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Slow Burning Dreamer	By : Breathing2nd Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3692 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-Nine
- 10-Ten
- 11-Eleven
- 12-Twelve
- 13-Thirteen
- 14-Fourteen
- 15-Fifteen
- 16-Sixteen
- 17-Seventeen
- 12
- 13
- 14
“Sera was never an agreeable girl…her tongue tells tales of rebellion…” Isala was singing absently to herself as she exited the Herald’s Rest. Her body was humming with the warm, pleasant balm of alcohol numbing out all her cares. The taste of brandy and frilly cakes lingered on her tongue. “But she was so fast, and quick with a bow…Solas?” The Inquisitor caught sight of the bald elf as he made his way toward the gates. He paused for a moment and regarded her with a soft, knowing smile and a nod of his head.
Isala clicked her tongue against her teeth and crossed the courtyard toward him. “It’s late…where you going?” She demanded playfully. Despite the hour, the great fortress was still buzzing with activity. Music wafted out from the Great Hall, pockets of conversation swelled in waves like crickets song and the musk of mulled wine and roasted meats permeated the night air.
The bare-faced elf glanced her over thoughtfully before replying, “For a stroll.”
Her eyebrows quirked. “A stroll…at…whatever time it is? It’s late and dark.”
“You’re drunk.” He mused, but it didn’t sound scolding. He was so good at scolding her.
Isala smiled wide. “I am, but that’s okay. You can be drunk and still go for a stroll.”
“You wish to join me then?” He asked and the Inquisitor replied by hooking her arm in his and tugging him toward the gates.
“C’mon, I’ll protect you.” If the sudden touch had startled the hedge mage, he never let it show, only smiling softly as they made their way out of Skyhold.
“Do you always take strolls at odd hours?” Isala asked as they crossed the endless bridge out of the stronghold. The air was crisp, almost biting against her skin, but it was as if the cold couldn’t reach her completely. Couldn’t sink into her skin and prickle gooseflesh or shake her bones. Even though she’d shed her long gloves earlier in the evening, her arms remained pleasantly shielded from the snowy air.
“Is this an odd hour?” He was looking straight ahead. “Are you even aware of the hour?”
Isala scrunched her face up, thankful it was no longer shielded by the halla mask. Wisps of her pale hair tickled her cheeks and nose as she lifted her chin indignantly at the flat-ear. “Of course I do! It’s…uh…um…” She began to chuckle and with the sound of her laughter came a chink in the older elf’s stern expression. “Shut up, it’s late.” She gave his arm a gentle slap, but it was hardly even felt beneath the long sleeve of silk. He was still dressed for the ball. He wore no extra layer or cloak to shield himself from the elements. Both of them slipped across the snow in nearly bare feet and thought nothing of it. There was a kind of peace in that. In walking arm-in-arm with her lethalin. A comfort she scarcely shared with anyone else.
The Inquisitor allowed a comfortable silence to stretch between them. She gazed out at the snowy night blanketed before them. Occasionally, her eyes scanned the heavens, marking the moons and constellations far above their heads. The cliffs surrounding Skyhold were quiet and Isala savored the stillness Solas led her into.
Finally, as patches of forest began to decorate the snow covered rock formations, she had to ask, “Where are we going?”
Solas tucked her arm a little tighter against his, touching the top of her hand with his free one. His fingertips were cold and sent a shiver across her skin. A shiver that felt like magic and left her tongue feeling like she’d licked a spark.
“You’ll see.” He murmured, ever looking forward as he led her farther away from the sanctity of Skyhold.
She eyed him suspiciously as they maneuvered through the icy slopes and into small passages in the rock. So far, the apostate had never led her astray. Though he was fond of his inner musings and of being vague to the point of irritating, he had gotten them this far. There was an itching voice in the back of Isala’s mind that told her to be wary, but she squashed it into silence and stifled her fears.
Even as he led her into the mouth of a small cave. It was barely more than a slit in the mountain. She had to unlace her arm from his in order to slip inside, having to turn sideways to slide her body between the rocks. She heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing as her bustle caught on one of the jagged edges and though she could not see the damage, a part of her mourned it all the same.
Though her stomach churned with a sudden flood of nerves, she pressed herself into the narrow opening behind Solas, following him into the complete and utter darkness beyond the crevasse. She opened her right palm, calling forward fire to light their path, but Solas’ long, slender fingers closed around her hand, extinguishing the flame before it could fully form. Her expression contorted to confusion and she could barely make out the lines of the other mage as he whispered in the dark.
