In which Elia gets into a disagreement with Vivienne about Cole, and Solas gives her some advice. And then some smut. 

This is basically a self-insert of my feelings about Vivienne. She’s a super well-written character, but I’ll fucking cut anyone who dares to talk shit about Cole.

Read on AO3 instead. (I’d recommend this – it’s a longer one.)

*********************

“Come on, Chuckles, you should loosen up once in a while. Get your head out of your paints and your parchment. Consider it a team building exercise.”

Solas shakes his head. “Believe me, Master Tethras, you would not wish me to join your game.”

Varric folds his burly arms and gives him a wry look. “Would I be asking you to play if I didn’t mean it?”

“It is not your sincerity I question, but your wisdom,” Solas replies. “Perhaps you should speak with Blackwall. We played diamondback a few days past and he was…considerably the worse for wear by the end. His poor fortune might convince you…” Solas trails off as a slim and fast-moving form emerges from a doorway down the hall: Elia, with a rigid straightness to her spine that instantly catches his attention.

She’s making a rapid beeline for her quarters. Solas turns back to Varric. “Forgive me; might we resume this debate at another time?”

The storyteller rolls his eyes, but waves an affable hand as he returns to his oddly mountainous pile of mail. “Taking a little leisure time shouldn’t be a matter of debate, but sure. See you later.”

Solas nods a polite farewell, then heads for the Inquisitor’s quarters. He opens the outer door with the key Elia gave him, then makes his way up the stairs until he reaches the innermost door to her bedroom.

He knocks on the door. “Elia?” he calls.

She opens the door a moment later, and her thunderous expression takes him by surprise. “Come in,” she says stiffly, then flings the door open to allow him entry and vaults back up the stairs.

Solas slowly follows her up the stairs to find her striding back and forth in front of her desk. As soon as he steps into her bedroom proper, she turns to face him.

“Would you cast a spell of silence, please?” she asks. “It’s easier for you without a staff.”

Her words are polite but her bright blue eyes are snapping, and a wriggle of apprehension pokes at his belly as he acquiesces to her request. He flicks his wrist, and as soon as the cool green glow of his magic settles over them, he reaches for her hand. “What-”

“I hate Vivienne!” she yells.

Solas’s eyebrows leap high on his forehead. His dislike for the Enchantress is no secret, but he’s shocked to hear Elia say this so openly. In fact, he’s shocked to hear her say it at all. Despite the obvious differences in their magical education and backgrounds, he’s only ever seen Elia and Vivienne engage in friendly interactions.

“What has happened?” he asks.

She’s pacing again. “I went to talk to her about Cole. You remember that horrible thing she said to him when we were out at Dennet’s farm yesterday?”

Solas raises one sardonic brow. “Everything she says to Cole is horrible,” he says.

“Exactly,” Elia snaps. “I tried to talk to her about him. She is – Solas, she is so pigheaded and prejudiced, I can’t stand it. She’s so bloody condescending, talking down to me like I’m just some poor backwoods Dalish girl who doesn’t know her ass from an amulet, when Cole is far more helpful and caring than she’s ever been in the whole time she’s been here!”

The volume of her voice is rapidly escalating, and Solas stares at her. She’s practically sparking with rage, her delicate face twisted with it, and he realizes with a numb kind of apprehension that he’s never seen her so angry. She’s usually a paragon of equanimity.

“She wouldn’t hear a single word in his defense,” Elia rails. “Kept calling him an ‘it’ and a demon. You should have heard her. ‘I’ll watch your back when it’s around you, my dear. One of us ought to have a thought for the Inquisitor’s safety.’”

Solas smirks at Elia’s surprisingly accurate imitation of Vivienne, but he wrestles his face back into seriousness when Elia doesn’t smile in return. “She is so stubborn,” Elia snarls. “I hate – she’s so – she’s a teldirthalelan.”

Now Solas can’t help it; he laughs aloud at her insult.

Finally, at long last, a tiny hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lover’s lips. He sits on the couch and extends his arm to her, and she takes his hand and sits beside him with a sigh.

“And how did this conversation end?” he asks.

