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shift-shaping · 7 years ago

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Glimpses: Flowers

@dadrunkwriting

@talesfromthefade, @zolamoonshadow

Rating: M

Genre: Romance

You said any pairing so I thought... why not all of them?

Solas x Surana (Dancer, Student, and Canon verses)

Dorian Trevelyan

Cullen x Surana

Alistair x Surana

Yvelle Lavellan x Solas

Verse: Revolutionary

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Age gap

She straightened her skirt and took a deep breath, holding the flower pot close to her chest. With a tightly-closed fist she rapped on the door, three swift knocks that made the wood shudder.

Her chest felt tight, her neck damp with nervous sweat. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, straightened her skirt again. Inside the townhouse, footsteps echoed nearer to the door. She breathed in again, still shaky, still tight.

Her ears perked as he swung the door open, her mouth opening pre-emptively. He had a small, confused smile on, and was wearing the business wear she was used to seeing him in.

“Uh -hi,” she said, and his smile widened. “I, uh, I can’t stay very long. But I wanted to give you something.”

He stepped outside with her and closed the screen door behind him. “The flowers?” His gaze fell to the small pot, to the bouquet planted in soil. “They look familiar.”

“Yeah, um,” she laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Is... everything all right?”

“Yeah! Oh, yeah, definitely.” She nodded so vigorously it made her braids bounce. “It’s just really warm in my apartment right now.”

“I see...” He trailed off, awkwardly, then cleared his throat. “Ah, well, if you’d like to come inside...”

“No! I mean, I can’t. I have to go to work in like ten minutes.”

“Oh, right, of course...”

She swallowed hard, then held the flowers out for him. “They’re for you.”

He looked at her, confused, but took them. “You don’t need to give me anything, da’len.”

A small smile pulled at her lips and she looked between the flowers and his face. “They aren’t just anything.”

He looked back at the flowers, studying them closely. Realization dawned on him and he met her eyes again, blinking in surprise. “The ones I gave you...”

“Yeah. Turns out I have a bit of a green thumb.”

“But, how? They were cuttings.”

She held her hands behind her back, pride calming her now, puffing her chest out. “I found a guide online and followed it to the letter. It took a while, and I could only save some of them, but... I think they look really nice.”

His smile widened and he shook his head. “They are beautiful, da’len. Truly. You might have a future as a florist.”

“You think?” She’d genuinely never thought of that. “Hm... florist by day, stripper by night?”

“You’d always smell like flowers.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I just... wanted to show you that.”

“Thank you, truly.” He took a half-step closer to her, then stopped himself. “I... I’ll see you tonight then, da’len.”

She smiled, nodded, then started to walk backwards away. “We’re still meeting tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Provided I don’t have too much to drink tonight.”

“Don’t drink!” She scoffed, grinning brightly. “Give all your money away in tips.”

“Mmm... I’ll consider that.”

She waved as she walked back to the street and climbed into her car. He watched her drive away, holding the flowers in his hands, then leaned back against his door and sighed loudly. There was a slim chance he could keep these things alive.

Pairing: Dorian x Trevelyan

As soon as Dorian learned Wessely’s birthday, he knew he would show no mercy. Wessely was modest to a fault, consistently putting everyone else before himself, and rarely took credit for his own victories. It was time to make him celebrate himself, whether he wanted to or not.

Vivienne and Josephine helped him secure hundreds of flowers and cover the Inquisitor’s room in them. Varric caught a glimpse and seemed to think all three of them had lost their minds, but Vivienne was quick to inform him that he had obviously never given a birthday gift to the Herald of Andraste. They needed his assistance, though, and instructed Varric to keep Wessely busy all afternoon while they made the final preparations. Wessely, in all his idiot kindness, made no complaint as Varric talked his ear off for hours in the courtyard.

Just as the sun neared the horizon Dorian shooed Vivienne and Josephine out, then immediately took off his clothes and climbed on to Wessely’s bed. He shifted amidst the flower petals until coming to a comfortable spot, then rolled on to his side and propped his head in his hand. The finishing touch was a single, very large rose over his crotch.

