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The Ball was a grand affair, indeed, Solas thought to himself. Empress Celene's various servants and advisors had spared no detail, no expense, in planning and running the evening. The chandeliers were all light, bright and sparkling, the great streams of blue and gold satin between them. Servants passed by with hors d'ouevres, commenting on the dishes and their many flavours. All manner of guests had been invited to this auspicious night, heralded the night that the civil warring in Orlais would finally be drawn to a close. For the people of Orlais, he knew it was too little too late. Of all the guests to arrive, the Inquisitor was by far the most spoken of. Solas had been parading the halls and vestibules for some time before her arrival, and she was the toast of the evening. Perhaps even more so than the Empress herself. Solas smirked at the idea. An elf, of all people, was capturing their hearts and minds. Knowing her as he did, he was not surprised.
He was in a room aside from the courtyard, listening out for any rumour of unrest but it seemed as though every syllable uttered her name. His outfit made him feel out of place. Dressed up in scarlet finery and a blue sash, he was a representative of the Inquisition, and although that allowed him social standing he would have been more content to dress down and find the servants quarters. That's where the real information would be. From the foyer the bell rang for another of the arriving guests. He knew it would be her. He could sense her magic even from this distance. It radiated from her; an aura so powerful that he would have known her presence for miles. She had no idea of the magic she possessed, modest as she was. It drew attention across both Thedas and the Fade. He made his way to the front vestibule to witness her entrance. What he saw sent a hunger to the pit of his stomach and he had to remind himself not to stare too long.
Vivienne's handiwork could not be ignored. Her finest tailors had been working from the day of the invitation on this outfit and it certainly did not disappoint. As Nyriel Lavellan crossed the foyer everyone had turned and strained to capture a glimpse of her. Solas drank in every detail. Her dress was long, almost floor-length, yet just missing the marble tiles. As she walked forward Solas could capture a peek of her toes, feet bound in Dalish fashion, from under the many layers of taffeta and silk. Even here she would not wear shoes, he mused. Continuing up from her ankles he saw her dress; a delicate wine red silk and adorned with occasional tiny silver threaded stars, bringing warmth to her pale features and stuctured to give an accentuated waist. Black lace trimmed the hem of her skirt and along her neckline, which sat low across her chest. He noted that the front of the bodice was clasped, not laced, with ornate silver buttons pulling her front tight and generating a small but tasteful cleavage. The sight of her bosom pinned in such a manner, emphasising her womanhood, stirred a hitched breath from Solas, and he paced further along the hall to keep a view of her. Vivienne had chosen to leave the shoulders open save for an elaborate, thick, choker necklace and more lace edging, with a large pendant of intricate Elvhen design. Solas knew the symbol to be that of her Clan - a grand oak tree woven with beaded leaves of red and orange, her favourite colours. He was sure Nyriel had made it herself, for no human silversmith could create such fine filigree. Her arms were mostly bare, a small off-shoulder strap capped off her dress. His eye was drawn to a cuff on her left arm, a small silver twisting circle of metal, an amber bead catching the light. From this distance he could not catch the detail but would be sure to examine every inch of both the artifact and her later. She trailed ahead of him now, reaching the stairs before the ballroom, and he glimpsed an accessory that surprised him. At her forearms she had followed another Dalish - no, ancient Elvhen - custom; dye-tattoos. He had not seen any Clan in his travels practising this lost art, but her wrists and hands were stained with twisting vines and oak leaves. He marvelled at how she of all elves had come by this custom. More symbols of her culture. She intended to present herself as an elf first, Inquisitor second. She made her way inside the ballroom, and Solas stalked behind her, silent and observant.
"Presenting the Inquisitor, Lady Lavellan of Clan Lavellan, and guests." Rang out the young lad. She had rehearsed this part for weeks, gliding slowly down into the sunked dancefloor to meet the Empress, who stood at the far end of the room. Solas watched from the edges as she moved, her eyes not giving away a single thought, hardened as though in the heat of battle. Something he had not expected was Commander Cullen's appearance at her side. He took her arm in his, guiding them both as though walking down the aisle. Solas was painfully aware of the comments surrounding Cullen this evening; this display would lead to rumours. Rumours that gnawed at him, that gave a twitch in his left hand and produced a faint inhilation of breathe. She was his, he knew this, but to see her with another man, especially Cullen - the only other counsel she trusted - was almost too much to bear. Still, he steeled himself and remained still as the other advisors made their way.