Elia runs a hand through her hair. “I was so… shocked, I suppose, by how stubborn she is, I didn’t even know what to say. I thanked her for talking to me and then I left.” She bursts out a tiny laugh. “She was so bloody horrible, and I thanked her. What’s wrong with me?”

Nothing, he thinks with a pang of painful pity. She is careful and thoughtful and sympathetic, and there is nothing inherently wrong with any of these things. But she’s still adjusting to the power dynamics of her role as the Inquisitor, and the strain is starting to show.

He runs his hand soothingly along her back until she lifts her face from her hands. “I don’t understand her,” she says wearily. “I want to, I really do, but she’s so closed off. Even when she’s being nice, she’s not really nice at all. We’re such… different people, she and I. And the way she talks about Cole just makes me so…” Her face crumples with anger again, and he squeezes her hands gently until she exhales.

She turns her hardened gaze to his face. “Why can’t people try to see the other side of things? Why can’t she even consider the possibility that she’s wrong?” she demands. “There’s always more than one side of a story. You can’t just decide that someone is wrong if you refuse to hear them out.”

He silently runs his thumb across the back of her hand. What she says is true, but it’s a truth that is undeniably difficult to put into practice. Solas can admit that Elia has had to remind him of this truth on more than one occasion. She is the only person he knows whose first and most instinctive course of action is to seek multiple points of view.

But seeing and understanding an opposing point of view does not mean that a person will change their mind.

He studies her angry and earnest face with a throb of painful fondness. This truth – the immutability of the resolved mind – is what’s so difficult for Elia to reconcile. Her eyes are bright with ideals, her heart filled with hope, and she is so young it hurts.

Sure enough, her next words reinforce his thoughts precisely. “How am I supposed to work with someone like her, Solas? I can’t change her mind. I can’t even get her to listen. I bet when this is all over, she’ll prance back to Val Royeaux and try to herd all the mages back under the Chantry’s thumb, whether they like it or not. What are we supposed to do then?”

Solas remains silent, his eyes on his thumb as it traverses her wrist. Her question is a good one, and one that he wonders on a daily basis. What will Elia do when faced with an opponent who can’t be talked around – an opponent who was once an ally, no less?

He takes a deep breath and meets her eyes before speaking.  “What will you do indeed?” he asks softly.

She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, then takes her hands from his and shoves her fingers through her dark tufty hair. “I would fight for a compromise,” she finally says. “There must be a way to satisfy everyone. Some mages liked the Circle, after all. No, really,” she insists with a smile when Solas purses his lips. “Vivienne liked it, obviously. But some of the more normal mages did too, like Minaeve. Being part of a Circle should be an option. One that the mages get to pick.”

Then she sighs. “But nobody likes a compromise. Nobody except me. And maybe Josie.” She laughs, but the sound is dull and sad.

Her anger is all but gone, leaving only discouragement behind, and Solas hates seeing her look so crushed. She’s a soul of sympathy, and it’s one of her finest traits, but also one of her most dangerous vulnerabilities. Now that she’s a major political figure – unwitting or no – she can’t afford for sympathy to override sense.

“Compromise is always a noble goal,” he tells her. “But in the case of Cole… do you believe that Vivienne is partially correct?”

“No,” Elia says instantly. “Cole is not just an ally. He’s our friend. He would rather die than hurt an innocent person again. And besides, he’s no more dangerous than a regular person! Regular people turn on each other all the time when they get hurt. I don’t know how she doesn’t see that.” She trails off despondently, and Solas takes advantage of her deflation to continue his point.

“Compromises can work,” he says. After all, Elia is the queen of compromise, and he’s never known anyone to cajole so many disparate people into working together. “But some situations call for you to make a stand for what you know to be right. Your stance on Corypheus, for instance.”

Elia shoots him a disbelieving look. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I kill Vivienne.”

“No, unfortunately,” he says blandly, and she smirks and snuggles into his shoulder. “I am suggesting that in some situations, a compromise may be detrimental. Some causes are too important to cede your ground. If you know in your heart that someone is wrong, you must fight to set them right.” He pulls away from her and gazes frankly into her eyes. “I understand wanting to keep things… cordial with Vivienne,” he says carefully. “But she is wrong about Cole, and we both know it.”