Varric was supposed to send Wessely in as soon as Josephine and Vivienne left, but Dorian found himself laying seductively in bed cursing the dwarf for over a half-hour. He must have gotten entrenched in one of his stories and lost track of time. Dorian groaned and cast a furtive glance to the setting sun. The timing wasn’t that big of a deal, but if he wasn’t in perfect position the entire effort was ruined, so he couldn’t just go and get his lover from the courtyard.

Time went on and dusk fell into night. After a while, with his wrist now thoroughly numb, Dorian relaxed on the bed into a more comfortable position. The work had been exhausting, and now that he lay in his lover’s massive bed he very badly wanted to sleep. He fought the urge for as long as he could, but eventually succumbed.

Another two hours passed before Wessely finally returned to his quarters. He immediately noticed the flower petals on the stairwell and smelled powerful incense through the door. Warmth flooded his chest and he carefully turned the doorknob, smiling softly when he saw Dorian sleeping on his bed in a pile of flower petals. As gently as he could, he climbed into bed and gave his lover a soft kiss on the forehead.

Dorian blinked and drowsily stretched, squinting at Wessely in the candlelight. “Where in the Maker’s name have you been?”

Wessely chuckled softly and brought Dorian’s hand to his lips, making the other man smile. “Emergency Inquisitor business. Apparently a druffalo stampede delayed our supply lines in the east.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “These southerners and their stinking, hulking mammals.”

“Giant snakes would have been preferable?”

Dorian nodded and smirked, wrapping his arms around Wessely’s neck. “At least then you don’t get fur on everything.”

Wessely snorted before leaning down and kissing Dorian deeply, slowly. His partner tasted like wine and sleep, but not in the bitter way every other person did. It was a spell, Dorian said, a spell he’d personally perfected to rid himself of morning breath forever.

“Happy birthday, amatus,” Dorian said as Wessely pulled back. He looked tenderly into the other man’s eyes, quietly admiring their warm brown color.

Wessely smiled, though his brows knit in confusion. “My birthday isn’t for another six weeks.”

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly and sighed. “I knew that.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, of course.” He pretended to be offended as he shifted on to his elbows, bringing his face close to Wessely’s. “How could you even suggest otherwise?”

“Ah. My mistake then.” Wessely leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s neck, making his lover hiss softly with pleasure. Dorian felt a tantalizing brush between his legs, then raised an eyebrow when Wessely brought the rose to his lips.

“I am exposed,” Dorian said simply, and Wessely laughed before kissing him again, harder now.

“Thank you, Dorian. This means so much to me.”

“Of course, amatus.” He smiled that same warm smile and pulled Wessely back down, drawing their bodies together in the tangle of rose petals littering their bed.

Verse: Fire is Her Water

Pairings: Cullen x Surana

Warnings: Templar x mage

He always knew where he could find her, and not just because a mage’s schedule was meticulously planned to the minute. If she was not with the animals or in the dense, ancient greenhouses, she was in the library. The curfew for her age was only two hours after dark, but she was allowed to study late into the night. Her work was benevolent, according to the Chantry, even beneficial. Among mages, healers had value and privileges others did not.

He held the ancient tome in his hands and prayed his palms would not dampen the fragile pages. It seemed wrong for his harsh metal gauntlets to hold something so delicate, but he would not put it away. When he gave it to her, perhaps his hands would brush hers, or he could catch a glimpse of her narrow wrists, of her onyx skin peeking from beneath the long sleeves of her robe.

He pushed open the door to the library and narrowed his eyes in the darkness Magic torches cast dim, flickering light over the endless towering bookcases, filling the room with a sunset orange -save for one blue glow, one lonely light tucked inside the reference section.

He went to her, his boots so loud on the uneven floorboards that he cringed from the noise. When he saw her he paused, smiling when he noticed how focused she was on her reading. She didn’t even look up as he approached her, despite the deafening sound of his heartbeat.

“E-Eirwen,” he stuttered, then cleared his throat. She looked up, head tilting, pupils large in the dark. “I got you something.”

Her brows furrowed and she shifted to her feet, brushing dust from her robes. “From where?”

“A -a merchant in town. I thought you might like it.” He held it out to her and she rolled up her sleeves before gently taking it from his hands. Her skin was so smooth, so clear and shining in the dark. His breath caught in his throat and his tongue felt like cotton.

