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It was warm inside the tent, the heat of two bodies pushing away all the crisp notes in the air, erasing them. If it had been two who had a long history of intimacy, perhaps there would not also be that awkward aura, the slightest space between them that threatened to let tendrils of cold back in. It almost made Maiwe laugh, had she not been afraid. What if she coughed during the night and disturbed him? What if he discovered her company was unbearable, and left before the night was even through?
It made sense to share a tent. It was less for the forces to carry, less space to be taken up. Campsites were not always large enough to fit them all. It meant someone else could sleep beneath the relative shelter of canvas, rather than wedging their bedroll underneath a rock and hoping it did not grow too windy. That it was logical did not mean that people did not whisper, looking askance at her as she slipped inside, followed by Solas. It also did not mean she was immune to the greedy hands of anxiety squeezing her stomach repeatedly. Maiwe wanted so badly for him not to see her many flaws, large as they were, but there was no doubt that being so close meant that he would find them, sooner rather than later.
Her back was to him, if only to avoid Solas seeing her blush. Maiwe had never been one to blush in any way that could be called pretty- she became blotchy, and then alarmingly red, like rouge had been splattered on her pale skin. So little of what she did could be considered feminine or delicate. It usually did not bother her, but she was not usually sharing a tent with someone she strongly suspected she loved. Love had not been in her plans at all, but she had been unable to push Solas away, or keep the distance she wanted between them. His knowledge and wit had charmed her as no one else had managed before.
One of her hands reached up, fumbling to pull the pins out of her hair, to release the tension that held it all in place. That would go a long way towards making her feel more comfortable.
“Please, allow me.” She had almost forgotten Solas was there. Turning, Maiwe gave him the smallest smile.
“It’s going to be a tangled mess, but if you insist.” Her brush was nearby; Solas took that too, a look of concentration on his face.
“I will find it relaxing. It has been too long since I have had hair of my own to care for.” He chuckled at that, a low rumble, and Maiwe laughed as well. She could not picture him with hair, though he must have had it at some point. It would just seem strange now, his baldness as much of a part of him as his walk, his facial expressions.
With utmost care, Solas removed the first pin, the one Maiwe had struggled to reach. Though his touch was gentle, she shivered, feeling it far more deeply than she should have.
“Vhenan, did I hurt you?” His hands stilled, concerned. She could not see his face, but she knew its expressions well enough, the slight downturn of his mouth, the way his eyes widened.
“No, it’s just… I have not had someone play with my hair for many years.” Not since she was a child, in proof. Her other relationships had not been this intimate, this close. He touched a part of her that was so vulnerable, but he was so exceedingly slow and kind.
Where was he putting the pins? Though she extended one hand backward, Solas placed nothing in her palm. She could not even hear them drop. It was vexing, but she would not turn to see. She enjoyed the relief of them being pulled out far too much, each individual pin releasing its hold, letting her hair relax somewhat, until it fell in a long braid down her back. Layers upon layers of practicality- she had scarcely seen her own hair unbound for months now, with the exception of bathing. It had once been something she had taken pride in, a part of her body that seemed functional. Now, it was an inconvenience, but she retained some vanity. She could not bring herself to cut it off.
If Maiwe had turned around, she would have seen how the smile one Solas’ face broadened, his eyes heavy-lidded in contentment. He kept each pin, tucking it away in his pack as he did so. With every pin he hid, there was something devious to his expression, though it returned quickly to that smile, a pure happiness in such a simple activity.
With Maiwe’s hair unbound, he ran his fingers through it, careful of where it had knotted. The light was growing dim, but they had a lantern with them. It picked up the mass of gold, added red to it that made it seem more like the metal than anything else, as if it should warm as it flowed over his hands.
The brush in hand, he carefully untangled one subsection at a time, holding so that he did not tug at her roots. He noticed that she still shivered when his skin brushed against hers, particularly at the nape of her neck. He delighted in the spark that leapt between them, at the response that something so simple could provoke in her.
He held its weight once more, before tucking a strand behind Maiwe’s ears. Sensing that he was done, she turned to face him. “What have you done with my pins? I’m going to need to re-braid it for tomorrow.” Her anger was entirely in jest; in truth, the activity had made her sleepy, even with the way her stomach twisted. If Solas had wanted to go on all evening, she would not have objected.
“That is tomorrow. Tonight, I would prefer that you leave it down.” He leaned forward, face a fraction of an inch from her own. One hand reached up to her hair again, curling it around one long finger even as his lips reached to touch hers, even as his other hand cradled her face, on thumb slowly rubbing her cheekbone. How could she object to that?