She drops her eyes, looking even sadder than before, then takes a deep breath and shoves her fingers through her hair again. “I should have stood up for Cole,” she says. Then she lifts her despairing gaze to his face again. “I’m a pushover, aren’t I?”

“No,” Solas says firmly. He’s seen her defending Cole to Sera, after all. “But you are not a politician. You are not accustomed to arguing with the likes of Vivienne. Not yet, at least.” He squeezes her hand gently. “Given the ever-broadening scope of your duties, it is something you will have to become quite used to, I fear.”

She nods silently, then exhales heavily and rises to her feet. “All right,” she says. “I’ll try again. No compromises, and no listening to excuses this time.” She winces apologetically. “Maybe tomorrow, though, when I’ve had time to think of what to say…”

Solas stands and tilts her chin up gently. “You have time. For this problem, at least. I suppose we should be grateful that there are some problems that are slightly less than urgent.”

She huffs a quiet agreement, and they make their way down the stairs hand in hand.

Before they emerge back into the Great Hall, Elia turns to him and takes his hands. “Thank you,” she says softly. “I appreciate the listening ear. And the advice. And… I apologize for the outburst. It was… unseemly.” She scratches her ear uncomfortably. “Having a temper tantrum like a child…”

He cradles her neck and gazes seriously at her. “Sathem, vhenan. And do not apologize for your anger. It was rightly placed.” He strokes her neck with his thumb once more, then opens the door and gallantly ushers her through.

She smiles at him, her gentle good humour largely restored, and he squeezes her hand once before they part ways, Elia heading for the undercroft as he makes his way back to the rotunda.

He sits at his desk and picks up his plume. But instead of returning to his notes, he toys idly with the feather of his plume and mulls over the conversation they just had.

Solas encouraged Elia to be wary of compromises. He encouraged her to fight for her vision of what’s right, to speak up strongly and to defend her convictions.

When this is over, when he has his orb again and his plans are in place, he wonders if she’ll remember that it was he who encouraged her to stand her ground.

The irony of it is not lost on him.

He idly traces the lines on his palm with the nib of his plume. He does not regret giving her this advice; after all, it is advice that she will need to thrive in the months to come. He does not wish to see her good nature taken advantage of.

But there’s a tiny voice in his mind, a voice both pointed and plaintive, and it wonders if he encouraged Elia to fight because… perhaps there’s a part of him that wants someone to fight him down.

He pushes the errant voice aside. Once he has his orb in hand, his plans must proceed. This cannot be stopped, he thinks. It is as Solas told her; some causes are too important for compromise, and his cause – his people, his entire world – this cause is one of them.

He was giving advice to his lover, that was all. That’s all there was to it.

**************

A few days later, Solas is in the library poring over the Inquisition’s collection of books about spellbinding. Just as he’s about to go and request another batch of tomes from the librarian, he hears the sound of Elia’s calm voice as it emanates through the short corridor that leads to Vivienne’s loft. Curious, he makes his quiet way down the corridor and stands just outside the door to better hear their exchange.

“… has never made any attempt to hurt you,” Elia is saying. “What makes you so certain that he will suddenly change his mind and attack you?”

“What makes you so certain that he won’t?” Vivienne replies archly. “He – it – is a demon. It’s in the nature of demons to-”

“Cole is not a demon,” Elia interrupts, her voice quiet but very firm, and Solas feels a surge of pride at the steel in her tone. “He’s a spirit. An unusual spirit, yes, but a spirit nonetheless.”

“Darling, you and your precious apostate cannot claim full knowledge of what that creature is,” Vivienne retorts in a voice as smooth as silk. “How can you say that it will never do harm if you don’t fully understand what it is?”

Elia is quiet for a moment, and Solas waits on tenterhooks for her response. Finally she speaks again. “Let us put that issue aside for another time. May I ask you another question?”

“Of course,” the Enchantress purrs.

“I’d like to know why you put so much effort into insulting Cole. He is not part of any Orlesian court intrigue. He will never play an important role in the Great Game. You gain nothing by insulting him. So why bother?”

Solas grins to himself and leans against the wall. He sees what Elia is doing, and he admires her new approach. Convincing Vivienne is not going to work, so Elia has abandoned the attempt in favour of a tack she knows will make an impact: she’s targeting Vivienne’s ambition instead, and making the Enchantress sound petty in the process.

