Uhh…. is anyone interested in this rare pair?

I started working on a thing. I only meant it to be like a little short smutty thing. But then plotbunnies happened and it might end up being a Longer Thing™. FML? 

In case anyone is interested, here is a preview. 

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“I had hoped you would come,” a familiar voice said.

Abelas pursed his lips in displeasure as a hooded figure drew up beside him. He shook his head slightly as he gazed at the strange banners flying from the ramparts of Tarasyl’an Te’las. The titanic castle had once been the proud fortress of Mythal’s staunchest supporters. Now, its occupants seemed little more than naslahna’miol crawling along its walls, doing their best to rebuild something that their brutish hands could never restore.

“You surrendered your stronghold to these shemlen,” he said.

It was a statement, not a question, but Fen’Harel nodded his head all the same. “The leader of their organization, the Inquisitor, has been quite effective so far. Surprisingly so, if truth be told. Assisting her in her goals has been an efficient way of achieving my own. Gifting the castle to these people was little sacrifice to me, but it has given them much.” He paused, then added, “It has given them hope that the world can be better.”

Abelas huffed a quiet breath through his nose. “You sound like you admire them.”

Fen’Harel turned slowly to look at him, and Abelas instinctively dropped his gaze at the expression on the Dread Wolf’s face. “I take no joy in what is to come,” he said quietly. “I do not resent them their lives here, and nor should you. It should never have been this way, but that is not their fault.”

Abelas was silent, and Fen’Harel eventually turned back to face the castle. The wind whipped their cloaks, and clouds chased across the sky with a swirling bluster of snow as they gazed at the ancient stronghold.

Fen’Harel finally sighed and turned to face him again. “I assumed you had come to join my efforts. Was I incorrect?”

Abelas pursed his lips again, then shook his head. “No. I serve Mythal still. If your plans honour her, then I would assist.”

Fen’Harel was silent for a long moment. Then finally he nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “Then you will join us at Tarasyl’an Te’las. There is someone you should meet in a less… antagonistic capacity.”

Abelas frowned as he fell into step beside Fen’Harel on the path back to the castle. “How long will this association with the shemlen continue?”

“As long as it must, I’m afraid,” he replied. His response was mild, but his tone was firm enough for Abelas to hold back any further criticisms. In a gentler tone, Fen’Harel continued, “I would suggest you resist the urge to insult the Inquisitor while we are here. She is unlike the other quickling elves that you have seen. She has been quite open to my teachings, in fact. I will admit to finding her quite impressive.”

“You have been sharing our knowledge with her?” Abelas demanded, then immediately closed his mouth when Fen’Harel stopped in his tracks to look at him.

Abelas stopped as well and instinctively lowered his head in deference, but the expected rebuke did not come. Instead, to his surprise, the Dread Wolf reached out and placed one hand on his shoulder. “You are angry, I know,” he said softly. “It distresses me to think what you have dealt with during your brief but brutal awakenings. But I see no harm in responding to a da’len’s thirst for knowledge. Up to a certain point, of course. Curiosity is not a virtue that should be punished.”

“It is not the virtue for which you are known, ha’hren,” Abelas replied.

Fen’Harel smiled, but the smile was sad. “I am not the spirit I once was,” he said. “And neither are you.” The rebel leader gazed at Abelas until he sighed and nodded.

Fen’harel squeezed his shoulder once more. “Come,” he said, then continued along the path. “And remember, while we remain among these people: call me Solas.”