“Patience, da’len.” His voice was little more than a murmur, but it echoed off the vastness of whatever they had just stepped into. Distantly, Isala thought she could hear water, but it was difficult to gauge such things in caves. She was reminded briefly of the wet, cold darkness of the caves along the Storm Coast and a knot twisted in her gut at the idea of what might be waiting for them up ahead. Giant spiders, darkspawn, something worse? Isala swallowed hard. This was not what she’d had in mind at the mention of a stroll. Though, when she felt Solas’ fingers lace into her own, she felt some of those fears subside. They were formidable. They were stronger together. There was nothing to fear. Solas had yet to lead her astray.
He pulled her gently, deeper into the mountain. She was uncertain as to how he could see what lay ahead of them any better than she could, but she never stumbled into a hole, never bumped into an unseen stalactite. He guided her blindly through the darkness as if he’d memorized the path.
And then, up ahead, she could see it. The first inklings of light. A faint, bluish glow in the emptiness. Deep mushrooms. They grew in the darkest of places, emitting their own sort of phosphorescence. At first they peeked out of the occasional crack in the wall and then more frequently behind water smoothed boulders and stalagmites. The sound of water grew nearer and Isala found that her steps were more sure footed now. The haze of the alcohol slowly burning out of her system. Sharpening her senses as she regained more and more clarity.
The light seemed to glow brighter the deeper they went and Isala realized so much light couldn’t be coming from the mushrooms alone. Her eyes flickered up to the ceiling as her foot landed in the first shallow puddle of cool, mountain water. A gasp echoed off the stones and the Inquisitor knew it had been her own mouth that had conjured the sound.
Above them, spanning the enormity of the ceiling, were thousands upon thousands of lights. They glowed a luminescent shade of crystalline blue and blanketed the rock formations like tiny chandeliers. Little glittering tendrils hung down from above, just out of reach. They seemed to grow denser farther into the cave and with their density came more light. So much so, that Isala could make out the pool of water that gathered in an underground lake. The sound of water she’d heard as only a trickle earlier, now something more pressing and urgent. She could see the small waterfall babbling down the smooth rock surface just ahead. The rippling water looking more like a pool of pure lyrium with the glow of the ceiling cast all around.
“Oh Solas, this is…” she licked her lips. She didn’t have an adjective that did it justice. There was simply no word that she knew to describe it.
“I have said this world is full of wonders for those who seek them.” He murmured absently.
Isala knelt by the vast pool of water before them. Her skirts had grown damp at the hems and as she knelt near the water’s edge, the moisture crept even father up the expensive materials. She skimmed her fingers along the water’s surface and withdrew it, expecting the magical blue light to linger on her fingertips. When the water ran clear she pressed her lips into a tight line.
“It’s not lyrium.” She stated and Solas came to kneel beside her, his own fingers swirling into the cool water.
“No, simply a marvel none remember exist.” He sounded almost sad as he said it and Isala found her attention pulled momentarily from the lake to the elven mage beside her. The glow above them was cast across his features like a kind of magic. The shimmer of something so mystical suited him and Isala found herself staring. Solas caught her in her focus and reached out suddenly, stroking wet fingertips down her cheek. She wondered how she must have looked to him. If the light glittered off the jewels sewn into her hair. If it set the paleness of her locks aglow. Solas had told her once that she changed everything. The look in his eyes. The smile on his face. It had been enough to drive her into action. It had been the first kiss they’d shared, and despite their efforts, not the last.
“Solas…why did you bring me here?” She probed gently.
He smiled ever so slightly. “If you’ll recall, it was you who followed me here.”
Isala opened and closed her mouth. Her brow furrowed. He was right. At the time it had seemed like a great idea, but that was before the armor of liquor had faded. Now, she was nervous and unsure. Here in this beautiful, magical place, with this mysterious creature.
His thumb traced a cool line across her jaw and just beneath her lip. “Perhaps I should ask you why you chose to follow me.”
The Dalish elf let her lips part and his thumb grazed her bottom lip. Her tongue darted out reflexively to lick across it and instead flicked the subtle callous of his thumb. She hadn’t meant to, but once it was done she couldn’t help but glance up at the elf the digit belonged to.
“Careful.” He cautioned, but did not take his finger away from the press of her mouth. Gazing up from hooded lids she let her lips encircle that single digit in a chaste kiss. Then bit down gently with teeth and flicked at it once more with her tongue. She watched in dark fascination as Solas’ mouth parted in a silent hiss. His other fingers curling beneath her chin to cup her face as he slowly pushed his thumb into her mouth. She sucked hard once and then flattened her tongue down and leaned into his hand to push the digit farther into her throat before encircling it once more with the warm, wetness of her lips and drawing back.
Solas pulled his finger free with a sharp inhale as he rocked back on his heels and stood. “Enough.” It sounded like a warning.
