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Silence enveloped Skyhold like a blanket. It was the time of night when hardly another living creature stirred as Solas worked on his frescoes. He had done as much as he could for the night; the blue of Celene's dress needed to dry before he could begin adding details, and he should join the rest of the world in the stillness of sleep. He paused to stretch, finally noticing the sounds of someone descending from the library or rookery above. It must have been Leliana. It seemed far too late for anyone else to be stirring.
But the steps were light, bouncy, and unfamiliar. Solas cocked his head as he listened, turning toward the stairs, and he could not stop the look of surprise as his eyes met familiar green eyes shining up at him cheerfully. "Oh! Lace! I did not know you were here," he greeted her, unable to keep the delight from his voice. He did not dwell on the fact she'd either been able to sneak past him while he was too buried in his work to notice, or that she'd been above him for... who knew how long... without his awareness
"Hello, Solas! Just a quick stop before I'm sent off to parts unknown for more exploration. I'm not here for long," she answered. "You were absorbed in your paintings before. I didn't want to bother you."
Mystery solved. Lace Harding was easy to underestimate. Generally cheerful and optimistic, she moved with far lighter steps than anyone would expect her to, could keep to the shadows, and could strike with deadly accuracy; her aim was nearly unmatched. Her skills were quite impressive, and frankly, Solas did not care to think what might await for anyone who dared to make themselves an enemy of the otherwise sweet-natured woman.
He found her duality fascinating. She was neither cruel and hardened nor foolish and soft-hearted.
"I don't know how you find time to do these things," she continued, waving her arm at the frescoes. "Don't you ever sleep?"
"Given the hour, one could ask you the same question." Her grin crinkled the corners of her eyes and wrinkled her nose, and Solas suddenly found himself in no hurry to run off to his bed. "Where are you off to next?"
"Orlais, again," she answered. "Back to the far west and so much sand. I'll be setting up shop in the Forbidden Oasis—something to do with those strange keystones you've been finding everywhere—and then on to the Hissing Wastes."
"I see. A long journey awaits. I don't suppose—" He cut himself off, stopping the foolish question mid-sentence. But Lace's eyes, the color of the Fade, shone up at him with bright expectation, and he found himself charging onward despite all sane and rational thought telling him he should not. "I don't suppose you'll be around long enough for those dance lessons, would you?"
The notice, hanging in the Herald's Rest, had caught Solas' attention—along with the attention of a large chunk of the Inquisition. After Halamshiral, Lace had swapped out the prior notes with an offer for dance lessons, and the list of those interested had grown quickly; no doubt most of those on the list had added their name with the hope they would have a chance to dance with the woman standing in front of him, who seemed to be completely unaware the number of potential suitors she inspired.
Solas had hardly stopped himself from adding his own name to the list.
"'Fraid not," Lace confirmed, rocking back and forth on her feet. "But it's not like you need 'em! Your performance at Halamshiral wasn't disappointing."
"The largest disappointment was that we did not have a chance to share a dance." The sentence slipped from him before he could stop it.
"I have time now,” Lace replied. He had not thought this through and the consequences were staring at him with hope in its eyes. He should not do this, however innocent it may seem, and yet he nodded his agreement anyway, and Lace’s eyes swept the rotunda. “Here?”
Sister Nightingale lingered above, and Solas was not eager for her to witness this dance lesson. “I think… perhaps…” He reached for Lace’s hand, leading her from the rotunda with more purpose than he ought to have as a man without a destination in mind. This late at night, most of Skyhold was empty—at least superficially—but there was always the possibility of prying eyes witnessing things he did not wish to have witnessed. The irony was not lost on Solas that at least some of those prying eyes were his own Agents.
He hesitated a moment in the great hall, leading Lace out the front door into the courtyard and onto the curtain wall. This section was remote—no living quarters existed in the area, and even the night watch did not traverse it frequently since it could not be approached from the mountain. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the wall, giving Lace’s skin an iridescent glow Solas found captivating.
He was still holding her hand—warm and small, but sure and steady—in his, and she seemed to realize it at the same time, dropping it as if she was holding a fire. She laughed nervously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Ah… there’s no music, so…”
“It is okay,” Solas assured her, holding out his hands in the proper waltz position. Lace hesitated, but stepped forward, slotting her right hand in his left. She couldn’t quite reach his neck without stretching awkwardly, so her left hand found his waist instead as he drew her closer. “Allow me.”
The tune he began to hum was familiar to them both (an Orlesian waltz which had played at Halamshiral that Maryden had set words to) and then they were moving, Lace keeping up with his steps easily. After a few bars, he realized she had joined him in humming, harmonizing her sweet notes with his own. As if by some planned or mutual agreement their humming slowed as Lace leaned her head on his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart hammering wildly, thundering like it was threatening to escape its prison.
Thoughts of proper waltzing form stopped as their arms fell, pulling close to their bodies, and their next steps brought them closer as they slowed to a gentle, rhythmic rocking. His humming faded, but occasionally he caught stray notes from Lace as if she were humming to herself rather for his benefit. A faint breeze carried her scent on the breeze, sweet and with something reminiscent of sun-kissed strawberries in summer.
His eyes closed and he drank in her warmth and her strength; for a moment, he wanted to pretend. In another world… before he had sundered reality with the Veil… if things were different… if he had not ruined everything and doomed them all… then perhaps, there could be something with a woman like this—delicate and pretty, but simultaneously strong and steady. With… her. With Lace.
He thought of camps across the continent, of nights like this, where in the stillness they had found a comfort in one another’s company; of her laughter carried on the wind; of her secreting away treats from the Inquisition’s supplies for him; and of gifts purchased in shops simply because they reminded him of her. He did not want that to end. Not when they defeated Corypheus. Not when he walked the dinan’shiral.
She shifted in his arms, tilting her head to gaze up at him, and he could not stop himself from moving forward, could not stop his lips from meeting hers, plump and soft. The spark that flew between them pulled him back to the hard, cold reality before him, and he stepped back before her gasp of surprise faded on the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. “I should not… I cannot. This was impulsive and ill-advised.”
“You can,” she encouraged softly. “I didn’t mind.”
His heart twisted painfully that she should think he was concerned only for her. It was not as if it were not a consideration—he ruined everything he touched. He would only bring her heartache. He could only crush her spirit. He swallowed hard. “It is… not that simple. I will only bring you pain. I cannot…”
A sweet laugh fell from her lips. “Oh you’re real certain I’m going to fall for you… the apostate mage who will run away into the night once things get settled again, aren’t you?” She grinned. “I don’t think we’re there yet, but even if it happens… that’s my choice. You don’t get to take it away from me. So if you’re saying you can’t for my sake, then don’t, but if you’ve changed your mind, then there’s no hard feelings.”
Solas wavered; her determination warmed him, and when she held out her hand for him, he only hesitated a moment before taking it.
“So… your rooms or mine?” she asked brightly.