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Lavellan cast one last careful look around the campsite—at the banked fire, the tents of her companions, the protective runes glowing softly against the dark—and nodded to herself. Another day’s long hard work was at an end, and all was in order. She indulged in a full body stretch, her arms reaching for the heavens, then sighed and turned towards her own tent. It was time to rest, her body was clearly signaling to her, and she was too prudent to ignore it.
The sight that greeted her when she entered the tent was both dear and familiar: Solas, already lying on their shared bedroll, looking cozy and peaceful. With his hands clasped over his belly and his closed eyes he looked like the very picture of serene repose, yet when he felt her gaze on him he opened his eyes easily enough.
“Ready for bed?” he asked with a smile.
“More than ready.” Lavellan pulled off the tie holding her ponytail and shook her hair free, then started on her armor. “I’m beat.”
Solas sat up as he watched her undress, appreciative even though her movements were swift and practical. He was observant too; when Lavellan winced taking off her leather bracers Solas noticed, and frowned at her in worry.
“Is your shoulder still bothering you?”
“No more than usual,” she said with another sigh, though her hand had automatically gone to her nape to knead the flesh there. She had to give it time for it to heal properly, she knew, but that meant staying out of the fighting… and she wasn’t about to do that anytime soon.
As if he’d just read her thoughts, Solas hummed in disapproval and wordlessly gestured to the space in front of him. Lavellan laughed at his mock severity but decided to acquiesce without any teasing comments—other than knowing smirk. She shimmied out of her pants and sat down between his legs, feeling his comforting warmth against her back.
The first touch of healing magic was an instant relief, seeping cool and soothing into her abused muscles. Lavellan exhaled and let her eyes close, bowing her head slightly to allow him better access. Solas followed her cue and dug his skilled, strong fingers deep, his massage diligent and thorough.
Time passed gently for a while, the world around them silent except for Lavellan’s pleased sighs. Solas continued his meticulous work unhurriedly, sweeping her hair to the side to reach that specific spot at the very top of her spine, the one he knew was her weakness.
“Your hair is getting longer,” he murmured.
“Oh, don’t remind me.” Lavellan’s sigh was aggrieved this time, annoyed with herself. “I should really get it cut one of these days.”
“Must you?”
That caused a raised eyebrow. Lavellan turned around just enough to shoot him a teasing glance over her shoulder. “Are you expressing a preference?”
“It is your own choice of course,” Solas said smoothly, if a little rushed. “And nothing in the world could possibly diminish your beauty in my eyes.”
“But?”
“But…” Here his own smile turned wolfish, his eyes flashing with mischievousness. He leaned forward to press a kiss at the vulnerable place behind her ear, his lips soft and plush. “But I do enjoy the sight of your long tresses tumbling down your naked back, I must confess.”
“Smooth-talker,” Lavellan laughed, flushing with delight. Despite her flirty protests his flattery always affected her, making warmth spread over her cheeks and through her veins.
Solas started to play a slightly different game now. He ran his fingers through her hair, combing it from the base of her skull to the very tips, the motion steady and hypnotic. Lavellan hummed deep in her throat, the gentle tugs against her scalp a surprisingly enjoyable sensation. She’d never had the chance to experience this particular intimacy, her time too pragmatically and sensibly spent for the option to occur to her. Who knew it would be such a luxurious feeling, to be pampered like this?
Solas continued undeterred, working dutifully until her hair flowed as smooth as silk through his hands, then parted it and begun to braid it. Another pleasant surprise! His movements were confident and sure, revealing his familiarity and expertise with the act. He built up an intricate pattern, weaving and looping the strands with impressive speed, though his work was still decidedly delicate. The only thing interrupting his process were the fleeting kisses he bestowed upon her neck, the sweet unthinking gestures of his affection.
All of Lavellan’s tension melted away under his ministrations. This whole situation reminded her of all the baths they’d shared, steam and scent suffusing the air as Solas would wash her hair with equally attentive care, and the memory woke something entirely different in her. She pressed her back against his chest, clothed but still warm, his body broad and all-encompassing around her slighter one as she nestled between his open legs. She rested her palm on his knee, rubbing her thumb along its side, then coy dragged her fingers up his thigh.
But to her slightly incredulous amusement, Solas failed to pick up on her hints. Lavellan moved her head slightly—taking care not to jostle his work—to catch his expression. He was frowning in concentration, his gaze focused and intent. When he caught her staring he gave her a chiding look, so she turned back around with a laugh.
“Sorry,” she teased, “I should have known better than to bother the master artist at his work.”