She looked over it, gingerly turning the fragile pages, eyes widening with wonder. The drawings were beautiful and detailed, the writing precise and clear. Page after page showed stunning pictures of flowers from all over the world, in faded but still vibrant color.

“Cullen,” she said softly, tearing her gaze from the gift. “This is amazing. You... you didn’t have to do this. I... I don’t even have anything to repay you with.” She laughed and looked back down at it, shaking her head. “Thank you so much... this means the world to me.”

He struggled for words, but they betrayed him like always. He hated how stupid he looked in front of her, how dumb he felt whenever she turned her eyes on him.

She giggled then and gently shut the book. The floorboards creaked as she shifted forward, putting one hand on his chestplate. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek and his eyes widened, shock overtaking him as he felt her smooth skin against his. “Thank you, Cullen. Thank you so much.”

He stood there, stunned still, as she padded past him to the hall and shut the heavy wooden door behind her. She tore away any sense that he had, left him speechless and dumb, yet he wouldn’t trade her presence for anything.

Verse: Confessions of a Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Teacher x Student, age gap

In three days, it would be six months since she kissed him in his car.

Six months of pining, of desperate sex that never slowed, of near-constant teasing and quiet, aching confessions of love in the middle of the night. It had been a tumultuous six months and entirely unexpected, and but also entirely heaven.

Six months wasn’t much time, but he still wanted to celebrate. Earlier that day, in his office, she’d pulled him close to her, made him corner her against the wall, kissed his neck hard and drew sharp gasps and guttural groans from deep in his chest. His hands grasped for her back and he held her body flush against his, grinding his hips against her, spreading her legs as he lifted her and shifted to swallow a hot moan from her lips.

They hadn’t been able to finish, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

As had become their typical schedule, she planned to spend most of the weekend with him in his apartment. She lounged in his shirts and sometimes her underwear, filling his home with her presence. They cooked and watched movies and did their work beside each other on his couch or in his bed. More often than not he found his eyes drawn to her bare legs, or felt her gaze stuck on his forearms. Their distractions fed into each other and inevitably he’d end up between those long, muscular legs in one way or another.

This particular weekend she’d itched for warmth, constantly wrapping herself around him and holding his hand and laying across his lap. It kept him busy and, more importantly, kept her away from the refrigerator.

Normally she had free range with everything in his apartment, but this time he needed her away from the secret hidden behind the vegetables. Every time she got close he’d distract her, sometimes with sex, sometimes with other food or sweet words.

On Sunday, inevitably, she voiced her suspicions. “What are you keeping in that fridge?” Her voice was a low coo as she rested her head on his bare chest, her legs kicking the air, the blankets of his bed laying over her naked back.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he replied, smirking slightly.

“Every time I get close to your fridge, you pull me away.” She lifted herself up on her hands, pushing her breasts together, challenging him to keep his eyes on her face. “I’m starting to think you’re keeping a decapitated head in there.”

He snorted. “You are always so gruesome. I should think you’d know me better than that by now.”

“Oh, of course.” She grinned and shifted, tossing one leg over his hips and straddling him. He gripped her waist almost instinctively and gave her soft sides a squeeze. “You’re more the type to keep a heart in your fridge. Maybe a couple fingers.”

“That is disgusting.”

She grinded on him and he rolled his eyes. “You still aren’t telling me what it is.”

“I assure you, it is nothing that was once part of a person.”

“Oddly specific wording, hahren.”

“Alright,” he sighed and eased her off him, shaking his head. She giggled as he stood, crawling on the bed to suddenly pull him back. He gasped as she groped him a bit, fingers straying too far down. “I thought you wanted to see the refrigerator?”

She snorted and moved her hands to hug him instead. “Sorry. I just can’t resist an ass like that.”

He smiled over his shoulder at her. “You are easily distracted, vhenan.”

“You still gave me an A.”

He hummed softly and turned, greatly tempted to press her back down into the bed and make love to her again. He tucked his fingers under her chin and brought her mouth to his, kissing her deep and slow, letting his teeth pull at her lips before he broke away. She inhaled sharply as he stepped back, sliding his hand down to hers, gently tugging her to her feet. “Come, ma vhenan. Let me show you.”