Isala licked her lips, wetting her suddenly dry throat with a hard swallow as she rose to her feet. The pearls and jewels of her dress tinkling like music as she moved. She stared down the bare-faced elf before her. His arm was almost shaking, hand balled into a fist at his side. There was energy running along his body in a fine tremble like rage, as if it were taking everything inside of him to keep from exploding. The tips of his ears were reddened. Even in the ethereal blue light she could see it. There was a tightness to his jaw, a subtle twitching of a nerve running along it. He lips were a hard line and she could clearly see the rise and fall of his weighted breaths.
“No.” She defied him. That one word spoken like an order.
Solas inclined his eyes on the Inquisitor and she swore she saw lightning dancing in those steely depths. “Careful.” The warning he’d used before was clear, but she pressed him onward.
“No.” She repeated. “I’m tired of being careful. I’m tired of half measures and veiled threats. That we shouldn’t. That we can’t.” She took a step toward him and she swore he bowed up at her assertion. “You’ve kissed me in the Fade, let me touch you in our shared dreams, you’re bolder there, you want me there. You’re playing a game only you know the rules to, Solas. I don’t like games.”
“Don’t you, though?” His voice was tight, angry almost. “Prancing before half of Orlais like some golden halla for their spectacle.”
Isala had been poised to take another step, heel lifted, toes soaked into the wet stone, but her foot relaxed at his accusation. The wind loosening in her emboldened sails.
“You pranced too.” She breathed harshly. “I’m surprised you even showed.”
“I surprised myself.” He snarled, shoulders back, chin tilted ever so slightly. He was the embodiment of his name. Dressed in his finery, surrounded by what she could only describe as magic. He was a cruel and beautiful thing to behold.
“You seemed to like my prancing when it suited you.” She spat. After all, he’d been the one to stalk across the Great Hall and all but demand that she dance with him.
“Yes, just as you enjoyed my asking.”
Isala felt her face flame.
“That embarrasses you?” He asked.
“You’re not being fair.” She murmured, her eyes darting away and it was just enough that she didn’t see him move. In an instant he was on her, magic trailing around him as he closed the gap between them. His hand clenched around her jaw once more, thumb a rough press against her mouth. He leaned over her, mouth a deep breath away.
“And when did I ever claim to be fair?” His voice was a thick, harsh whisper against her skin. His thumb traced her bottom lip once more, pressing just enough to feel the edge of her teeth. She felt heat uncoiling in her middle to spread through her like a ghostly hand. It pooled and ached lower inside her until she squirmed against the line of his body.
“Every kiss, every touch, has been at the beckoning of your hungry eyes. I have cautioned you. I have turned from you in waking moments. Steeled myself against what will most assuredly be disaster, and yet you persist.” His free hand snaked between the slits in the fabric of her gown to slide along her bare thighs. “You are a child, da’len.”
“What does that make you, hahren?” She breathed cooly.
Solas brushed against her cheek with his own before biting along the edge of her ear. The low chuckle that rumbled in his mouth sent shivers down her spine and prickled gooseflesh along her skin.
“This must end.” He growled, but his hand had slid between her thighs, turning to part them enough to palm the moist heat concealed there. Isala inhaled sharply at the firm press of his hand against her sex. He stroked her roughly, fingertips probing over the delicate silk of her small clothes.
“So end it.” She huffed, eyes fluttering closed against the strength of his fingers. The growl that rumbled from his lips then was one that was barely coherent. Had she not heard it from elven lips she might have mistaken it for a beast dwelling within the cave. Solas flexed his hand and the sound of tearing fabric echoed in the endless cavern as he tore the last barrier away from her body. That little triangle of silk and lace was replaced by the cool press of his fingers and he slid them between her legs, caressing and coaxing the slick heat from her body.
Isala groaned against the heady touch of his nimble fingers. It wasn’t the caress of a tentative lover trying to ease pleasure from her, but the greedy press of passion. Rough. Demanding. Impatient.
His thumb applied pressure to her clit, just to let her know he was well aware of its precise location, and her hands clawed for purchase against his back. She clung to the fabric of his tunic, feet slipping against the water logged rocks. He adjusted his grip then. Hands shifting down to her hips. He lifted her from the floor, skirts dragging and dripping beneath her. She felt the cold press of stone against her ass even through the folds of dales loden wool that made up her bustle.
Solas seemed lower now, as if he’d placed her on a pedestal, though her bare toes still skimmed the ground. He was kneeling between her legs, hands sliding over the leather of her Dalish boots, behind her knees, between her thighs until he spread her legs wide before him.
She swallowed a knot that was threatening her breath. She could see him down the length of her bodice, his eyes cast up from the dark knit of his brows. Pleats of embroidered and bejeweled fabric slid down to cover her legs, his hands, and what he’d exposed, but Solas fisted his fingers suddenly into her skirts and tore the cumbersome material to suit him.
