#beau writeley

Day 10 - Surprise Kisses

Pairing - Pre Crestwood Solavellan

—————

Solas’ confession on the balcony—the one that he had tried so hard to keep to himself— seemed to have opened the floodgates for Lavellan.

He had not known there to be such a thing within her. He had assumed that her measured and cautious approach to the early stirrings of their relationship was going to be the norm.

This was not the case.

She would find him, always, steadfast and confident. He would look at her, curious of her sudden invasive closeness as she looked back at him. Then she would lean up, just so, kiss him softly and go.

And everytime she was gone before he could even think to respond.

Sometimes these slowly stolen kisses happened mid-sentence— her approach leading him to trail off from his articulated point before she would shift to take what she came for. A few times she would take his lips with hers mid-word and she always seemed to savor his broken syllables with her tongue.

There was something incredibly tender about how she kissed him. As if she were grateful for being given the opportunity. Her unspoken reverence subdued him in a way he had never been with anyone before. No demands for a great and overheated passion. No expectations for bedding a mischievous deviant God.

It was lovely and assuring. It filled him from head to toe in one thrilling rush. The plush pressure of her lips aligned with his, a small moment cherished together. Unscheduled, unexpected, unassuming.

Her warm breath, her closeness. Cupped hands and gentle fingers.

Her love, Void take him, there was so much of it. It came pouring out of her with every shared caress, like a pledge. Like a promise. Solas felt almost stupid for never seeing it before.

He found that he loved them— her little kisses.

Was tagged by @nug-juggler. Thank you lovely!

I’m gonna tag @ellstersmash and @neroli9 whomst I love and respect and want more writing from always.

This bit is from Where Does The Good Go, a Solavellan Modern AU I am currently working on. Basically what you need to know is that Solas works in restoration (no, not that kind) and Alas is doing her best and that spirits exist and the veil does not in this AU.

I am looking for a beta, so if anyone wants to volunteer let me know...please I am desperate.

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He was sat in his usual spot, desk lamp bright and headphones in. Those dexterous hands of his working over—

Her heart stopped. Her vision darkened for a moment. Gunfire. Hellfire. Madness. Pain.

The orb, split and broken. She could still feel the grooves of it in fingers that no longer existed. Could feel the fire and agony of it leeching her skin from muscle and muscle from—

“Vhen’an?” Suddenly he was before her, careful hands on her shoulders. When had she ended up on the floor?

“How?” She didn’t feel like she was in her own body. Instead, she was like a ghost, hovering above them, looking down at all his fine tools and crafts and them huddled together and that cursed artifact. Children were screaming and blood was drying in the dirt.

The minute her eyes connected with his was when she was finally slingshotted back into her body, everything became level. She was sticky with sweat and his hands only grew tighter.

“How do you have it? Why is it here?”

Solas’ features went almost cold, almost detached. The twitch of his index and thumb on her skin gave him away.

“Solas?” He didn’t respond. The panic set in fully, her voice rose. “Why is it here—“

“I am doing my job. I am restoring it.”

“You can’t fix evil. You have to get rid of it.”

“I cannot.”

“I’m not joking Solas, it can’t stay here it’s dangerous, it’ll destroy—“

“I will not—!”

“You have to—“

“It is mine!”

She was shocked silent. She had never heard him like this. Unraveled, unhinged, so incredibly loud.

“The orb is mine.” His tone evened out, his eyes were shining as they darted across her face.

“I don’t understand…”

“You do. I know you do. You must.”

And she did, yes, of course she did. He had said so himself from the moment she met him, and regardless there were always glimpses of that truth which she had always chosen to ignore. In his words and stories and hands. How he understood, inexplicably, what had happened to her. How he knew, intrinsically, how to handle her. The well of power that she sensed within him and had seen first hand. The guilt, there was too much of it to be second hand.

Day 4 - Napping Together

Pairing - Pre Fade Kiss Solavellan

——————

“Something on your mind, Herald?” Solas asked.

Lavellan turned to him, briefly stopping her idle pacing and swaying. She looked as if he had caught her red handed.

“Not particularly,” she said.

He looked at her again, taking note of anything that would illuminate just exactly why their supposed leader was suddenly so frazzled.

They had been stuck in the Hinterlands for a week, making slow exhausting work of clearing out the Templars in the area. Cassandra and Varric were currently scouting up ahead to ensure they were still headed in the right direction.

Could it be nerves? No, he had seen her on numerous occasions now take on men and beasts with nothing but fierce calculating eyes and sharp teeth. Hungry then? Homesick?

He took in the dark bruising under her eyes which had not been there in the days before. Perhaps she was just overly tired?

“There is no great fault in admitting you need to rest.” He said and again his words stopped her in her pacing tracks.

She gave a huff of what could almost be laughter. “I couldn’t get back to sleep after my watch last night and now I have this sinking suspicion that if I stop moving I’ll drop.”

“That is precisely why I always opt for the first or last shift. I do not like being disturbed from the fade halfway through.”

“Yes, well,” Lavellan nodded. “I am still getting used to the idea of it all really. I sleep lightly enough as it is, the slightest shift or creek pulls me awake and then I find myself just seeing…” She struggled for a moment, falling silent.

Solas gave a brief side nod, indicating for her to follow. They walked together, just under a small ridge where they had collected a few requisitions worth of resources to bring back to camp.