Solas’s next kiss had a hint of bite to it, his smile obvious against her skin. “Anything worth doing should be done properly.” He pulled back and gave a soft sigh, his fingers still working tirelessly. “The ancient Elvhen used to wear their hair like this often,” he added, his voice now quiet and calm. Dreamlike, as if the words came out without his conscious decision. "They'd grow it out over the centuries, some letting it reach lengths unseen of in this age, then toil over it for uncounted hours just to craft the most perfectly intricate braid. It was an artform in its own right, ephemeral but beautiful, using one's own body as the canvas."
Lavellan felt herself responding to his tone, curiosity stirring inside her despite everything. "Did they truly? That doesn't sound very practical for daily life."
Solas huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against her skin. "Has fashion ever been practical?"
"Fair point," she conceded with a smile. She pressed back closer to his chest, her hand now back on its innocent perch on top his knee. "I would have loved to see that," she admitted with genuine remorse, her mood turning bittersweet as it ever did when the painful topic of their common elven past came up.
The conversation died out, but the silence in the tent was still harmoniously comfortable. It only took Solas a few more minutes to finish his work, then with an elegant sweep of his fingers he summoned a shimmering strand of magic and tied off the braid.
"There," he said with quiet satisfaction. "All done."
Lavellan felt affection swell inside her heart. "Thank you, ma vhenan."
"It's a little shorter than intended," Solas started apologetically, but Lavellan wouldn't let him finish.
"It's perfect," she insisted, running her palm over the braid to feel the complicated pattern. "And where exactly did you learn how to do this?" she asked with smirk. "Practicing on an old flame, perhaps?"
Solas's eyes twinkled with mischief, mirroring her own. "I hardly had need to involve another person," he said, neatly sidestepping her gentle probing. "I practiced on my own self."
"What?" Lavellan spun around so sharply she almost bonked Solas on his nose, practically vibrating with giddiness. "You used to have long hair?"
"I—that is—" Solas floundered, clearly shocked by her sudden exuberance as he blinked wide-eyed at her, "...yes?"
"Solas!" Lavellan laughed with delight, feeling her grin stretch wide over her cheeks. "That's amazing! I can't even imagine it."
"It was hardly a sight worth mentioning, I assure you." Solas had already schooled his features into a calmer configuration, though his usual composure was marred by his raised shoulders. "Simply another… regrettable choice of my younger self."
"I very much doubt that," Lavellan huffed. "I wish I could have seen you like that—oh! Wait, maybe you could show me?"
There was definite alarm in Solas's eyes. "Pardon?"
"You can do so in the Fade, right? I've seen you manipulate our surroundings when we share a dream, changing the landscapes into whatever suits your fancy. Can't you do the same with your own form?"
"I can," Solas admitted slowly, a small frown forming on his forehead, "but I don't think it would be a good idea."
Lavellan smiled fondly and kissed his cheek, then the side of his neck. "Don't worry, I promise I'll still like your bald look." She pressed small kisses to his shoulder, her arms coming behind his back as she nuzzled him, and gave him a playfully pleading look under her lashes. "Please, my love, won't you let me see you?"
But Solas was tense in her embrace, carefully still instead of instinctively hugging her back as he was wont to do. Lavellan pulled back, suddenly worried. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so pushy. We can forget this—”
“No,” Solas interrupted, though he still looked vaguely unhappy. “No, it’s alright, I was simply…” He sighed and shook his head, then looked up with a determined expression. “It was an overabundance of caution on my part, that is all. There’s no reason not to do as you asked.” His smile returned, his eyes crinkling at the corners “I would love to show you, my heart.”
Relieved, Lavellan gave him a small kiss of gratitude and followed his lead as they both lay down. In no time at all they were ready, Solas on his back and Lavellan curled snugly by his side, her head resting over his chest. With a graceful wave of his hand Solas magically unraveled her braid, and started half-combing half-stroking her hair with lazy, calming motions. Lavellan let the comfort wash over her, sighing in satisfaction, and before she even noticed it she had slipped effortlessly into sleep.
When she opened her eyes the Fade swirled all around her, raw and unformed. This was a slight surprise—Solas usually had a dreamscape ready by the time she joined him, beautiful enchanting vistas that shone just a bit more brightly, more vibrantly, than they ever could in real life. But now the only concrete thing was her own body, looking oddly out of place as she walked through the cloudy, neutral space.
“Solas?” she called out, her voice echoing.
Over here, came his answer, curling insidiously inside her mind.
It was a gentle compulsion that guided her feet, an inviting hand leading a dance. Lavellan allowed herself to be swept into steps that came from a mind other than her own, secure in her trust. The light changed around her as she walked, turning softer, warmer. Welcoming.