The evening wore on well enough; Nyriel had made her way to each of her companions in turn, briefing them on priorites regarding the Empress's safety. Solas could not believe how far she had come in her role as Inquisitor. He also could not believe her popularity among the guests here. From one pair of arms to another, she found herself gliding around the dancing floor, her enigmatic and chamring personality belying her reasons for attending. He was growing frustrated of seeing her waltzing around. All night she would be seen with one man or another stood beside her, for she was exotic in their eyes. A trophy. Solas' eyes narrowed as Cullen made his way toward her, he himself having collected an entourage of inebriated noblewomen. Cullen bowed low before Nyriel, extending a hand and she had blushed. Solas could no longer tell if she was playing the part so effectively now or if there were deeper emotions involved here. For a flash of a moment, she caught his eye. Solas stared, hard and dark from a distance, and she returned it with a wicked glimpse of a smile. She knew what she was doing. This was part of their Game. A secret one between the two of them. Her eyes sang to him, teasing, wanting. She curtseyed and took Cullen's hand, returning once again to the floor. Solas gulped at every image of the pair of them together; his hand resting on her waist, laughing as she whispered close into his ear, before twirling her away and pulling her in tight again. She arched her back against the Commander's hand, her dancing near erotic in Solas' mind. For him to dance in this manner with her would be scandalous here, let alone what else her outfit and this behaviour wanted him to do. He manouevred around the ballroom as they danced, blue-grey eyes glinting in the shadows. His mind had been reduced to one focus this evening; the dress and more importantly what was underneath it. The music ended and the couple bowed and curtseyed once again, before Cullen lead her off to the side of the room. His gathering of ladies stayed their distance, seemingly hurt by the attentions of this fine military gentleman over someone like the Inquisitor. The pair chatted and laughed, glasses in hand, Cullen leaning down every so often as Nyriel whispered in his ear. Solas could barely tolerate any more of this.
"Inquisitor, a moment if I may?" He strode up to her, taking her wrist in his hand firm enough for her to detect his intention. She looked him in the eyes, seeing his dark pupils and she smirked, happy in the knowledge that her theories had been proven correct.
"If it's information, I believe Leliana was currently checking on that.." she drew him out, clearly enjoying his suffering, making matters worse as she placed her free hand on Cullen's arm.
"It is better if I speak privately, lethallan. I have heard whispers that I have not been attending you as expected, and as your serving man, I would not wish to appear careless in my duty." Solas looked from Nyriel to Cullen and back again. He needed her out of this ballroom, out of sight, right now. His fingernails dug into her wrist a little deeper, and he witnessed her own eyes quietly widen with arousal.
"If it would appease our fellow guests then I wouldn't dream of diminishing your duty. Please excuse me Cullen," she squeezed Cullen's arm before letting go, allowing herself to be lead perhaps a little too briskly out of the eyes of the other guests. He practically dragged her through the crowds, placing another arm behind her waist. It took immense control to resist crushing his hand into the folds of silk that were resting over her hip.
Just inside the Grand Library there was a small office-room, key still inside the door. Checking every room earlier this evening had proven invaluable now as he swiftly guided her inside, locking the door behind them. In an instant he had her pressed against the wall, one hand gripped around both wrists, raised above her head. He smothered her lips, and she tried in vain to kiss back before succumbing to his force. His tongue barraged its way into her, a foreplay of what would come later. He nipped at her lips, enough to pool blood beneath the skin without breaking it, the colour matching her dress. His free hand explored the tailored gown, neatly and expertly unclipping the top few clasps of her bodice to allow access. She shuddered and mumbled “A-ah, Solas!” as his warm hand cupped at her breast, his hips rutting into her, lips breaking away to suck her earlobe. He brought his hand up from her naked front, reaching behind her neck to loosen the necklace. She gasped when he bit her neck before sucking at where her necklace had been, leaving a bright red-purple stain. He was going to remind her of who she belonged to.
"You have been wicked this evening, vhenan, all those men looking at you like you're meat. And you have let them, knowing that your body is mine. For your behaviour, you will be punished," he murmered, almost growling. She whimpered into his ear, quietly chanting “Solas please,” her hands struggling to free themselves, but he would not release her. His hand wandered back to her breast, teasing at her nipple, drawing a hitched breath at every roll of his thumb. His lips worked down her collarbone, being careful not to leave marks on her bare chest. From his pocket he produced a small black silk scarf, one of hers from Skyhold that she gave him as a gift one evening. He brought her restrained arms down behind her back; her heaving chest momentarily fogged his almost-indomitable focus.