Vivienne laughs lightly. It’s a bright and tinkling sound, and about as brittle as springtime thaw. “My dear, what would you suggest I do instead? Ignore it every time it opens its idle little mouth to speak?”

She’s avoided answering the question entirely, and Solas rubs his mouth in amusement. A direct hit, he thinks smugly.

Elia clearly sees the hole in Vivienne’s defenses, and she presses her advantage. “That’s a wonderful suggestion,” the Inquisitor says. “I think it will benefit you both.”

Her voice then softens and becomes conciliatory, and the friendliness of her tone only makes her next words all the more impactful. “The world is watching for our weaknesses, Vivienne. You told me this yourself. We must act as a united team. So for civility’s sake, I would ask you to hold your tongue in Cole’s presence. Do not speak to him unless it’s necessary for a mission we are on.”  

There’s a moment of silence, and Solas can’t help himself: he edges slightly closer to the door so he can see Vivienne’s expression. Her face is cold and hard as marble, but in the tilt of her chin, Solas recognizes something that would likely be lost on a person with less experience in a noble’s court: he sees respect.

Finally Vivienne shifts her weight to one hip and folds her arms leisurely. “An interesting proposition, my dear,” she says smoothly. “Perhaps the creature will cease to speak if I cease to respond.”

“I doubt that,” Elia replies. “But I’m happy that we could come to this agreement. Thank you for your cooperation, Vivienne. I’ll leave you to your work here. Farewell.” She turns away from Vivienne without waiting for a reply and makes her way toward the door.

Elia’s pace is relaxed and slow – a gesture of power in and of itself, whether she knows it or not – and by the time she reaches the door, Solas is grinning from ear to pointed ear. He reaches out and snakes an arm around her waist as she walks through the door.

She gives a tiny yelp of surprise as he pulls her around the corner and pens her against the wall, but he cuts her off with a hard kiss.

Her fingers clutch the front of his tunic before sliding up to cradle his neck, and she gasps against his lips as he presses his thigh between her legs. “Solas,” she whimpers, very quietly. “Were you-?”

“I heard,” he whispers. “You were magnificent. You were simply – you were -” He gives up on words and kisses her again, coaxing her lush lips open and caressing her tongue with his own.

A long, scorching moment later, he pulls away and takes her hand. “Come with me,” he murmurs, then sets off back toward the library.

Elia follows without complaint, her fingers twining with his own as they move through the library and onto the parapet. Their pace is calm and decorous as they traverse the battlements, but his heart is thrumming in his chest, a mad dance against the inside of his ribs that doesn’t lessen as they make their way across the castle’s walls and into one of the more secluded guest rooms in the western tower.

He leads Elia inside and closes the door, then grasps her face and presses his forehead to her own. “That was perfect,” he tells her. “A subtle slice to the vein of her arrogance. Cole could not ask for a finer advocate.” He takes her lips in another heated kiss.

Elia grips his neck and returns his kiss full force, and in a matter of moments she’s in his arms, her legs tight around his waist as he walks them toward the opulent bed. They fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, and she breaks from his kiss with an eager gasp as he unclasps the buttons of her shirt one by one.

“I’d have taken the assertive approach far earlier if I’d known this would be my reward,” she quips, then pulls off her shirt as he unfastens the last button.

Solas doesn’t reply; instead, he takes her nipple between his lips and tugs. She releases a moan of pleasure, her chest arching toward his mouth, and he busies his fingers with the laces of her trousers. Once the laces are undone, he pulls off her boots, then drags her trousers down as he slides down her body, then drops his face between her legs-

“Creators,” Elia gasps. Then his mouth comes to rest in her wet and fragrant heat.

He slings her knees over his shoulders and delves his tongue inside of her, making her cry out and arch against his mouth, then slicks his tongue up and over her clit. His body is thrilling still, buzzing with pride and a hint of vindictive pleasure at his lover’s triumph over their antagonizing ally, and he lavishes her pussy with all the praise that she deserves.

But buried beneath his delight, a faint whisper of unease dampens the ardour that’s thrumming through his chest. It’s a feeble whisper, one so faint that it almost blends with his pulsing excitement, but the more he considers it, the stronger it becomes.