Eventually, following that particular lack of logic that came with dreams, her surroundings turned into a room. She still couldn’t see many details—her mind shied away when she tried to focus on the dimensions on the place, the furniture around her more of an impression than a shape—but the focal point was obvious: a plush floor cushion, at the very center of the room, and on top of it Solas.
Lavellan couldn’t help but gasp at the sight. He was sitting there cross-legged, his posture relaxed and casual, the airy, silky robe he was wearing glimmering with blue embroidery and open at the collarbone. He looked utterly at ease, calm and somehow more well-rested than she’d ever seen him, with none of the weight that seemed to press down at him at all times—even when he was with her. As if this was exactly the place he was meant to be, and had no plans or desire to leave.
But of course that wasn’t what had caught her interest. Solas’ hair was darker than she’d imagined, and longer than she’d expected, flowing down his back almost to the waist. There were simple braids starting at his temples, neatly symmetrical and tied back in a loose ponytail. No intricate pattern here, but still. The care given was obvious, and she imagined him sitting just as casually in front of a mirror, idly working his fingers through his own hair as his mind traveled over who-knew-what thoughts.
Lavellan grinned, love and delight unfurling in her chest. “You look beautiful.”
Solas gave a soft laugh in return, his cheeks reddening as his eyes twinkled. “Thank you, ma vhenan. I’m glad you approve.”
He extended a hand towards her, palm up, and she didn’t need further encouragement. Lavellan went to him and slid on his lap, curling sideways with her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his knee, and immediately touched his hair. It was smooth against her fingers, shimmering with health. Better than my own, she thought with a ruefully amused huff.
“I see you know how to properly take care of hair,” she couldn’t help but tease him. “You must have spent a lot of time on this.”
“I indulged in vanity, in my youth,” Solas said, his smile obvious as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “One of my many previous foibles. You wouldn’t have liked me back then.”
Lavellan gave a playful hum of doubt, but didn’t press the issue. She started to absentmindedly braid his hair, not with any particular plan in mind but just toying with the strands, twining and untwining them over and over again. The act was almost meditative, in its own dreamlike way, and she felt her brain become untethered, caught in that amorphous state between sleep and wakefulness.
“Why did you decide to shave it all off?” she asked in a quiet, sleepy murmur.
Some of the tension returned to Solas’ body, his fingers tightening where they rested on her waist. He remained silent for a long while, long enough that Lavellan assumed he wouldn’t answer her, but eventually he shifted slightly, clearing his throat.
“It was an act of rebellion,” he finally said, voice hoarse, “and of mourning.”
“Oh, my love.” Lavellan kissed his neck tenderly, finding his free hand to hold. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he said, awfully quiet, and touched his forehead to hers.
She hugged him properly, rubbing his back in slow circles. There was no real solution to a grief like this, she knew, so she tried to lend him her strength as well as she could, to imbue him with her love. I’m here, she thought, and knew he heard her.
When Solas broke the silence once more he sounded less mournful, though just as contemplative. “Do you think we can change our nature?”
It was Lavellan’s turn to take her time answering, weighing the question in her mind. “Why would we want to change it, if it’s our own nature?”
That earned her a huff that could almost be called a chuckle, Solas’ exhale soft against her temple. “A dissatisfaction with it, I suppose. Regret over the person you’ve ended up becoming.”
Oh. Lavellan swallowed down her sorrow, her heart breaking at what he’d just implied. She run her thumb over his knuckles, and chose her words with care. “Even if we can’t change, I think we can improve ourselves. Change our thoughts and actions, and through that make the world a better place, as much as we can. Isn’t that more important, in the end?”
Solas suddenly gave a full-body shudder, holding her tight as if she were his only lifeline. “Yes,” he whispered.
There was nothing more to be said, so they both stayed entangled, listening to each other’s heartbeats as the Fade gently breathed around them. Time stopped making sense, slipping through Lavellan’s fingers as it always did in this place. She didn’t mind, focusing instead on Solas—his warmth beneath her, his stuttering breaths that gradually slowed—until she fell into that particular, strange slumber of dreams.
The next thing she was conscious of was the soft sunlight filtering in through the tent canvas, the distant chirps of birds a sure sign of the morning’s arrival. She blinked her eyes open, unconsciously nuzzling Solas’ shoulder. He was still lying on his back, breathing so calmly she almost thought he was still asleep, but his eyes were open. He was gazing sightlessly upwards, his expression distant, pensive. A million miles away.
But when he noticed her stare he smiled at her, the same warm, loving smile he always gave her. It was the true kind, she knew this in her bones, and whatever melancholy still lingered in his eyes dissipated, like the last traces of darkness chased away by the dawn.
He leaned towards her for a kiss, and she, of course, accepted it.