She groaned but followed him, letting him lead her back to the kitchen. It occurred to him that she must be cold, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton underwear, so on the way to the hall he took a sweater from his desk chair and helped her pull it on over her head. It hung low, down to her mid-thighs, and covered her hands.

“Should I be bracing myself?” She asked, leaning back against the counter as he opened the fridge. “Is something going to pop out at me?”

He said nothing, and she straightened as he pulled something in a box from the fridge. He laid it down gently, then gave her room to see what it was as he pulled the top of the box off. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly, bringing her sleeve-covered hand to her mouth.

“Solas...” She said softly, shaking her head. “This is... this is beautiful.” Before her sat a gorgeous cake covered in flawless, colorful frosting flowers. As she looked them over, tears stung her eyes. “The flowers... are these...?”

Soon after they’d started dating, she left a bouquet of flowers in his mailbox on campus. It was a beautiful collection, vibrant and reminiscent of spring. She saw that now on the cake, the same types of flowers, the same bright color scheme.

“Oh, Solas...” Her voice was small and quiet, and he started to speak before she turned to him and suddenly kissed him, hard and deep, hands on either side of his face.

He stumbled at first, hand barely catching the counter. He hugged her with his free hand, holding her close, and after a moment returned the kiss with just as much passion.

Pairing: Solavellan

Warnings: Age gap

It took days to figure out what kind of gift Solas would actually like.

Josephine was genuinely shocked he didn’t like tea, and seemed unable to accept it at first. “Truly? But he seems like just the type... are you quite certain he dislikes all tea? Even the sweeter kinds?”

Vivienne had lowered her book and given Yvelle a withering stare. “Darling, just find him some weeds from outside; it’s you he’s after, anyway.” She brought her book up again and shrugged. “Though what the man really needs is a pair of shoes.”

Bull had leaned back in his chair and looked at Yvelle suspiciously. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and figure we’re talking about different kinds of gifts, boss. I mean... I’d consider it, but...” She’d needed Sera to explain what Bull was talking about, and she only told Yvelle five minutes later, after she finished laughing.

Even Cole’s advice wasn’t particularly useful, but Yvelle didn’t have the heart to tell him that. “He has very few things. Mostly useful things... maybe he wants something that isn’t so useful. It doesn’t have to be real.”

So it was with a great sense of defeat that Yvelle confessed her failure to Cassandra, who she knew liked to read romance novels and might have some advice. She didn’t like admitting inability in front of Cassandra -she felt it made her look inept as a leader- but the Seeker didn’t seem to mind. The slightest hint of a smile pulled at her lips, and she brought Yvelle to the garden.

“Now, I do not know about Solas specifically, but it is good to consider things he already has and get him something similar that is also unique to you.”

“He has... paints.”

“And books. And likely a great deal of very old things.” They stopped walking in front of a flower pot full of colorful daisies. Both of them were silent for a time, before Cassandra looked at Yvelle with a slight frown. “He enjoys candles, does he not?”

Yvelle tilted her head and nodded, not sure where Cassandra was going with this. “They usually have a bit of a scent, like pine or roses.”

The Seeker’s lips tilted into a smirk. “I believe I may know just the thing.”

A week later, after a small, unobtrusive package arrived for the Inquisitor, she met with Solas on her balcony. After their usual banter and teasing he pressed her back into the railing and kissed her, his hands gentle on her hips. She felt her heart racing, her breathing tighter and harsher, her hands grasping at the back of his shirt.

He pulled back from her lips to kiss her neck, making her back arch in his hands and her voice break into a girlish moan. His lips tightened, and she felt him chuckle against her skin. “Are you wearing perfume, Inquisitor?”

A warm blush spread over her body and she cleared her throat. “Do you... do you like it?”

He kissed her neck again, then trailed his teeth against the skin. “I do. Very much.”

She shivered and swallowed hard, fingers still grasping at his back. “G -good. It’s, um... daisies...”

His hands slid up her waist, hugging her tighter, and he chuckled again. “Do you know what those mean?”

“...Mean?”

