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Cassandra silently watched the hypnotic dance of Solas' long fingers as they hovered up and down her arms, projecting cold, soothing magic onto her skin. With swift but calculated movements, Solas healed her raw, vulnerable skin before the cold of the mountain stung her wounds.
Without her armour and wearing an oversized nightgown reaching her knees, she lay in bed with her head leaning against the wooden wall of the healer's hut. Her chest heaved up and down as she took one deep breath after another to keep her racing heart from slamming into her ribs.
His smell of leather and ozone tickled her nose, inviting her to move closer, to reach out and capture his hands in hers. To kiss his fingers and the scars on his skin as a silent, desperate apology. He had acquired those scars fighting for her cause. For the Inquisition's cause.
She tried to dispel the silly thoughts buzzing through her head. This is neither the first nor the last time Solas will heal my wounds. He is a good man and I am his patient, like the many others who have passed through these doors.
No matter who opened the door to the healer's hut, from the people of the Inquisition to their enemies who desperately needed a gentle touch to take care of them before the Inquisitor judged their worth, Solas greeted them with a small smile and soft hands to drive away the pain.
His hands.
Hands she could not stop staring at.
Solas' long, slender fingers cast healing magic with breathtaking ease. Tendrils of blue magic sparkled in the air, channelled by him from the benevolent spirits who wanted to help. At least, that was what Solas had told her.
To Cassandra, his hands were the solid, tangible embodiment of kindness. Of quiet acceptance and love given without obligation.
The many mages of the Inquisition showered Solas with compliments about his ability to heal the wounds cutting into the flesh, the ease with which he restored the breath of life to the hopeless who laid in his arms. But for Cassandra, it was not his magical abilities that drove the annoying heat to her cheeks.
No. It was his kindness. His gentle touch against the burning, crawling pain left by the weapon of a ruthless enemy. When his hands wrapped around the weak points of her body, she was not ashamed of her inability to protect herself and those who counted on her, but found release from the pain.
Under his touch, all the walls she had built around her heart slowly transformed into a garden of colourful emotions. From relief to comfort and acceptance, all pulsed pleasantly as his hands reached the blinding pain.
A transformation Cassandra struggled to accept until the day Solas' lips gently lingered on hers. A touch as gentle as the breeze ruffling her hair in the afternoon, but strong enough to shatter the doubts that plagued her mind.
"Vhenan," he whispered, and Cassandra knew he tried his best not to startle her. "Where did you go?"
"What?" she straightened up to give him the full attention he deserved. People had a habit of ignoring Solas' words, and that behaviour had hurt him. Even though he never complained, she saw it every day in the way he slumped his shoulders when someone turned their back on him while he spoke.
She wished not to hurt him so.
He chuckled and the heat covering her cheeks spread down to her neck. "I asked if you were in pain, but I believe my words did not reach you. Is something the matter?"
"No, I was lost in thought, nothing more." She stared up at the ceiling beams. There, she noted, no cobwebs trembled in the air. Not a speck of dust shone in the afternoon light. Nothing escaped Solas's meticulousness. "Your healing magic soothes my pain and my worries. It lulls me to sleep."
He hummed. The deep, melodious hum was for her ears alone. "That is well"
Silence descended upon them. A silence in which Cassandra basked. With others, she had always had trouble tolerating the stillness. But not with Solas. With him, the quietude grew into acceptance and calm.
Still, Solas liked to talk, and the manner in which he pressed his lips into a thin line spoke of a thought bothering him.
"You are awfully quiet, yourself," Cassandra broke the silence. "Is something troubling you?"
His hands paused for a second above her left elbow to heal the scraped skin with spectacular ease, "I— no."
He pinched the newly grown skin and Cassandra giggled at his touch. "Truly?"
The way his exhale staggered and the crease of his nose hinted to Cassandra that he was trying to hide his true feelings from her. If there was one thing she had learned during their time together, it was to give him time to make peace with the nagging thoughts.
And so she waited.
This time it did not take long.
"I– I am aware I should not lecture you, a powerful warrior, on how to defend yourself," he began, rising from his chair beside her bed and walking to the table that took up half the room. Bandages, vials and bottles of multi-coloured tinctures waited on top of it for Solas to use them in a way only he understood.
"But…?"
With his back to her, Cassandra saw the muscles in his slender back tense as if readying himself for a blow. "I cannot help but worry about you."
"Worry about me? And why is that? As you said, I am an experienced warrior and I know how to take care of myself."
"I am aware of that.” He turned to her again, face touched by a grimace of guilt. His fingers clutched two vials of maroon liquid, and Cassandra wondered how the transparent glass did not break under his grip. "A woman who has defeated dragons with her strength and pure determination does not need me, a weak apostate to worry about her. And yet..."
"Yes?"
The bedsprings groaned in protest when Solas sat down beside her, his hip touching her leg. The warmth of his body pressed pleasantly against her skin, and for a second all she wished for was to snuggle into his arms. She shook her head gently to clear that image from her mind, for it was not the right moment to think of such pleasures.
Damned be Varric and his romantic books.
"I cannot help it but worry for your safety each time you set foot outside this castle," he said in a rush, as if the words threatened to scratch his throat. "With every day you spend trekking in search of salvation, with every wound marking your skin, I tremble with worry. As if I were but a weak-hearted fool who does not know the strength contained in your muscles."
Cassandra opened her mouth to speak, but her lips moved without any sound. Solas' words of concern and distress had brought her thoughts to a halt, for the man had never shown his concern for her welfare until then. Not so directly and bluntly, with every emotion reflected in his features.
"Solas, I..."
