Work Text:
The world is alive with colours, emerald leaves glisten in the sun, casting shifting shapes of light as they bend to the will of the wind.
Solas sits under a tree, scrapbook spread across his legs, drawing with a quiet mindfulness, the suns warmth reaching him even in his place in the shadows. His head is calm and clear, utterly in the moment, all but fused with his task.
He doesn’t hear her approach. Doesn't hear her soft, bare-footed steps on the wild grass. But eventually, he does feel her arms slip around his shoulders, does smell the sweet mix of spices and spring flowers and smiles when she nestles her face against his.
He lays his pencil down and leans deeper into her touch. In moments like these, he can alow himself to simply enjoy her company. He can allow himself to simply be.
"Crystal grace," she whispers as she peaks over his shoulder at his drawing and it's inspiration "I've never seen one this shapely, " she adds and presses a soft kiss on his cheek.
He hums softly.
"Yes. It caught my eye as I passed it and ..." he pauses.
How could he possibly explain what he had felt? This world had lately taken on the disquieting habit of hitting him with it's beauty. Of showing him that, even though it was wrong, even though it was but the result of a desperate mistake, there were still wonders to be found, that there was still life. And that once again, he would cause it to fall. It reminded of all he had lost, and made him grieve for what he would sacrifice in his attempt to reclaim but a part of it.
"Every living thing is unique," he starts, "there will never be a flower exactly like this one in all of history," he says and she shifts to meet his eyes. It hurts to look into those hazel orbs, but it will never be enough to keep him away.
"I ... I felt that I had to preserve it, to commit it to some form of memory, even if my feeble attempts at capturing its essence could never hope to do it justice." Once again, he was telling her too much, showing her a part of him she would never understand. And yet, he wanted, needed to say it. He would never forget her. And he would always love her, forever, for the unique person she was.
She tilts her head and her smile carries more meaning than her words.
"Well, I do think you give yourself too little credit," she says and her eyes burry into his, searching for a truth she could never hope to find, "but you do realise that you could always just cut it down and press it?"
He winces slightly at that suggestion.
"I... I did not want to hurt it." No he never wanted to. He never wanted to hurt any of them. And yet he would. There was a sorrow in his voice now, that he couldn't mask ... He had never been able to hide his feelings from her, had he?
"You're not just talking about the flower, are you?" she asks, but it's not a question. Concern and understanding are reflected so clearly in her features, but it's misplaced. Their journeys are dangerous, they live knowing that every day could be their last. That one single, simple mistake could end it all.
Suddenly there is a lump in his throat as the realisation hits him again, that this will never last, that, no matter his actions, she will leave the earth, that her time will eventually run out.
"I suppose the concept ... applies to all living things, " he evades and feels another pang of guilt. It wasn't always like this. It won't stay this way. It can't.
Her smile turns gentle.
"Preserving spirits," she whispers, "you're like the Fade."
That earns her a soft chuckle.
"I suppose I am."
She had no idea just how true that was.
She shifts again, laying her head on his shoulder as he rests his head against hers.
"I think you should draw our people too. I might get most of the glory and well, pretty much all of the hate, but the Inquisition is not a single person. If I want anything to be remembered, it's that I didn't do any of this alone."
He simply nods as words fail him. The look in her eyes tears at his soul, but her tone is as playful as ever.
"That should never be forgotten. You know, in case I fuck up."
He huffs." I would not worry about that. After all, that world would likely be preoccupied with more pressing concerns."
She laughs and he drinks in the sound.
"You really know how to cheer me up, don't you?" she teases.
He smirks, and her dimples deepen, but there is a strange intensity to her expression.
"But if I, if we, suceed, people also have to know... they have to remember that I was an elf. If anyone tries to rounden my ears, I'll..." her voice wavers. Whatever punchline she had planned gets swallowed by tears.
Solas doesn't hesitate, he discards his scrapbook in one flowing motion and pulls her closer. She sinks into him. He can feel her heart beat against him, feel her chest heave and sink in shudders.
"Ir abelas," she whispers against his throat and he bites down his own pain.
"There is nothing to apologise for," he breathes against her and she falls apart. Tears flow free, and for a moment, he simply holds her, clinging to the only string that still holds him together, his wish to offer her comfort.
But doesn't take long for her to steady herself. She runs a hand through her hair and draws in a shaky breath. "I... I just don't want history to repeat." She shakes her head and starts to gesture. "All this ... all this power... and I can still do so little for the elves, for my people. If they forget... if they..." a curtain of water dwells again, threatening to spill.
Solas tightens his grip.
"I will not let that happen," he states with such conviction that she looks up at him with amused confusion. He offers her a reassuring smile. "I will ensure that your true spirit, your true nature will be remembered, and not whatever history would prefer to project on you. Your sacrifices, your bravery, your kindness, your whit... " he reaches out to caress her face and she leans into him.
"My indomitable focus?" she offers teasingly.
"Certainly."
She chuckles softly.
It must seem a strange promise to her, unopholdable. Words that offered little more than comfort. But he means it. He will carry her memory into the new age, into the true world. He will remember her, always.
She smirks, soft dimples forming on her cheeks.
"So in other words, you want to capture the uncensored, unhinged truth, huh? Solas, if you want to draw me naked, you have but to ask."
He laughs. She leans closer, angles her head, and kisses him. Softly at first but it doesn't take long before it deepens, as she draws his lips apart with her tongue. And then she is suddenly on his lap, her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, his hands trailing up and down her back.
She breaks away long enough to whisper "you do realise that I wasn't kidding, right?" and then reclaims his mouth. A bolt of want runs through him at the suggestion. A desire he can never allow himself. But he looses himself in this moment, in her embrace. How ironic, he thinks, to seek her comfort, but even that thought melts away in the all-consuming, freeing, heat.