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They should have expected it, really. After all, a place called Storm Coast couldn’t be any different.
Rain has been falling incessantly for the whole day, icy and relentless. At first, the group hasn't mind it that much, too busy dealing with Red Templars and the local fauna to pay attention to the weather. But after three entire hours spent under the freezing water, Varric decides that it’s time to start complaining, using dry humor to forget about the fact that nothing else is dry, but in fact very, very humid and soaked.
After another loud thunder has boomed over their heads, Lavellan turns to look at her friends, threads of hair plastered to her forehead and hands too rigid to hold her daggers any longer; she hears the shivering dwarf cursing at himself for his poor choice of attire; she sees Cole’s hat and the waterfalls that are pouring down from its brim; then she looks at Solas, whose distant eyes and tense stance betray his weariness and uneasiness, and she feels sorry. It’s definitely time to stop for a bit.
She sheathes her weapons and points at the small clearing not far away that she previously spotted from one of the cliffs, shouting over another thunder: “That’s a good place for a camp! We can’t start a fire, but at least we will rest under a tent and some furs.”
"Andraste’s tits, yes.” Varric mutters under his breath; he glances at Cole, who seems to be the least affected, even though his clothes are glued to his tall body and the hat heavy with rain is covering his whole face.
"You okay, kid?"
"Rabbits hiding in their holes, cold and scared by the noise, by the blinding sudden light… The sky is screaming, the sun is crying behind the clouds, the whole world wonders when it will end." the young man mumbles and for a moment Lavellan and the others are not sure whether he’s referring to their current situation or the serious menace threatening all Thedas. Then he concludes, his tone slightly different, more lighthearted, almost surprised: "I can’t feel my feet anymore."
Lavellan smiles. “You will feel them again soon, I promise. Come on, we are almost there!”
It’s a bit difficult to raise their tents without the two scouting soldiers that usually assist them, but they are too far away and for now the group can’t light a fire to signal its new position. Solas tries to summon a flame, like he has done before when their hands started shaking too much, but once again it’s weak, feeble. Faded, Lavellan jokes while tying the last knot of the second tent, and Solas snorts at the innocuous reference to his main interest, despite the freezing droplets running down his neck.
Finally, when both tents are standing and dry cots are laid down inside ready to be used, the group can relax. Before Varric and Cole go rest in their tent, Solas takes clean blankets and furs out of his backpack; they are neatly folded and smell vaguely of elfroot and dirt; a corner of his mouth raises when Lavellan says “thanks, dad!” and his eyes glint with amusement when Cole turns to her with confusion etched on his face.
"But he isn’t your dad. He is your love. Your vhenan.” He looks at Solas and adds: “He called you like that the first time, then you overcame your shyness and returned the words. Fidgeting, a sweet smile always tugging at your lips, beautiful like a bride. He is happy when you call him like that.”
Solas casts his eyes down, clearing his throat, while Lavellan blushes and opens and closes her mouth like the fishes swimming in the stormy sea audible even from here; she babbles something unintelligible, the tips of her ears red, her cheeks regaining some color after the tiring day that left them pale, and Solas is unable to fight and hide his smile.
"I’m sure she already knows that, kid. Let’s leave the two lovebirds alone now." Varric chuckles, a huge bear fur wrapped around his body; it makes him look like a savage warrior dwarf come out straight from the Deep Roads and Cole doesn’t miss the chance of telling him so with his usual innocence and wonder. They go out, running straight into the other tent, Varric’s curses at the weather resonating clearly even in the heavy echo of the rain.
"I, um…" Lavellan plays with the soft wool in her hands, her eyes darting across the little tent, focusing on everything but Solas. The mage approaches her and touches her cheek, humming. She finally raises her gaze to settle it on him, her blush spreading all over her face when she notices Solas’ loving smile.
“Perhaps we should take off our clothes. They are damp and I don’t want you to catch a cold, my heart.”
Lavellan’s eyebrows rise and her timid expression turns surprised, a bit shocked. Solas realizes the meaning of his words has been misinterpreted and laughs softly, pressing his lips on the Inquisitor’s cold forehead.
"Don’t worry, emma lath, there were no sexual undertones in my suggestion. I know we are not alone.” He pulls away to look at her with an impish, amused grin. “Although the Fade is a completely different matter, if you desire so.”
Lavellan snorts, redder than before, and looks down for a few seconds before raising her eyes at him again.
"Silly." she says, squeezing his hand with a tender smile. Then she starts removing her wet coat and the medium armor underneath it; Solas hurries to do the same, laying each piece down on a rock with great care so that the leather and light fabric will dry faster.
Both elves stand naked in front of each other; despite the depth of their relationship and the great number of times they have slept with each other, Lavellan is still quite shy to show her body. She awkwardly drapes an arm over her breasts and tightens her thighs, hiding the small cuts and scars scattered all over her skin, marks caused by the rough dalish life in the wilderness.
She can feel Solas’ stare upon her, but it’s not judgmental nor mocking, it never is. His eyes are always kind, warm, and reassuring when he looks at her, as if he’s worshipping her with his entire being, and she still has to get used to that. It’s not the same awe many feel when they look at her and see the Herald of Andraste; it’s not the same respect she gets as the leader of the Inquisition. It’s something deeper, more meaningful, beautiful. Solas sees past that, past the Anchor and her political status, he looks at her very spirit and she can’t help but flail around and panic, unsure of how to react to such attention.
“Vhenan.” he calls her, his voice barely a whisper, and his surprisingly strong arms are wrapped around her, pressing her against his firm chest. “Don’t hide from me, my heart. You are beautiful.”