He nodded. “According to Orlesians, anyway. So take it as you will.” He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and looking into her amber eyes. “The particularly wealthy use flowers to send different messages. Aster is patience, Gardenia is cheerfulness, Iris is wisdom...”

She smiled and laughed. “How do you know all that?”

He kissed her again, quickly. “I’ve been known to read things from time to time.”

They kissed again, deeper now, and he held her close like he had before. When they broke apart to breathe, she closed her eyes and steadied her voice. “And... what do daisies mean?”

He laughed then, surprising her, and then sighed. “You, ah, you do not want to know.”

“What? Why?” She pulled back, brows furrowed. “What do they mean?”

He moved his hands back down to her waist, then lower, resting just over her rear and making her blush furiously. “Purity.”

She was silent for a moment, the joke sinking in, before she groaned and buried her face in Solas’s chest. “Creators, of course it does...”

He laughed and hugged her, shaking his head. “It still smells very good, Inquisitor. You shouldn’t worry about the meaning.” He kissed her head and she squeezed him tighter. “I love it nonetheless.”

Verse: Fire is Her Water

Pairings: Alistair x Surana

Warnings: Gore

Wynne held Eirwen’s head in her lap, her gaze locked on the girl’s bloodied face, the air crackling with her magic as she willed the destroyed skin back together. “Does anyone have saffron flowers?” Her voice was raw and harsh as she risked a glance upward. “Anyone?!”

Morrigan was already searching through her pack fervently, her hands shaking. “No. I cannot -of course it is the one thing I do not have...”

“There is only so much I can do on my own.” Wynne shook her head as Eirwen groaned in pain.

“One of us could return to the surface, or at least to Orzammar.” Zevran paced, shaking his head, brows knit tightly as he thought. “Perhaps someone is selling it. They must have herbs down here, or... something...”

“I mean this with all due respect, Zevran,” Wynne started, her voice strangled with frustration as sweat began to drip from her hairline. “You cannot make it back to Orzammar on your own. You have no sense of where your enemy is coming from, without the Taint, you would not survive.” She sighed shakily. “And there is no promise Orzammar will have the herbs regardless.”

“I can do it, I’ll go.” Wynne glanced at Alistair, whose silver armor was dark with blood. He stood steady, with only a minor injury on his cheek.

“We need you here, Alistair.” But she knew that wasn’t true. With so many of them it would be extremely difficult for darkspawn to take them by surprise, and even if they did, the party was well-prepared. “Do you really think you could do it?” She asked, her voice low.

Alistair knelt before her, looking down at Eirwen, at her mauled face. He nodded, his jaw set. “Of course.” There was an unspoken emotion there, something much deeper than the overconfidence of a young man. He reached out and gently stroked her blood-coated braids.

“Do you know the way?” Morrigan asked, her expression grave as she looked at him. “I could go instead. ‘Tis difficult for a hurlock to catch a crow.”

“What if your mana runs out, or you lose your way? You can’t read a map and fly.”

She stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest. “I could manage. There are other ways to find one’s way to the surface.”

“No, Morrigan,” Wynne cut in sharply. “I need you here, to heal her when I cannot.” Morrigan looked down at Eirwen, her expression hard, but said nothing. “Or at least to keep this from getting any worse.” With her free hand, shaking furiously, she licked her finger and wiped some blood from Eirwen’s forehead. The girl shivered and shifted slightly, so Wynne shushed her quietly. She looked up at Alistair, her gaze stone-hard. “Go, then. Get her Saffron, as much of the entire plant as possible. We’ll make a poultice from it to restore her vision.”

It seemed like an insurmountable task.

The shriek had caught Eirwen by surprise while she was attempting a healing spell and ravaged the left side of her face, cutting deep from her forehead through her eye and into her cheek, splitting the eye itself in half. Her screams were some of the worst sounds any of them had ever heard, Zevran and Oghren included. Even Shale seemed horrified despite itself, mumbling something about how pitiful fleshy things were as it stepped away from the carnage.

But Alistair left in search of the flowers regardless. In his absence the others looked after his lover, as Morrigan and Wynne struggled to save her eye by sewing each strand of flesh back together with tenuous threads of magic. They were lucky to only face one darkspawn onslaught while they held their position.