The Dalish woman could scarcely stop the gasp from catching in her throat. He tore through her gown and gazed up at her with the eyes of a predator. Hungry and without mercy. He watched her, watching him, as he licked a slow line from opening to clit. Isala sucked in a harsh breath as he paused there over the tender hood of flesh. His lips sealed around her and there was warmth and sweet pressure as his tongue flicked at her in agonizing precision.
The Inquisitor watched him until her eyelids betrayed her and she closed her eyes to the exquisite sensation. His hands kneading roughly against her thighs as he devoured her in slow, sure strokes of his tongue. Her mouth opened and closed convulsively as small sounds escaped her lips, her mouth drying out from her quick breaths.
She gave her weight over to the solid rock beneath her, leaning her tailbone against it, leaning her back upon it, thrusting her breasts skyward in heaving mounds under the delicate fabric of her gown. She stroked the smooth skin of his head, caressed and tugged at the points of his ears until his hands snapped up to snatch her own wandering fingers down beneath his grasp. He pinned her wrists to either side of her hips, holding her in place, helpless to his ministrations as he licked and sucked and pushed at her with little flicks of what she knew had to be magic.
That smoldering weight building between her legs grew heavy and threatened just on the edge of spilling over. Her thighs were trembling, nails digging at whatever scraps of skin or fabric she could reach, her vision blurred as she stared up into a starry sky that wasn’t a sky at all. He’d drive her right to the brink of slipping her skin and then dance around that crucial spot long enough to reset. It was agony. Wonderful, agony and she begged. Dread Wolf take her but she begged.
“Messere Lavellan?” A soft, feminine voice called. She sounded far away. “Your Worship?” The voice again. Tentative. Quiet. It sounded like Laisa, her chambermaid. But that was impossible.
Isala sat up as much as she was able, lifting her head, ears quirking to listen. The voice called out again and she was certain this time, but Solas was undaunted. He gave a heavy flick and she spasmed.
Laisa’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure once more.
“Solas…where did you…bring me?” Her voice was breathless, the words broken between muted whines. He didn’t answer. He didn’t let up. He’d stopped dancing and was bringing her in earnest now, but she already knew. Damn him.
“This…isn’t…real…”
It took only the anguished moans of her realization to snap her free of the dream. Isala sat up in the tangle of her sheets ramrod straight. Her room was dark. Her window closed. She couldn’t breathe past the throbbing ache between her thighs and when she saw the silhouette of a stranger creep just over the landing of her staircase she reacted without thought.
The veilstrike came down in a glowing field of almost sickly green. She heard the intruder scream an instant before the weight of a body slammed into the floorboards. It had been a feminine voice. A familiar voice.
“Fenedhis!” Isala exclaimed, tripping over her sheets to clamor out of her bed. “Laisa?” The Inquisitor nearly Fade stepped across the room to her chambermaid who was groaning in a heap on the floor. “Shit!” She swore in common. “Laisa, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” She knelt down by the small city elf and helped her to sit up. “I thought you were…oh, I don’t know what I thought. You startled me is all. I’m so sorry.”
Laisa blinked her large brown eyes several times as she fought to focus. The Inquisitor winced. She’d only just begun learning the specialties of a Rift Mage and hardly understood the strength of her new spells.
“Are you alright? Ir abelas. I’m so sorry.” She repeated in both common and elvish.
Laisa rubbed her head, pushing back the wild strands of red hair from her freckled face. “Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed your sleep, Messere.” Laisa was from the Kirkwall alienage. As much as Isala preferred not to have servants of any sort, she liked Laisa. Liked her company and her sweet nature. “It’s just, there were noises, and I thought perhaps you were having a nightmare or something might have been wrong or…oh please forgive me?” She lowered her eyes to the floor in reverence and Isala gave the other elf a quick shake at the shoulders.
“None of that. There’s nothing to apologize for. I wronged you in this and I…appreciate, your concern for me.” The Inquisitor smiled, body still aching from the all-too-real dream she’d been dragged from.
Laisa smiled weakly. “Well, I’ll just be getting back to my duties then.”
Isala’s eyes darted to the closed window. The moons were waning in the starry sky. Night was still thick upon them.
“Duties? At this hour?” She asked.
“We’re cleaning up from the ball, Your Worship. It’s how I heard the noise from your quarters. I was finishing up around the throne and heard you cry out.”
Isala swallowed hard. She licked her lips once and smiled. “Well, I think perhaps that’s enough cleaning for one evening.”
“But---”
“Come on, all of you are relieved. That mess isn’t going anywhere between now and morning. Everyone should be allowed some rest.” Isala commanded, hearing the irony in her own words.
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Slow Burning Dreamer