prompt: drunken lavellan trying to kiss solas as he escorts her to her rooms.

In which the Commander’s naked dash through the keep is notthe only consequence of Varric’s card game.

He’s dragged rather rudely out of his solitude by her arrival – the jarring slam ofdoor-against-stone followed by an erratic song of too-soft footsteps as shesaunters into the rotunda, shoes missing and her undershirt hanging out of her trousers.

“Solas!” She stumbles against the doorway, and snorts – abubbling of mirth rising with a happy sigh, before she gives herself a pushinto the room. “Found you,” Ellana announces, as though his whereabouts were ever in doubt. Her cheeksare flushed with the tell-tale roses of a particularly strong vintage, hersmile cheeky and a tinge delirious, and if it weren’t for the fact that she’s clearly three sheets to the wind, Solas would have found it a spellbinding sight.

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