"Ah…" Lavellan hides her smile into his shoulder; he is cold and wet, but she doesn’t mind it and presses her lips against his humid skin. "Thank you." she manages to babble in the end and Solas hugs her tighter, stroking her back.
"Come. Let’s lie down and rest a little. Hopefully this rain will end soon."
They rest down on their cot, warmed by the blanket on their feet and the nice sheep wool on their backs; at first Solas moves to hold Lavellan in his arms, like they usually do at night in her room at Skyhold. But she decides to be bold, shyness be damned, and pulls him gently by his wrist, making his head rest on her breast. Her cheeks are on fire, her heart is beating so fast he can undoubtedly hear it without problems, but it’s nice to take the initiative for once. She is not a child and even though she is way younger than Solas and doesn’t possess his same experience and knowledge, she wants to show him better her love for him.
She can feel his smile against her skin, the way his fingers caress her hips, his hot breath tickling her chest, and she holds him closer, caressing his bald head.
"Are you comfortable?" she asks, her voice a timid croaking sound, and Solas chuckles, sending warm shivers all over her back.
"I couldn’t ask for a better pillow." he answers smugly and Lavellan gasps, poking his cheek with her index finger.
"So rude! I’m not a pillow!" but she regrets those words as soon as they leave her mouth. 'So much for not sounding like a child anymore.' she thinks as a rather painful sting hurts her heart. Isn’t that what couple are supposed to do, though? Joking and bantering together like that, with healthy irony and witty lines? She isn’t sure. She saw how flirting, being a couple, was so much different and more complicated in her clan, although she never experienced it.
Solas chuckles again, the sound happy and carefree, so sweet that it makes her head spin and the embarrassment disappear and she knows she did the right thing, that she didn’t annoy him.
"Forgive me, my love, I meant no offense. I know you are not a bedroom article." Solas rubs his cheek against her breast, his smile wider as he adds: "Although not even the most precious velvet pillows in Orlais could match your softness."
Lavellan huffs, wraps her legs around his body and squishes his face against her chest, hoping to hush him and his smooth jokes, even though she would be lying if she said she doesn’t enjoy them.
Solas laughs harder; if the new position surprised him, he didn’t show it, preferring not to comment about her move. Instead, he peppers her breast and chest with small kisses, not heated enough to stir pleasure, but full of fondness all the same. Lavellan strokes his cheek, relaxed by his touches and the warmth that their bodies are starting to emanate. She remembers what Cole said and feels bold for a second time.
She can face demons, wraiths, and corrupted Templars easily, while mustering all her courage to speak with Solas and reply to his sweet endearments is a feat! If the people of Thedas knew that the Inquisitor was an awkward and naïve woman when dealing with love, the rumors and gossip would never end.
'A hard life in the woods with strict rules and control surely didn't help.' she thinks grumpily. 'I hope I am not giving Varric any new ideas for his books…'
Putting those frightening thoughts aside, she clears her throat and calls: “Vhenan?”
"Yes?" Solas’ voice does sound happy, almost moved. There is a hint of something in his tone, though, a sort of bittersweetness that Lavellan can’t grasp.
"You know, all this rain made me think about something that happened in my clan a few years ago." she continues, hoping not too sound too nervous. Usually Solas is the one who tells her stories, who corrects the legends and lore her clan taught her, making her discover new sides of tales that she thought to be true, perfect, unquestionable. Sometimes he narrates things she never heard before, not even from her Keeper, not even from the oldest and wisest members of her clan, widening her horizons.
This time she wants to return the favor; her simple stories may not be as interesting as his, but they could amuse him. She won’t narrate any elven legend, aware of the fact that he knows them way better than she does, and she doesn’t wish to annoy him with the limited, twisted knowledge her clan gave her. She hopes that anecdotes from her past life will be funny and good enough.
So Lavellan looks down at his (quite shiny) head and smiles fondly.
"Do you want to hear it?"
Solas moves slightly to look at her and returns the smile with a nod, before kissing her collarbone and replying: “Of course, my heart. Tell me more.”
With a happy giggle, she starts, describing the faces of her family and friends when thunders in the distance had created weird, terrifying shapes in the forest they had stopped in. At first they feared the whole place was haunted, but when rain had started pouring down and they were safely tucked in their aravels, they all played a game, trying to spot familiarity and known faces in the various forms created by light and shadow.
"I won!" Lavellan says with a little bit of pride and a huge grin that Solas can hear. "I saw a big wolf in the branches of a tree when the next thunder came. The others couldn’t imagine nothing more than claws in the dark and halla!"
Solas lets out a breathy chuckle and Lavellan realizes he is falling asleep, lulled by her voice and the hypnotic noise of the rain outside. She feels content, knowing she could help him relax.
"I used to play that game too…" Solas murmurs, his voice low and distant, almost sad. "When I was younger…"
His breathing becomes steadier, heavier, and Lavellan stops the hand that has been caressing his face the whole time. She keeps it on his cheek, warm and reassuring, letting him know with her presence that she is there for him, that she will be always there for him. There is a great loneliness that often burns in Solas’ eyes and Lavellan wants to chase it away, to see that deep-rooted melancholy disappear from his eyes and stance. Perhaps, next time, she could sing to him? She also heard him mention some frilly cakes in Val Royeaux… Maybe she could try to make one for him?
Lavellan looks down at the elf lightly snoring on her breast and smiles lovingly. Yes, she will ask the cook for help, as soon as they are back at Skyhold.
‘We could eat it together while painting in the rotunda…’
Then she closes her eyes, the tender and romantic scene already forming in her head, every detail perfectly imagined, every gesture and word ready in her mind. She slowly falls asleep and the last thing she sees is Solas’ happy, laughing face dirty with cake and she knows he will find her in the Fade, like he does every night.