His hand rose between them, a wall to stop her words. "I am aware my concern is in vain and you have no need for me to fuss over you. You understand your body and your mind better than I do."
"Why are you worried about me?"
Solas popped the cork of one of the vials containing the healing potions. His answer lingered stubbornly between his parted lips.
"Well?" she persisted with half a breath.
Solas closed his eyes and avoided her searching gaze. The vials trembled in his hands, but before she could voice her concern about the contents, he spoke again, his eyes still closed. "Why should I not be, when you risk your life every day to defend the Inquisitor and the rest of our group?" His voice trembled in unison with his hands and a knot grew in Cassandra's throat at this sincere display of emotion. "When I know you'll take the fall to defend them, even if it means you will endure blow after blow without complaining even once?"
For months, Cassandra's feelings for Solas have grown at an alarming rate. A gentle infatuation had turned into a burning love. A love she had never dared confess to Solas. For even though he gladly returned her kisses, she could not be sure if their connection was just a fleeting adventure or something more.
She dared not hope, not even then, when his hands begged to be held and comforted. She had to be sure before she allowed the words growing in her heart to unfold.
"But I have done that for so many years," she began, testing the waters. “I have learned to live with it."
"I understand." He nodded, daring to look at her again, the grey of his eyes suffused with an emotion she had dreamed of seeing on his face. "And you do it with so much grace I can not help but feel impressed and fascinated by your strength. But still, it is unfair you have to bear these blows every day."
With a nod, Solas offered her the vials to drink from. She took the medicine without complaint and braced herself for the awful, bitter taste to take her breath away. But instead of bitterness a sweet, honey-like aroma enveloped the inside of her cheeks.
He had sweetened it just for her. Even though she had never complained, he understood her struggles without her saying a word.
"Un— unfair?" She stumbled over the word and tried to keep her head into the conversation. "But it is my duty to do so. That is why I have trained for so many years."
"That is why you still train daily, until your fingers crack from the exertion." As if to punctuate his words, he took the vials from her hand, his fingertips lingering on the blisters and corns covering her skin. "And yet, my heart aches with every cut and scrape I have to heal."
Casaandra snorted. "It should not, or you would go into shock every few minutes."
With a laboured grunt he rose from the bed and approached the table again where he lingered, as if fearing the direction of their conversation. "I have told my heart many times to stop being so utterly foolish but it will not listen."
Seeing Solas, seeing a man fretting over such worries, gave her more pleasure than she had imagined. Yet, she needed to understand why, to be certain it was not her overly romantic imagination playing tricks on her. "I wonder why?"
"Because it's concerned for your fate and safety," he whispered with his head bowed, like a defeated man bowing to the truth. "Because the thought of losing you would..."
"Solas....."
"I know." He laughed, a laugh covered in so much bitterness it stunned her. "I am foolish to fear for your safety, and I apologise for doubting your ability to care for yourself."
"I am glad you do. Fear for my safety, that is."
"You– you do?"
The speed with which he spun on the soles of his feet to look back at her brought a tickle of amusement in her throat. Amusement and honour, for it was a rare sight to see Solas not measuring his every gesture and word.
"Yes." She nodded, convinced he deserved to know the truth. To truly understand what she had done to grow into the warrior he so admired. "For years I struggled to build this persona of a steadfast warrior, and while I am glad I succeeded, I wish people understood that I am not just that... Just a…”
Her words trembled in the air, like leaves touched by the cold realisation of an unpleasant reality. A lifetime lived under the banner of a proud warrior who needs no warmth has left scars on her soul as deep as those that crossed her arms.
In two long strides, Solas broke the distance between them. His hands wrapped around hers and squeezed with a gentleness that took her breath away.
"Not an unbreakable, cold shield. Standing tall without wavering. Without craving for warmth, love, and a shoulder to lean on."
How wonderful his mind was, understanding her heart without words to explain the pain brewing there.
"Yes."
"Foolish, all of them." He kissed her knuckles with slow, lingering movements. "The ones who see you thus. The idiots who fail to look behind your armour to see how delicate your soul is, longing for love."
"Do you not think that wish is pathetic?"
The question came in a whisper, for she feared there might be a misunderstanding between them.
"Pathetic?" He froze with his lips on her fingers. "How can searching for a soul that understands you be pathetic?"
The pure confusion colouring his voice pushed her to continue speaking. For the first time in years, the words bubbled from her heart. The dam that held her frustration and bitterness at bay was torn to shreds by Solas unwavering desire to understand her.
"I— I have sought understanding all my life, Solas, and I have barely found it. To most, I am nothing without my armour."
"Then the majority of the world is blind and undeserving of your love."
"Solas, do you..." She squeezed his fingers back, barely able to suppress the fear gathering in her throat. The question lingered there, waiting to be understood.
"Perhaps the world is blind, but I am not, my vhenan." He cupped her cheek with one hand, the soothing healing energy spreading across her skin as his thumb brushed a bruise. She whimpered and pressed her cheek against his hand, eyes closing in relief. "I see the beauty and the gentleness of your soul. I see how much you long for a hand to hold you."
"Thank you, Solas," she whispered, unable to find other words. Intelligent, romantic words, like those in the books she had devoured over the years. How easily the heroine expressed her love in rhyme and song.
And how tongue-tied she was at that moment, while Solas' breath tickled her nose.
"Cassandra," he said, and she opened her eyes to look at him, to lose herself in the sea of love that rushed into his eyes. With a smile, he caressed the curve of her neck and pulled her closer. Her breath shortened in anticipation of the kiss, and a smile spread across her lips as Solas leaned forward.
When he kissed her, so gently and tenderly, with his hand curling around the back of her neck, Cassandra understood.