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Varric was used to ignoring the din of a noisy tavern. It came naturally to him now, a skill honed with years of practice. The sounds of creaking wood flooring and conversation, the clunk of tankards heavy with drink, the laughter and shouts of the increasingly inebriated – this was his natural habitat. Anders always seemed puzzled over how he could ever focus his thoughts enough to write in this sort of environment, but he found it invigorating. There was an odd rhythm to it, if you listened in just the right way. He kept his head down, his quill scratching against the page in front of him, so absorbed that he didn’t think much of it when he heard footsteps marching determinately up the tavern stairwell.
It wasn’t until the bundled stack of papers hit the table that Varric glanced up. Solas stared back at him, his eyes narrowed into a tight scowl. “Is this supposed to be some sort of perverse joke?”
Varric glanced down at the pilfered manuscript before carefully lowering his quill. “I was wondering where that got to.”
The mage’s fingers curled around the edges of the table, leaning down as his knuckles paled from the strain. “Care to explain to me why you have me written into one of your tales of sexual exploits?”
There was murder in the man’s voice. As amusing as it was, Varric thought it was probably best not to laugh. He leaned back in his seat, his hands carefully folded against his stomach. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Solas snatched the manuscript from the table once more, gesturing with it. “An elven dreamer who has his companion ravished by spirits while he watches?” he hissed.
“He gets some in there too.”
The elf’s eyes closed briefly, his lips pursed, his scowl so tight that deep creases carved themselves across the bridge of his nose. “That is not the point,” he said sharply, fixing his gaze on the dwarf. “That is so far from my point that I am not certain we are even having the same conversation.”
Varric lifted his hands defensively. “Hey, it’s all consensual.” Solas huffed. “Besides, it’s not like it’s you and Stormy. Those characters don’t look anything like you two.” The mage’s face was unmoving, set into a steely glare, unconvinced. “It’s all about selling a fantasy. Maybe someone’s really into getting frisky with some spirits in the Fade. Word from Blackwall is you should understand that just fine.”
If his intention was to calm Solas down, that apparently was the wrong thing to say.
The elf looked more than ready to bite Varric’s head off, stopped only by the sound of Isii’s voice behind him. “I was wondering where you’d stormed off to.” Solas stiffened slightly, by no means soothed as he turned his gaze toward the Inquisitor. She made her way up the last of the steps, her eyes darting between her two companions. “Am I interrupting something?”
Solas lifted the stack of worn parchment higher. “Master Tethras apparently thought it would be wise to write us into one of his more explicit stories.”
The dwarf couldn’t help but grimace slightly as she fixed her gaze on him, her brow arching. Not angry, per se, but certainly not pleased. “Is that so?”
“As I said,” he defended quickly, waving his hands, “it’s not you guys. It’s just a story.”
“A story based on us,” Solas pointed out.
“Inspired by,” Varric corrected. Isii folded her arms across her chest. “In the loosest sense, really,” he added, forcing a laugh.
“Do you honestly think anyone in Skyhold who has read this will make such a distinction?” Solas asked, dropping the manuscript onto the table.
Isii’s brow tensed. “Exactly how many people have seen it?”
“There is no way to be certain. Though given the strange behavior I have witnessed over recent days, I’d imagine the number is far higher than I’d like,” Solas said. “If one of the kitchen staff had not brought it to my attention, it would still be making the rounds. And trust me – I glanced over it to be certain of its contents. There is no mistaking that we are its subject. There is no story here. It is little more than a thinly-veiled excuse for graphic depictions of sex acts.”
Isii snorted in her attempt to stifle a laugh. Solas’s face hardened. She cleared her throat. “It would explain why Cassandra doesn’t seem capable of looking me in the eye anymore,” she muttered, shooting Varric a stern glance.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Varric said with a shake of his head. “Someone decided to take the manuscript from my room. It wasn’t exactly my idea to pass it around the Keep.”
“And yet you intended it for publication, one would presume,” Solas said.
Varric scratched awkwardly at his jaw. “Look, my publisher’s been hounding me to start a new romance series. Says the market’s ripe for one. But frankly, romance isn’t really my thing. I was just trying to come up with something to pitch to meet the demand. She wanted me to cut straight to the steamy bits. The story would come later if she liked what she saw.”
“A series?” Solas asked, his voice lowering. “So there are to be more of them?”
