Of all the elvish phrases, the fact that this is the only one I know the translation to should surprise... NO ONE. It's about as predictable as Solas making a mistake.
Like the one he's about to make when he sends Abelas after you to make sure you're alright. And sets you up for sexy ancient elvhen time. And that other time when he tells Falon'Din about Lavellan. Accidentally. Who then tells Dirthamen. Who then tells June. Who then tells whichever of the Forgotten Ones is male. And by then Lavellan has a pantheon's worth of male lovers but still her OTP. Babelas. 
Lavellan: June, thanks for re-constructing the sexy ancient elvhen bathhouse.
June: I have now perfected my technique, learned from the experience of crafting my one, true pair of indestructible underwear.
Dirthamen: Ugh. They were boxers. Gross.
June: Shut-up, Dirthamen.
Dirthamen: Plaid-weave, June. Plaid. Weave. I'll say it again, gross.
Falon'Din: Did the slaves properly polish the marble floors with boar bristle brushes? Because . . .
Lavellan: We've been over this whole "slave" thing.
Falon'Din: Well did they at least procure Antivan ambrosial oil?
Lavellan: THAT, I made sure we had, for reasons. Many reasons . . .
Cullen: Sorry to interrupt, your . . . gathering. But apparently, I got a request to find the following materials: "a cask full of the tears of peasants," "a diamond-encrusted skull goblet," and "leather pants made from all the golden hallas left in existence." This is too much. I mean. . . Really.
Dirthamen: EEEWWW. A shem!
Abelas: It's ok, bros; I got this (applies strategic lipgloss)
Cullen: I'm confused, as usual. (Looks at Abelas . . . is strangely comforted by the hypnotic glow of his lips)
Abelas: Cullen, bro, we're going shopping.