle rush over her skin. “We should be convincing regardless. And I am not so bothered as you might think.” She was, after all, lovely. And he had always had a weakness for lovely, dark eyed women. The affection was an easy thing and Evelyn didn’t mind playing the role. Permanent entanglements were always discouraged in the Circle, but affection? Affection she could do and as he brushed against her ear she shivered, turning her cheek to nuzzle him slightly back. “No?” She didn’t quite believe that, and she broke their brief embrace to look him at him. “You don’t have to agree with me, Solas. If this is too much, we can go back to the hut. Gorge ourselves on our fine fine dining of fennec.” The druffalo would wait for a better occasion and she gave him a grin as she leaned forward, forehead to his, nose against his. “The pies can wait.” He wondered how much of this was for show and how much of it was earnest. Half of him was drunk from her touches, her closeness, the magic that clung to her skin and filled the air around him. The other half wanted to pull back and put distance between them. Except that too much distance would make the others in the tavern curious. It would draw attention. They didn’t need attention. So he tipped his head slightly, his lips brushing lightly over hers. They were so close, it would take no effort to make the caress into a kiss, but he wasn’t willing to do that. Not even for a show. Instead, he trailed his fingers just a bit higher on her thigh. Games of seduction? Those he could play with his eyes closed. If he could remember how. It had been some time, admittedly. “Too much, emm’asha?” he murmured against her mouth, his eyes hooded and dark. “I would hardly say too much. A pie sounds decadent. Let us… indulge ourselves.” His fingers drifted closer to her hip. “If only today.” Then he drew away. The way he breathed his words against her lips made her sigh, her eyes fluttering closed a moment, only opening as she felt his fingers dance along her thigh, up her hip. “There’s such a thing as too much?” Her smirk deepened and didn’t fade away even as he pulled back, her eyes assessing him with a long and thoughtful look. Who knew Solas had that in him? A throat cleared and their barmaid returned, a knowing look thrown in Evelyn’s way. Evelyn, in turn, grinned cheekily, trying not to look too embarrassed. “Pie!” Her pronouncement came out a touch too brightly and she let loose a soft laugh, setting her chin on her hand. “Food actually would be lovely.” She held up a finger for two and breathed a soft sigh as the woman sauntered away. She cast a sidelong glance at Solas. “We should get you some drink if you want to indulge today.” Solas chuckled, shaking his head with mirth in his eyes. “I need no drink to indulge, emm’asha.” But he caught the barmaid’s eye and indicated a mug of ale regardless. He’d need alcohol when he thought back on this whole situation before bed. Because he would think on it, for one reason or another. To make sense of it, he told himself. Picking up his fork, he paused, studying the pie in front of them. There were two plates, yes, but this, too, was an opportunity to reinforce their charade. He cut a small piece of the pie with his fork, blew on it with frost on his breath, and offered it to her. “A bite,” he said, drawing his lips back in a strangely feral, but not cruel or frightening, snarl. “It helps,” she reminded him, but he was ordering himself a drink and she was smiling gratefully as their pie was set before them. She lifted her fork to spear it when he beat her two it, cutting her a small piece. She hadn’t been expecting the feeding but she hid it well, not allowing anyone to see her surprise. “For me?” Her words were as sweet as her smile as she leaned forward, gingerly taking the piece, her teeth closing down carefully to avoid the heat. When she pulled away with the bite she hummed softly in approval, the taste of it just as she remembered. The tension that sprung between them seeped into her bones and when a soft purr she whispered, “Now you,” before cutting him a small piece with her fork. It was, he realized quite suddenly, too much. Even for acting, it was too much, and it made his heart hurt in an awful way. So when she lifted her fork to offer him a bite, he caught her wrist with his fingers, his touch painfully gentle, and shook his head ever so slightly. “No,” he said softly. Shifting, he put space between them, cutting himself a piece of the meat pie. It was acceptable as far as food went, a bit too common for his palette, but acceptable nonetheless. Even with the added space, he could feel the crackle of her magic, felt it reaching out for his own. For the first time in years, he had to suppress the desire to let his mana press against someone else’s. Had to fight the yearning for that kind of intimacy. He reminded himself he barely knew her. “We’ve doted on each other enough for one day, Herald.” The sudden space was a like a slap, making her sit up straight, nearly making her drop her fork. They had been getting carried away, and she pulled her magic around her like a shroud, almost embarrassed that it was slipping from her. “Right,” she said primly, turning her body away from him and her attention away from him. “Too much,” she muttered as she began to cut into her pie. She ate in silence, not ignoring him but the mood soured around her and she refused to let that cloud her meal. “Everything all right?” The barmaid returned, all bright smiles and Evelyn returned it, her smile genuine as she found something to smile about. “The food is wonderful, yes.” And that sufficed. |