“Not yet…”
“Dara, vhenan,” Isii said, her voice softening as Solas prepared his retort. “I’ll take care of this.” He looked reluctant. She tilted her head, her brows lifting. “Sathan?”
Solas let out a slow, tense breath, fixing his eyes on Varric once more before nodding. He made his retreat back down the steps, nothing but stiff-backed humorless pride in his posturing as he disappeared from sight. Varric would have made some remark over how he really needed to lighten up, but he assumed Isii was probably not the best audience for that. She stood silent for a moment, studying him. “I suppose I could say I’m flattered, though I’m certain Solas isn’t likely to thank you any time soon,” she said flatly.
Varric shrugged. “I take inspiration where I can. Even Swords and Shields isn’t entirely fabricated out of nothing. All the characters I write are based on somebody. Hard in Hightown is chock-full of people I knew in Kirkwall.”
She hummed a small acknowledgement before extending her palm. “Alright then. Hand it over.” Varric cocked an eyebrow. “I have to read it to know whether or not I should be upset, right?”
The dwarf let out a sigh, passing her the pages. “Promise you’re not gonna zap me or anything when you’re done?”
Isii cracked a smile, chuckling. “I guess that depends on what you wrote, doesn’t it?”
***
“The Fade is a realm of infinite possibility,” the elf said smoothly, gesturing to their surroundings. His voice was like a cold mist settling over an icy lake, making her skin prickle in response. It didn’t matter that all she could really see was an unimpressive nothingness whose only really defining feature was being green and foggy. With that voice, he could be describing the finer points of paint drying and she’d at least play along, nodding in feigned fascination. The spirit he summoned lingered in the air, a half-faded form that drifted over towards her aimlessly. “Far superior to the waking world,” he continued. “Dreams allow us to experience the impossible in nearly any way we desire.”
He stood close to her. Much closer than usual. As always, he kept his hands to himself. The two of them had done this dance many times before and everyone could see as plain as day that they were interested in being more than just temporary allies. But Samahl remained respectful of her role as his superior. Too respectful sometimes, if Iselle was being perfectly honest.
Isii rolled her eyes as she curled the pages between her hands, absentmindedly kicking off her boots as she settled onto the rotunda’s couch. Varric could have chosen something a little further from her own name than Iselle. There was no way anyone would read this without assuming it was meant to be her, even with her “skin as pale as milk; her hair as red as the magical flames that readily licked her fingertips.” He’d made her a city elf instead of Dalish, but she was still an elven mage leading a vague military organization intended to save the world from some great unspecified evil. The changes were merely cosmetic.
She couldn’t complain about his choice in renaming Solas, however. Samahl was both perfect and hilarious – the elvhen equivalent of Chuckles. He’d given him a full head of hair too, which he’d already described as being “luxurious” within moments of introducing him.
Isii couldn’t help but laugh.
She could feel something brush against her skin. A hand, perhaps, or something that at least felt like fingers though all she could see of the spirit was little more than an indistinct mist. The fact that she was clothed didn’t seem to matter as it traced beneath her neckline. Her dress was simply imaginary here in the Fade, wasn’t it? Something her mind pictured to make herself feel less exposed. The spirit’s touch made her jerk slightly, gasping as it dipped toward her thighs before drawing away completely. Her companion studied her cautiously, his hazel eyes narrowing as his brow lifted. “Was that unpleasant?”
“No,” she answered quickly, though she didn’t sound too sure of herself. “It’s just… when you said you wanted to show me something, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Samahl chuckled, the corner of his lips lifting in amusement. “You said you were curious, did you not?” She could feel its touch again, something soft and low and cold like ice – but it was a pleasant sort of chill, as weird as it was. The elf watched her, a small note of concern in his brow. “If you don’t want this-”
“I didn’t say that, exactly.”
His lips curled into a grin.
Creators, no wonder Solas hates this. Isii couldn’t help but imagine him sneering as he read it, not only for the characterization and the act being put on display, but for the wild inaccuracies about spirits and the Fade. The fact that Varric’s experience with the subject was so limited certainly showed. She couldn’t decide whether her lover would be more upset with the incorrect representation or the fact that the scene was quickly devolving into some sort of strange spirit orgy with her at its center. Isii skimmed ahead.
