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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
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- 3
“So Varric is trying to help me yank this chunk of obsidian out from the side of this boulder, and we can literally feel the heat on our necks from this dragon. Suddenly, we hear Bull scream ‘I’m going to rip it a new asshole!’ and go rushing off like a madman.”
“Madman might be putting it kindly, Inquisitor.” Varric corrected as he lowered the stein from his lips.
The Iron Bull set his hefty glass down with an audible sound onto the wooden table. “It’s okay to admit that you were too afraid of getting your small hairs singed, Varric.” The large Qunari chuckled.
Varric flashed him a look that said the event had been anything but amusing, but it was the Inquisitor who piped up, “It was a dragon, Bull…we were armed with mining equipment.”
“Last time I checked, Inquisitor, you could throw fireballs too.” The Iron Bull teased before taking another swig of his ale.
“Yes, well, try to rip me a new arsehole and your small hairs will be the least of your worries.” Isala warned playfully.
The Qunari mercenary choked back his drink and laughed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. It was enough to loosen the laughter from everyone sitting around the table until the entire party was holding their sides to keep them from splitting.
“Is that who I think it is?” Varric asked around the dying laughter. Isala turned her head to glance back at the tavern entrance where the dwarf was facing. Solas entered the room and moved through it without sparing a second look at anyone in particular. The Inquisitor wasn’t even sure he actually made eye contact with anyone.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in here.” Isala commented, turning back to face her comrades as the mysterious elf made his way to one of the kitchen staff.
“Do we invite him over?” The Iron Bull asked over his glass.
“Would he even consider it?” Isala asked, shamelessly watching as Solas bade something from the young woman delivering orders back to the kitchen. The poor human looked positively stricken as the elf made his requests. It was certainly an interesting display. Isala rarely saw humans shrink back from her kind. So often the roles were reversed, but not for Solas, it seemed. Without realizing it, the Inquisitor had begun to grin wickedly.
“Not the point. Should probably ask him anyway.” The Qunari muttered into the near empty stein around his mouth.
Isala blinked a few times and gazed back across the table, realizing that everyone was looking at her expectantly. “What?” She demanded. “You want me to go?” When no one denied the request she went on. “Why? Because we’re both elves?” She asked indignantly. Isala pointed at Sera, where she sat with her feet propped up on the table and a slab of beef stuffed halfway into her jowls. “So is Sera.”
The blond elf shoved the rest of the meat into her mouth and her eyes focused suddenly, as if she’d only just tuned into the conversation. With her mouth full she scoffed and made an ugly sound of revulsion. Blackwall chuckled nearby, perhaps understanding the city elf more than the rest of them.
“No, not because you’re an elf.” Varric assured her. Isala raised a single eyebrow, not believing him for a second.
“He likes you.” The Iron Bull added. The Qunari was smirking and Isala did not like it.
“He does not.” She retorted a bit too quickly. She’d told no one of the kiss they’d had in that shared dream. She hadn’t even confronted the elf in question since it had occurred. It had been a dream, hadn’t it? Just a dream? To think otherwise was…no, no she wouldn’t. It was a dream, nothing more.
“I think he’s right about that one.” Varric shrugged. Across the table, Sera was making vulgar gestures and kissing sounds to a hardboiled egg resting on her plate and Blackwall nearly choked on his own boisterous laughter. Isala rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever seen him smile at.” The Iron Bull offered. “Go on, invite him over. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?” Varric quipped.
Isala sighed and she made it long and irate. “Fine, I’ll go.” She muttered, downing the last of her wine in one long, continuous swig. She set the stein down with a thud and stood up from the table. Her pale, nearly white hair bobbed gently from where it was tied back as she crossed the softly lit tavern and toward her elven comrade. She licked her lips in anticipation, preparing to speak. Her mouth opened to utter his name an instant before he glanced over his shoulder and saw her. It was eerie, as if he’d anticipated her all the while.
“Lethallan.” He greeted her warmly in Elvish and she saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips. She wondered if The Iron Bull had been right. Did he truly not smile for any other?
Isala clamped her mouth shut and hid her awkwardness behind an uneasy smile of her own. “Solas, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you inside the tavern before.” She blurted, suddenly unsure of what she had been about to say. Solas glanced around the busy room briefly as if taking stock of his surroundings for the first time. Isala watched as the steely color of his eyes warmed in the dim firelight. In her dream they had been warm too, but it had little to do with the lighting. It was the way he’d looked at her. As if she could do anything. As if she could change everything.
“That is probably because I rarely find myself here.” He answered matter-of-factly and Isala was jolted from her trance.
“Oh, well, um, we’re all having a drink, over there,” she pointed to the table she’d just come from. “…and, I thought perhaps you’d care to join us?” Isala smiled and held her breath.
Solas glanced in the direction of her table and then back at her. The human serving girl returned just then with a basket covered with cloth and handed it to the elf. Solas thanked her and turned fully in the Inquisitor’s direction.
“Thank you, but no.” Isala could smell fresh bread in the small basket. Was he coming to grab his dinner? Was that something special the kitchen made for him? What exactly was in there? What does it matter? Isala wondered to herself.
“Oh, alright then.”
“Good night.” Solas quipped briskly and edged past the Inquisitor. Isala turned as he left and watched as he slipped out as inconspicuously as he’d come in. She began to trudge back toward her table where her friends awaited her. Varric shrugged. The Iron Bull was calling for more drinks. Sera had nearly laughed herself out of her seat and Blackwall seemed ever on the verge of cracking a smile.
“Perhaps he doesn’t drink?” Isala offered as she reclaimed her seat.
“Who the hell doesn’t drink?” The Iron Bull bellowed and pushed her another stein brimming over with wine. She lifted the glass up in a toast that her comrades echoed. Sera cackled something about eggs and slipped out of her chair. Laughter erupted around them and Isala drank down the good wine.
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Slow Burning Dreamer