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Camp is set-up, the fires stoked. It is only midday in autumn, but the hinterlands are cold and unusual. For now, the company takes a rest.
Gentle talk, warm drink, and spiced meat is passed between them. Before long, she grows restless.
She is quiet as she steps away. If the others notice her go, they say nothing. They continue to do so as Solas watches her go, getting to his feet and following her off.
He doesn’t know these lands very well. It’s easy to get lost. He keeps a careful distance between she and him, watching her wander deeper into the thicket of golden-brown and falling leaves. There’s no real point in it; for now, he wants to leave her be.
Her hands spread out, fingers running over bushes and branches, unbothered by their barren edges. Here, the woods become dense and sunlight struggles in, light caught between the trees. The scene makes her look lovely.
The forest is as silent as they are. The new season brings about a stillness in everything, even his thoughts. Solas leans his weight against his staff and watches her try and grab a falling leaf.
It’s a Dalish superstition, she once told him, or perhaps just her clan’s. Catching a leaf before it hits the ground brings luck, though she swears she doesn’t believe it. Even so, there is a kind of childish glee as she struggles to reach.
Aware that he is there, she eventually glances back and smiles when she sees him. There is a shyness too, as she hurries and drops her bounty, patting down her hands against her thighs. He is tired—of himself, of her, of why he does this over and over again—yet, he merely shakes his head, and smiles too at a joke gone unsaid. She stops and waits for him to catch up. They walk on together until they come upon a fallen tree, far from view.
It is an old thing, perhaps older than him. Left here by a passing storm or an errant axe, it leans against other, stronger trees. Together, it creates a sprawling but somehow neat nest of branches. Just beneath, there is an alcove, small and untouched. She sits down within it, relaxing against a rock.
They continue to say nothing. Solas sets his staff down and settles against the tree, standing by her. He is still watching her and she is intensely ignoring him, staring off into the distance, but an increasingly coy grin betrays her.
Before long, he gives in.
A hand braced overhead, he leans down and tucks a finger beneath her chin. She looks up at him, a faint heat coming to her cheeks. He’s never been one to instigate these things. He smiles, soft, and leans in further still.
There are no onlookers in this quiet place, but if there were, he kept her perfectly hidden.