“They are drawn to experience,” he said calmly as she shuddered. “Your pleasure is a curiosity to them.” She could feel the press of something against her folds and her knees buckled. She gripped his arm for balance, gasping as it probed deeper. She could feel their touch everywhere – Hands? Tongues? She didn’t know and in that moment couldn’t care as they teased pleasure out of her in sharp waves, her body suddenly aching with want. This was more sensation than sense, a strange and otherworldly experience that quickly enveloped her, stealing her breath away. She could do little more than submit to it, barely able to stay on her feet as she shook, her fingers tightening around his sleeve. She felt his arm move around her waist, guiding her until her back pressed against his chest, supporting her as another wave of sensation nearly made her collapse.
“Samahl!” The elf’s name was on her lips, crying out for him as the spirits pressed against her, into her, as if her entire body was spread wide for them to explore. Her head was swimming, eyes half-lidded. This wasn’t at all what she’d thought it would be. A kiss on her throat, another on her lips, another on her breast, trailing further down. They were everywhere and nowhere, toying with her to the point of ecstasy. Her companion continued to hold her upright. Were it not for him, she’d be a puddle on the floor of the Fade. He simply smiled, tucking his head near her shoulder, whispering into the sharp blade of her ear.
“Give into it, Iselle.” His instructions were serene, a stark contrast to the roaring within her. “Let that sensation consume you. Lose yourself in it.”
“What in the world are you giggling at?”
Isii glanced up to see Dorian peering over the banister, frowning at her. “Nothing of importance, I assure you,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter. She wasn’t doing a particularly good job with that feat. Everything about this was bizarre – seeing herself as the subject in a friend’s piece of smutty literature was weird enough, but Varric had some damn strange ideas about what her evenings in the Fade with Solas were like. He didn’t seriously think they were fooling around with spirits, did he? If that were the case, he’d be sorely disappointed. When they slept, they would often spend time in the company of spirits – she’d grown fond of Knowledge and Study in particular. They were always her favorites – so eager to engage her with their questions and happy to answer hers in return. Perseverance was always a joy to talk to as her encouragement was rather infectious. Purpose was a bit dry as a conversationalist, yet his kind seemed readily drawn to Solas, so she’d encountered them a number of times. But she certainly wasn’t ever “blinded by lust, irrepressible and all-consuming” in their presence. None of the spirits she encountered seemed the least bit interested in sexuality, save for a few wisps that once found them kissing and appeared overly curious about what exactly they were doing with their mouths.
Isii took a slow breath, skimming ahead again. Lots of moaning and gasping leading to a stream of oh’s and ah’s and yes’s. Samahl coached Iselle through the experience with quiet instructions like “focus your mind” and “tell them what you want”. Isii flipped the page. Sweet Creators, how long is this scene?
She let them feel her, fill her, overwhelmed as her head spun. A cry lifted from her as she writhed in his arms, each thrust rocking her back against him. Bursts of white sparked behind closed eyes, her head falling back against his shoulder. Reality suddenly took shape around her. The Fade disappeared like a rush of cold water, his arms gone, her eyes snapping open as she awoke in her own bed. She was still shuddering, her back arching as she gasped for breath, her fingers curling tightly around fistfuls of bedding. The aftershocks of climax rang through her as she struggled to breathe. She could tell what that was, she could tell she had come, but it was different somehow. It left an ache between her legs, a desperate need for further satisfaction, all the drive and none of the finish. The Fade wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough. She craved something tangible. Her hand nearly dipped beneath the sheets reflexively before she remembered the man lying next to her. It wouldn’t be right. Not with him here.
When she turned her head, Samahl was awake, lying on his side, watching her through half-lidded eyes. His grin slowly slunk across his face, self-satisfied and hungry, like a cat waiting to pounce on its meal. His brow arched. “Sleep well?” he purred.
Isii dropped the manuscript to her chest, snorting hard before she could clamp her hand over her mouth to cover her laughter. All she could think of was the morning after their first kiss and the way Solas had greeted her with those words. But he was far from the prowling cat the purpled prose suggested. If anything, he seemed terrified of the idea that she wanted to kiss him back. True, that kiss had its fair share of sexual tension, with her taking full advantage of the thigh shoved between her legs, but it was far from the orgiastic spirit-humping she just had to sit through reading.