"Do you trust me, emma lath?" He looked her square in her glacier-blue eyes, and she nodded, her breathing raw and erratic. He showed her the scarf and then tied her wrists behind her back, taking care not to cut into them. With both hands now free he pulled her to the desk in the centre of the room. She leaned back against it, and he began to pull up the layers of her dress.
"You look radiant this evening, ma vhenan, but no man gets to see the best parts of you except for me," the words were hungry, one hand cupped against her jaw as he sucked again at the bruising on her neck, teasing her with his voice first before he found with he was looking for. His fingers tugged at her smalls, already damp from the precious little foreplay, and they toyed playfully with the wetness there. She was so quick to hunger for him, and he enjoyed it thoroughly. Two fingers planed back and forth between her legs, pressing on her swollen clitoris and pushing back and inside of her. She began to whimper, her teeth bared and eyes closing at the peaked arousal there. His hand supported her back as she bucked her hips over his working hand, his tongue dancing along her lips until her arousal blended into near-orgasm. Just as he felt her tighten he withdrew his fingers from her to taste his work so far, making sure she could see the pleasure he was taking from her. Her eyes were wanting, brilliant, demanding that she have her release. She whimpered to him, "Ma vhenan, N-now, please." He smiled a half-smile, nipping once more at her blood-engorged lips before turning her around and bending her over the desk. He placed the free hand around the back of her neck, pushing her into the worn oak surface.
"Emma lath, you will not make a sound from here on. Only I want to know you have come undone this way. Do you understand?" She nodded, feeling the strength of his grip on the nape of her neck. If she made any sound at all he would not hesitate to press harder. He unbuttoned himself, and made no ceremony of entering her, his full force splitting her legs apart in one motion. His frenzied thrusts sent her legs smacking into the desk, no doubt bruising her, but he would not relent. She was so tight, her bucking underneath him only spurring him on faster and harder. Desperately she tried to keep the noises down, but she was close to orgasm she was barely able to maintain control. Solas was pounding furiously into her, the nails of his free hand digging roughly into her hip, his own end building swiftly as his eyes gazed at the sight of this woman undone before him. The free hand moved back to her aching slit, and he played with her, feeling her entire body shake and writhe with the build up of her orgasm. She was biting desperately into her bottom lip, exhaling sharply through her scrunched-up nose, eyes closed tight; the expression that only pain and pleasure can conjure. She released a jagged expiration, and he felt her tighten around his throbbing shaft, ripples of her orgasm washing over and around him. He came with her, taking a few more thrusts as his own petered out inside of her. His hand retracted from her neck, only slightly pink save for the burning spot where his mouth had burst the vessels there. A token of his appreciation for the evening. They spent a few moments just as they were, panting and sore, before he untied her wrists. He checked them for any obvious marks, pulled her smalls back in place and helped her redress before fixing his own dishevelled appearance. He took special care of her necklace, tying it so that it wouldn't show the mark he had left there.
“Solas...I-” she began, before leaning up to kiss his temple. It was a thank-you. He chuckled, for he should be thanking her. Here was the Inquisitor he knew, the small little wallflower, not the woman parading in front of half of Orlais. She took the small scarf from him, tying it around her wrist. “So I remember to do as I'm told,” she teased, her mind coming back into the room, and he kissed her forehead. A tugging in his heart pulled him back to reality.
“Come, ma vhenan. You've been missing long enough.” He stroked her arms, still slightly shaken from their passionate liaison. It was then that he noticed her arm cuff again. He paused to examine it, and he could see her blush.
“It is Fen'Harel,” she confessed, tracing the baying head of the wolf and its amber eye, “to watch over me tonight. Should the worst happen, may the Dread Wolf take me.” She laughed, her tone like glass bells at Wintersend, “Although I think he just did, lethallin.” The comment brought a pinkness to Solas' cheeks and she laughed harder, patting his still-hammering chest and the jawbone necklace hidden beneath it. She unlocked the door and sauntered back towards the throngs of expectant guests, with Solas following a few feet behind her. She would never know how right she was.