He returned more than a day later, drenched in sweat and blood but holding a fistful of saffron in each hand. Much to his shock, however, Eirwen was already blinking and reading.

“What... I don’t...” As soon as she heard his voice the younger warden leapt to her feet and threw herself into him, evidently not caring about the impact of her body on his heavy armor. Despite his surprise he hugged her tightly, burying his fact in her neck, breathing in her scent before he pulled back to look at her. He saw now that her face was not completed healed -there was a strangeness to how she looked at him, her left eye tracking just slightly off from her right. A jagged scar cut through it, but it looked far better than he would have expected.

“You’re back!” She said, cupping his face with her hands. “Alistair, thank you so much.” She kissed him then, making him blink in shock, then stepped back and grasped his wrists in her small hands. “I can’t imagine what you went through... thank you, thank you so much.” She kissed him again, but a sharp, pointed ahem interrupted the moment.

Morrigan held out her hand to Alistair. “The flowers, Warden.”

“I...” He nodded and handed them to her despite his confusion. “What happened? You...” He looked back at Eirwen. “You look a lot better than when I left.”

“Morrigan found some healing herbs in a side pocket of her bag.” Alistair just stared blankly at the apostate, who shrugged nonchalantly. “They fixed most of it, but I still need some to get me back to normal. I have virtually no depth perception at the moment.”

“Ah, and we cannot have that.” He kissed her again, then let her go when Wynne called her name. Before he went to see her, he stopped, gently grasping Morrigan’s upper arm before she could slip away. “Why, Morrigan?”

She wrenched her arm away from him. “I have no idea what you are referring to, and if you ever touch me again-”

“You know exactly what I’m referring to.”

She relaxed a bit, straightening her back. “I genuinely had forgotten about that pocket until long after you were gone, Warden. She is safe, and so are you. There is little more you can ask of me, so I suggest you let this go.”

He shook his head, his expression tightening, before he sighed and deflated. “Only for her sake, witch. Because she likes you.”

“As she should.” Morrigan shrugged, and a slight smirk pulled at her lips. “I did save her life, didn’t I?”

Verse: The Lion and the Wolf

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Age gap

“Supposedly, this was once a great plain.” Eirwen swept her arm out dramatically, indicating the wide swath of empty desert before them. “There were small oases all over, and legendary, long-gone animals like plains lions and pygmy elephants sought refuge in them.” She brought her flask to her lips and took a long drink before sighing heavily. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She urged her mount, an old grey mare, further toward the nothingness.

Solas sat beside her atop a calm russet-colored horse. He wore a heavy hood over his bald head, and his robes fell low past his hands. A hot desert wind blew past him and he shifted uncomfortably in the leather saddle before following Eirwen. “The Blight destroyed this place, did it not?” He asked, looking over at her from beneath his hood.

She nodded stiffly, staring ahead. “It seeped into the soil and killed any signs of life within it. No soil meant no grass or trees, which meant no elephants, and therefore no lions. Nothing has grown here since.” She stopped them in a place apparently no more remarkable than any other in the wasteland and dismounted. He followed her, a few feet behind.

“From what I’ve read, it was the sight of a great battle during the Second Blight. The earth is stained with tainted blood...” He shook his head, feeling a shiver despite the heat. “I cannot imagine the horrors they must have seen. Even in the Fade, it is not the same.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied bluntly, and he swallowed hard.

“You have seen things most cannot fathom.” He shook his head. “Why come here, vhenan?”

“Because it’s not all terrible.” She stepped forward and knelt in the sand, gesturing for him to come down with her. “The Blight is like a scar here, but even scars can heal.” He looked at her, at the ragged, faded marks on her dark skin. “It takes time, and magic, but it’s possible.”

She carefully spread the sand apart, digging down until she’d created a semi-stable hole. He watched silently, curiously, as she took a small object from her pocket and pushed it gently into the ground. Then she sat back on her heels and took her water canteen from her bag. She poured it over the object, drowning it, then waved her hand over the hole.

He felt the Veil shift and saw sparks shiver from her hand. Lightning washed over the hole and spread out into the sand, darkening threads through the sediment.

“This is the important part,” she said, reaching into her bag again to retrieve a small vial of dark, glimmering blood. His brows knit and a question started to form on his lips. “Dragon blood,” she said, before he could ask. She popped open the vial and tilted it, letting red-black liquid fall into the hole.