“That was-” She didn’t have words for what that was. That was bizarre and weird and all-around not something she ever would have thought of to do. But from the dampness in her smalls and the pleasurable ache between her legs, she couldn’t exactly say she’d had a bad time. Her eyes found his own as he patiently watched her. She could lose herself in those eyes – the way they looked into her as if she was some sort of fascinating being he had yet to fully comprehend. His hand went to her cheek and she trembled under his touch, the room suddenly feeling so much smaller as the space between them narrowed. He wet his lips, leaning forward. She stiffened, her brows lifting. “What are you doing?”
“Reminding you what flesh feels like,” he murmured.
Isii chuckled. She supposed that wasn’t a terrible line.
He kissed her and her heart began to race. The weight of his touch felt so real, so much more satisfying than the wispy dream of the Fade. The spirits had been an illusion, no more real or tangible than a thought but this – this was a slow heat that crept under her skin. He drew her closer, shifting to place himself above her, his hands starting to explore as his tongue flicked against her lips, seeking entrance, seeking permission.
As much as she wanted it, she still pushed him away. This wasn’t right. She was the Chosen One, the Hand of the Maker, and he was a dangerous and mysterious apostate who consorted with demons.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered.
Isii snorted.
“What’s to stop us?” he asked, placing a soft kiss upon her throat before looking down at her. “We need not think of the coming battle. Not tonight. Not while we are here.” He brushed a piece of auburn hair from her cheek, his fingers following the line of her jaw, making her breaths quiver. “We could die tomorrow,” he whispered, his brows creasing. “I would not want to sacrifice this night out of fear for what’s to come.”
Isii couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she read about Iselle’s “slowly melting resistance”. The role reversal was a bit amusing, however. The thought that Solas was the one trying to convince her to sleep with him was a refreshing change. Apparently Iselle didn’t need that much convincing. Less than a paragraph later, the two of them were ripping each other’s clothes off. Literally. Isii frowned as she read. That did seem awfully impractical, didn’t it? Not only were they wasting perfectly good articles of clothing, but it’s damned hard to actually rip through the bodice of a dress. Either take the time to remove it properly or just hike the damn skirt up around her hips and have at. She supposed it was meant to show the reader the intensity of their passion, but she couldn’t help but have it take her out of the moment somewhat. Some of Varric’s word choices didn’t help in that regard.
Her touch was timid at first. Even though his face was as calm as ever, his hitched breaths and the straining in his breeches made it more than clear that she was having the intended effect. She eased him back and he held himself above her, kneeling between her legs as her fingers began to pull at his lacings, unwrapping the package she’d been so eager to see.
Oh gods, Varric, why?! She could imagine the look on Solas’s face as he read that.
She needed to feel the heat of his skin against her own, arms and legs welcoming him into her embrace after she’d helped him shed the last of his clothing. In this moment, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the threat of total annihilation. She needed to escape that cold, hard reality – to seek some sense of solace with him, here, in her bed.
Solace? She chuckled, skimming ahead a little further. She didn’t exactly need to read the details of him slipping himself into her. Took a whole paragraph for them to actually get going. More ohs and ahs. Apparently Iselle couldn’t go more than a few lines before moaning again… which probably wasn’t too far from the truth, if Isii was being honest.
Her cries grew louder with each thrust, loud enough to echo off the unforgiving stone of her chambers, and he relished the sound. “Sathan, vhenan. More, more,” she whimpered. He gripped her hips, fingertips digging against soft flesh, hard enough to bruise as she threw her head back. “Enasalin!” she screamed in bliss.
Isii let out a howl of laughter loud enough to earn her more than a few strange looks from upstairs. Oh gods, Varric. That was not the word you wanted. She supposed he threw some elvish into his dialogue for “flavor” but sweet Creators he should have had her proofread for him. She could only assume that he’d meant to have Iselle shout elvaral – a call for her lover to go harder, to give her more, but instead she just screamed “Victory!” at the top of her lungs.
This was golden. This was perfect.
There were tears in her eyes.
Mouth slackened with lust, she gasped for breath, her hands trying to find purchase. She gripped him, gripped the bed, feeling the need to ground herself as he drove into her, as his body lifted her higher, pushed her closer. Her end was coming. She could feel it. Samahl saw it on her face, his eyes bright behind strands of tousled black hair. He smiled through panted breaths, lowering his lips to her throat, sucking the salt of her sweat from her skin before urging her into climax. “Come for me, Iselle. I want to feel you break beneath me. I want to feel you shattered and reshaped.”
“What in the Void does that even mean, Varric?” she muttered under her breath.
“Please tell me you’re not actually reading that.”
