depending on the story

Without a thought, he surges up, out of the water, and puts out a hand. "Allow me —"

"Pah," she scoffs, allowing it. She offers her arm to him, and his nimble fingers set to work despite being sopping wet. "Sand, it... it has jammed the buckle."

"Or rust, from how you've sweated under the sun," Solas murmurs.

She groans, frustrated, and squints up at the sky. The skin over the sharp angles of her face, drawn with discomfort and weariness, has deepened to a rich tan. Her cheeks and nose are reddened, perhaps burnt, and sand has indeed worked its way into every crevice, every fold, every chink of her armour. As each piece of it falls away under Solas's hands, she seems to grow lighter.

Finally, the breastplate comes loose when Solas unbuckles it beneath her arm — he helps her shrug free of it. She rocks back, as if the loss of its weight is equal to being struck, and looks longingly at the water.

"Come in," Solas says softly, "you are weary, Seeker. Rest."

She gazes at the pool, something inscrutable in her expression. She looks across to where the Inquisitor lounges alongside Iron Bull, both men's bodies utterly bare to the world, then to Solas, who wears only smallclothes.

"Turn around," she rasps, and he immediately obeys.

He slips back into the water, facing resolutely forward. He focuses his gaze on a particularly fascinating lily, taking the time to count its petals and its floating leaves. He does not listen to the soft sound of Cassandra's clothes on her skin, or the sound of those clothes hitting sand. He does not listen to the murmur of water around her body as she comes into the pool.

"Alright," Cassandra says, and Solas allows himself to look.

He draws near to her, and she seems happy for the company. She has sunk deep into the water, her body but a tan shape under the surface. The murk hides her powerful form, the deceptively soft curve of her hip, the strength of her thighs —

"This almost makes the trip worth it," she sighs, eyes blissfully closed. "Has water always felt this good?"

His shoulder touches hers. She drifts closer, as if glad for the contact.

"Perhaps," Solas muses, "or it could be that the relief of our ended suffering has deceived us."

Cassandra dips her face beneath the surface, then submerges completely. She comes back up and smooths back her hair, eyes closed — her breasts rise in the water with her raised arms, giving a brief glimpse of dark tips. Solas glances away.