It hissed when it hit the sand, letting off steam as it seeped into the ground. He stayed quiet, patient, waiting for a purpose. She let out a slow, shaky breath and he felt the Veil shift again, shifting towards her, giving him the slightest tug. He looked at her now, at the concentration furrowing her brows, at the hard stare she leveled at the seed.

Another stiff desert breeze blew through them, disrupting the hole, but she didn’t seem to care. The harsh sun drew sweat to his forehead and he took a long drink from his canteen.

It happened slowly, so slowly that at first he didn’t notice anything was happening at all. But gradually, with an effort that made her magic twist the Veil tight as a vice, a small green sprout broke from the seed. It rose, fed by the sunlight and the magic she forced into it. Higher and higher it grew, until it was easily six inches tall. A thick bud formed on the end of it, and with another harsh tear of magic it spread into a vibrant purple flower.

She sat back, panting heavily, eyes closed. He kept staring at it, mesmerized, still entranced even as she collapsed into his lap and groaned with exhaustion.

He instinctively rested his hand on her stomach, touching her just because he could. His other hand reached for the flower, and he stroked the soft, sturdy petals with gentle fingers. “This is incredible, Eirwen.”

She laughed, and when she spoke he could hear her smile. “You think so? I’m glad. I wanted to show you something that would be new for you.” He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “It seems like you’ve seen everything before, in the Fade.” She lay on her side, eyes squinted nearly shut to protect from the sun’s violent gaze. “I wanted to show you something you couldn’t find there.”

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her cheek, earning himself a happy hum. “You already show me plenty of things I cannot find in the Fade, vhenan.”

She groaned and sat up, shifting so she was beside him again. “Don’t be so sappy, you’ll ruin it.”

“Is your flower allergic to romance?” He asked with a smirk.

“Just excessive sweet-talking.” But she was smiling, and blushing, and then she kissed him slow and deep.

When they separated, it was not because either truly wanted to. The sun was too hot, the sand starting to burn through their pants, and frankly, they both could use a bath. “That technique,” he said as they stood, holding her hands in his. “How applicable is that to animals?”

“Not very.” She sighed. “Trust me, I’ve tried. You can clarify certain parts of the soil, but a body is too... fast. The dragon blood can do much worse things to you before you can actually get something useful from it.”

He clicked his tongue and frowned. “It is a start, though.”

“It is. But I feel like I never get far from that.” She pulled away from him and started to mount her horse, leaving him to watch her.

“Perhaps... one day you could return this place to what it was.”

She snorted and slung her leg over her horse. “I’d need a lot of lyrium for that.”

He smiled and walked up to her, admiring how the sun made her dark skin gleam. He also, admittedly, rather liked seeing her above him. “Or we could casually tear down the Veil and reshape the world how we see fit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “To grow a few more flowers?”

“And bring back some elephants.”

“Lions too?”

“Of course.”

She smiled and straightened in her seat. “I’ll think about it, love. It sounds like a lot of work, though.”

“Ah, perhaps too much.”

“I’m very lazy.” She leaned over, cupped his cheeks, and strained her side to kiss him. “Now get on your horse. I need more water.”

“Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan.”

As he walked back to his mount she grinned, watching how his hips shifted with each step. Her hands shook as she took the reins, as she hid how exhausted she was from him. Her magic was weaker here, though it shouldn’t have been. In this place, where the Blight scarred the lands, the song was much stronger. It interrupted her spells, made it harder for her to penetrate the Veil. But it was worth it to show him that renewal was possible, that beauty could be born from desert sand.

if you enjoyed this fic, please hit the reblog button on this post. comments are cool but not necessary -you can leave no tags, a keysmash, or even just ‘nice’ if you’d like! thanks for your support -arden <3

#glimpses #solasmance #dorian x trevelyan #solavellan #alistair x warden #cullen x warden #alistair x surana #cullen x surana #verse: the lion and the wolf #verse: confessions of a teacher's pet #verse: fire is her water #Verse: revolutionary #dwc #student x teacher #i worked on this ALL WEEK #enjoy it #take it awaaay

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