Isii’s eyes lifted from the page as Solas stared back at her from across the rotunda, his face half-twisted into a grimace. She smiled, scooting back against the arm of the couch to make room as she patted the empty cushion. He studied her for a moment before sighing, reluctantly seating himself beside her. “It’s delightful,” she said with a smirk. “I think Samahl’s friends in the Fade sound rather generous.” That earned her an unamused look. She giggled, stretching her legs out to rest against his lap. “Are you really that upset by this?” she asked, lifting the pages. “I could set it on fire if that makes you feel any better. A bit of target practice?”
“I overreacted,” he said, lowering his gaze. The heat of his anger was gone, but he was still clearly displeased. “In the end, this is something childish. I’ve suffered worse fabrications.” He rested his hand on her leg, his eyes meeting hers. “I do not like the idea of you being presented in such a fashion, however.”
She laughed warmly. “What? Do you feel protective of my sweet, virginal image?” she asked teasingly.
“I would not go so far as to say that,” he corrected, arching his brow. “I do not care what is said of me, in the end. But I would not have you cheapened for such crude entertainment.”
“Ah,” she murmured, crawling forward. “So if it was good smut, that would be an entirely different story?” She settled herself in his lap. He let out an impatient breath.
“You know precisely what I meant.”
She glanced down at the bent pages in her hands, scanning the text once more before beginning to read aloud. “And in the haze that followed, she found that she was tied to something much larger than herself, as if her soul had touched the infinite and come back changed. He was different – different from anyone she had known before. She knew that few would understand what she saw in him, but there was no denying the bond they shared or how it made them both better people in the end. He taught her to see in dreams a world unlike anything she had ever imagined. And she taught him to truly open his eyes and see the beauty that surrounded him in waking.” She paused, smiling as she glanced up from the manuscript. “See? That part’s rather sweet. Once you get past the smutty bits.”
Solas had calmed, but he did not seem wholly convinced. She tossed the pages onto the couch beside them. “How’s this?” she began, shifting in his lap until his hands found her hips. “I’ll give him back his manuscript under strict orders that he has to do some serious rewriting if it’s ever going to see the light of day again. As long as he changes it to the point where no one would associate it with us, I don’t care what he does with it.”
“A reasonable request for the Inquisitor to make,” Solas said with a nod.
She grinned. “Meanwhile, maybe you and I could give him some constructive feedback?” she asked, slipping her arms around his shoulders. “Do a little research?” She leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his jaw. “You know,” she murmured, kissing his neck, “for the sake of artistic integrity.” She could hear his breaths shift ever so slightly as she nipped his ear and a wicked grin spread across her lips. “Got any friends in the Fade you want to introduce me to, Samahl?” she whispered in a teasing purr.
She squealed, giggling as he gave her a hard shove off of his lap, sending her flat on her ass onto the rotunda floor. She laughed brightly. “What? Not interested in a little roleplay, Chuckles?” she asked, biting her lip.
“I’m not going to even dignify that with a response.” He rose from the couch and she quickly scrambled to push herself to her feet, following.
“You never did tell me about your little Spirits With Benefits arrangement-”
“And at this rate, I am never going to.”
“Ah! So you’re confirming it.”
“I said no such thing.”
“But you didn’t deny it either.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”
“Awww,” she cooed, pouting playfully. “And here I thought you were starting to like me, Solas.”
“Against my better judgement, perhaps.”
She chuckled softly, grabbing onto his sleeve before he could reach the door. “Alright, alright,” she said, pulling him closer to place a chaste kiss onto his cheek. “I’ll stop teasing you.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” he said flatly.
“What? Do you think I would lie to my vhenan?”
He did not answer her, but she could see something shift in his expression, some unidentified shadow cast just behind his eyes. She tilted her head, drawing her arms around him and felt him settle with a slow breath. “I’ve had my fun, Solas. That’s the last you’ll hear of it from me.” She leaned up onto her toes, kissing his brow. “Besides, I like you much better than Varric’s little caricature.”
“That’s not saying much.”
Her smile was small and sweet as she nuzzled the tip of her nose against his own. “I like you just the way you are. Dangerous apostate and all.”
He scoffed, but there was warmth behind the dismissal, his hands calmly resting against her hips. “I suppose as the Maker’s Chosen, you are not too terrible yourself.”
She chuckled, lightly brushing her lips against his own.
“Sweet talker.”