Elia has shown a strength and a mastery of words today that was thrilling to behold. She’s becoming more firm, more confident, a woman who can face a stronger opponent and talk them down.

Solas is so incredibly proud of her. And he’s terrified of what this might eventually mean.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t think about it. He shoves his worries away and laps at her slick folds with a fresh and dedicated focus.

Elia arches into his mouth, her fingers clenched in the expensive velvet bedspread. Solas drinks in every drop of her juices, taking her taste deep on his tongue as he caresses her tender hooded bud. A few precious minutes later, she twists her hips and presses her hand to her mouth, stifling her cry of pleasure against her palm as he coaxes her climax from her core with lips and tongue.

She’s still shuddering when he rises to his feet, shedding his clothes briskly before crawling onto the bed and lifting her leg over his arm. He strokes his shaft against her alluring heat until she’s whimpering and bucking her hips from the bed.

“Please,” she gasps, her fingers scrabbling against his arms.

He shakes his head. “Don’t beg, vhenan. Not today. Tell me what to do,” he breathes.

She opens her eyes, and his breath hitches at the steely conviction in her face. “Fuck me, Solas. Right now.”

“Yes,” he eagerly agrees, then thrusts into her in one hard, smooth motion.

She mewls and tilts her hips toward him, the tendons in her neck straining as she cranes her neck back, and Solas presses close to nip the tempting line of her throat. He pumps into her carefully, savouring the tight hot press of her around his length.

Elia squeezes his arms. “Harder,” she commands. “I want you hard.”

He cedes happily to her demands, and within seconds they’re gasping in tandem as they collide in a searing and desperate blur. The sweet tight press of her is pulling at his pleasure, the cradle of her hips catching and keeping him as they meet and meld.

He grits his teeth and gasps, sweat trickling along his temples as he slides into her fast and hard. Elia’s nails are sharp and sweet on his arms, like the scrape of a bramble while plucking ripe berries from a bush, and Solas savours the biting pain as it contrasts with the sheer undiluted pleasure of her body tensing and tightening around him.

Finally he bursts out a heavy gasp. “Elia,” he groans. “I-”

“Now,” she commands, her voice strong yet strained with pleasure, and Solas convulses in ecstasy as the force of his climax crashes over him. Wave after wave of rapture rushes through his body, expanding from his cock through his calves and up to his throat, and he drops his forehead against her neck, breathing in her sweet and salty scent with his every gasping breath.

Her leg slides down from his arm, and Solas collapses onto her body in sheer delighted exhaustion. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and her sultry laugh vibrates through his chest and cheek.

He slowly pushes himself to his elbows and brushes the damp and spiky hair back from her forehead. She grins slowly at him, and Solas smiles helplessly back.

She smoothes her thumb across his sweat-dampened forehead. “Are you all right?” she murmurs.

“Of course,” he says. He drops a gentle kiss on her lips, then studies her curiously. “Why do you ask?”

She hums softly. “Just checking. Sometimes… No, it’s nothing. I just wanted to check.”

He forces himself not to frown, then leans in and kisses her again. It’s a gentle kiss this time, little more than a soft brush of the lips as he tastes the plumpness of her mouth, and when he pulls away to study her face again, he sees that it was enough to wipe the worry from her face.

He smiles at her, then rolls onto his back and pulls her close so her head is nestled beneath his chin. In this pose, he can savour her closeness without drowning in the incisive ocean blue of her eyes.

His body is sated and his heart is ripe with love, but that pernicious little voice in his head remains. It needles him, telling him that Elia may someday fight him for what she feels to be right.

He can’t think about that now. He won’t.

He closes his eyes and thinks of her instead: her flushed and smiling face, the heated press of her thigh between his own. Her arm curls around his waist, and he focuses on the simple affection of her embrace.

Solas knows better than anyone that there are times when a compromise cannot be made. But here and now, lying in his ancient former stronghold wrapped in his young lover’s arms, Solas will accept whatever fleeting peace he can get.

********************

Elvhen terms, courtesy of FenxShiral:
– Sathem: you’re welcome
– Teldirthalelan: a stupid person; a person who refuses to learn