The Herald and The Apostate

VIII

She'd brought all of them with her today.

It was not Solas' idea of romantic.

The trip wasn't meant to be, but he craved to be alone, with just her. Instead of taking just one small group, as they are so accustomed to, Maeve brought all of them.

Vivienne, Dorian, Varric, Sera, Cole, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Cassandra, and, of course, Solas. All eight of them tagging along behind their Inquisitor and her Apostate.

They all know now.

She wouldn't have asked them all along if not. It would've been awkward trying to avoid all those eyes. But now they don't have to.

They have a tent to themselves as well, now that the others can't stand the thought of what they might sneak off into the woods to do.

She wakes up in his arms, as content as she could possibly be. "Good morning, Da'len." He whispers in her ear, kissing it slowly, tenderly, just as he had kissed her all through the night. There's no doubt in her mind the others would know what they'd been up to. Solas hadn't been able to keep his voice to himself, so many groans and grunts escaping him in their moments of ecstasy.

"We have an audience, it appears." He mutters close to her cheek, keeping the others from hearing a word. And she quickly realizes why.

There's the murmuring of irritated whispers at their tent flap.

"Are they awake?" Blackwall.

Maeve identifies each of their voices as they argue.

"I can't tell." Varric.

"Should we try pokin' one of 'em?" Sera.

"Solas has been poking the Inquisitor all night. I'm sure she's had enough." Dorian.

"This is repulsive, an invasion of the Inquisitor's privacy." Cassandra.

"Oh, come, dear Cassandra. Don't pretend like this is beneath you?" Vivienne.

"Did you hear that noise she kept making last night? Like an insatiable animal, begging for its life. The boss definitely didn't get her fill." Iron Bull.

"Warm, hot, hotter. Bliss. Then nothing. Sleep and wakeness, against a wall of peace and pleasure. Does it get better than this?" Cole.

Solas kisses her then, running his hot tongue along the line of her bottom lip. He rolls over onto her, taking her body in his hands with care and a gentleness he only ever uses with her. "Give them a show, shall we?" His suggestion added to the grinding of his pelvis into hers is persuasion enough.

She moans loudly, exaggerating the noise as to quiet the voices outside the tent. "Gladly." Maeve tells him, taking her opportunity to put him on his back and lean over him properly.

"Ridiculous!" Cassandra's voice hovers in the air as the others hush her. The stomping outside is enough to let her know that Cassandra, at the very least, has gone.

Then the chilly winter air is caressing her body and carrying her voice, mingled with Solas', to the perverse ears of the companions waiting just outside.