DAI - howling for a brand new start [Solavellan] ✔

howling

"Like cold blood in my veins"

He looks at me surprised, concerned. Worried. He frowns and has sadness in eyes. I think, everything is alright, is good, and I hope that it somehow reach him. Because it would be too hard for me to say that at loud. I would be afraid that he could see through my white lie.

Instead, I lean down and point out paragraph of writing, glyph, that I read over his shoulder. Now it seems easy as never before.

"They run like wolves, like the cold blood through my veins" I repeat. And even though I don't know the context, I know I translated it perfectly. Even better. The same way elf making this glyph felt in their heart. Like there isn't the whole world between me and them.

Solas writes my translation on a piece of paper. And then moves it far away, like he a ended working on this like he's making a break. He pulls a hand to draw me to himself, to hug me. Maybe even get me on his lap.

But I let him only hold my fingers and I sit on a desk he sits journey. When he moves his pads on my knuckles I feel like my skin is burning. I don't remember how long I had such cold hands. How long he's on fire. There's something very intimate in this touch. He turns around my hand studying mark. If I close my eyes I couldn't feel anything.

"Vhenan" he whispers. "What would I do without you..." He lays his face on my lap, still holding my hand.

With my free hand, I touch his head.

I think, that he needs a moment to catch a breath. A bit of time without threats, without planning, without studying ancient and forgotten. That he needs me and I can, should, give him sunny, lazy afternoon, even if it isn't so much.

I think also, that easily I could freeze heart and rip his soul apart. As punishment for all sins, lies, and arrogance. For leaving me in old wyvern's nest.

(Yet, somewhere inside I feel that we're not balanced at all.)

I look around our studio, round atrium. Despite different mosaics and wild felandaris, it's still resembling Skyhold. Probably we just belong to places like this. Ancient elven towers, where Veil is so thin that spirits seem to speak right to mind, skipping completely ears. But we don't mind. Here we feel whole.

"You know what spirits tell me?" I whispered once, lying beside him on the bed we made together, from furs, with a canopy of crystal grace. "I ask them about my family, but they speak only in death languages about things I should not repeat to you."

"Then don't." He said as it's easy like this.

"They say I could wash my skin in ancient fires. Come out of them reborn and beautiful. Be free again." I kissed him before he could interrupt me and then I whispered again, right to his lips. "I know it's deceit. They called me Blarnis'lan, Cornflower Girl. But only father called me that."

Another time, he had a fire in eyes and shouted so loud that whole wilds must have heard him.

"You shouldn't take knowledge from Vir'abelasan! It's too much. Not like this! Fenedhis!" He was furious, sparks of magic shot from his fingers. I should have run, cry, beg. But then I just hissed quietly, full of venom I felt never before. I said to him:

"This all is your fault, Solas. This mark, the Well, even that now I'm here. You made me yours, so now deal with it."

***

My left hand is dead.

We don't talk about it. Knowledge, our awareness of it hanging in the air, is just enough.