The apostate found a comfortable enough spot before sitting down. “Come,” he gestured besides himself.

The Herald gave him a small smile before doing as he offered. They sat in companionable silence. Lavellan had made it a point to familiarize herself with those around her in Haven and consequently they had shared some moments together that had lent to the ease of them simply sitting together.

“It is perfectly understandable to rest.” He reiterated, reclining back against the rock face.

Lavellan eyed him a moment, before shedding her outer layer, folding it several times, before tucking it behind her head as a makeshift pillow. The earth was soft and fragrant below them, and he could hear her take in a deep breath as she laid herself out.

“It feels silly to need to be reminded, but with everything else going on... how can I even begin to relax?” The Herald sounded aggravated if anything.

“I find that closing your eyes is a good start.” Solas couldn’t help the small tick at the corner of his lips as he did exactly that.

That seemed to startle a laugh out of her. He could hear her shift and exhale, presumably in an attempt to try and find comfort.

“I keep seeing them, Solas. All those people, dead, their bodies cast aside. Templar, Mage, innocent, it doesn’t matter. They’re all scattered like seeds for planting and I can’t stop seeing it...I can’t—“

“Hush,” He soothed, not opening his eyes. He crossed his ankles and laced his fingers over his stomach.

Lavellan’s voice was so very quiet as she asked, “Would you tell me of your time in the fade?”

How could he say no?

He let out a brief hum, picking over which memories would be most appropriate. “In some of my first journeys I saw a gathering of spirits in the woods. Thousands of them, more than I could conceive, mimicking the migration of the butterflies that would make their home in the trees before the winter. They fluttered and flew, colors beyond recognition, as they filled every space and pocket afforded to them…”

Solas remembered this moment vividly as it was one of his first encounters with spirits as a young boy— one of the reasons he had cemented the idea that his little life in his little village was never going to be enough. He needed more. He needed to see more, be more, do so much more.

“I had never seen anything so captivating. Gentle wings moving to a dance I could only guess at. I observed them for what felt like days on end. Watched them settle, seemingly asleep, before they would spring to life again, flying low, making graceful arcs unendingly until my legs went numb, my shoulders stiff—“ Solas finally noticed this small fault in his story weaving. One could not physically tire in the fade.

He only barely masked his panic as he looked down, terrified to see if she had registered this error— what a fool he was, only to find her sleeping. Features soft, eyes closed, breaths deep and even.

She looked...oh how she looked. Peaceful, ethereal, lovely beyond compare.

He had truly scraped by the skin of his teeth on that one.

The panic faded quickly, the brief blip of adrenaline pooled into each muscle— tensed and ready for the possibility of a confrontation, and now had nowhere to go.

Foolish old man. Solas shook his head and— without consciously making the decision to do so, ran his hand across her brow and through her hair.

He placed his palm against the earth, laying down a large ward that would warn them of any oncoming danger. Then he settled again, eyes closed, fingers laced.

Day 2 - Hand Holding

Pairing - Pre-Crestwood Solavellan

——————

“Hmmm…where to start?” Lavellan hummed as she tilted his palm back and forth, brow creased in her scrutiny.

Solas sat patiently, there wasn’t much else to do in that regard. They had made a small camp as they waited for the Inquisition to clear out Fort Revasan— a daunting task that required the Inquisitor’s presence, but nothing more outside of that.

To be perfectly frank, it was boring.

So when Lavellan took up residence beside him, asking if he would be so kind as to indulge her in staving said boredom away...well…

Solas was finding it increasingly difficult to deny her anything.

A Dalish palm reading was not precisely what he had in mind, but he held his tongue all the same. He had learned some from their days together. He knew better than to go spouting off about something as minor as this. It would achieve nothing besides a tempered glare or worse, that signature look of disappointment the Inquisitor was so very good at giving. It could almost put Mythal’s to shame.

Besides, there was something to be said for the way her fingers grazed over his. The warmth of her palm splayed against his knuckles, gently prompting him to spread his fingers wider. The briefest puff of her soft breath as she leaned in closer to get a better look.

“Lethal’lan—“ Solas started.

She shushed the anticipated complaint. “Look, here,” Lavellan said, a finger poking the middle of his palm. “Your crown line.”

Solas employed a momentous amount of energy to keep his eyes from rolling, but there was something in the smile that she gave that told him she knew and appreciated his effort all the same.

She began to trace the line back and forth. “Wise, studious. Someone who can be counted on for sound advice. Ah, but do you see the curve here?”

Solas complied and gave a brief glance to where she indicated.

Lavellan bent his fingers together to emphasize the line before spreading it again. “You are creative and possess a great artistic ability.”

He could not help the small shake of his head, the corner of his mouth twitching minutely. “I do imagine this is all information that would have otherwise never been known to you.”

“Obviously,” she teased. “How am I supposed to discover anything about you when you keep to that room of yours where you paint massive murals and scour tomes that haven’t seen the light of day in several centuries and…Oh, yes, yes I do see what you mean.”

They both gave a brief laugh. Lavellan pulled his hand closer and thus the rest of him followed as she tucked herself against his side, his right hand held in her lap. “Well, let us see if there are any actual secrets to garner here.”

She was so very warm besides him, it was not a great challenge to actual enjoy the pure physical nature of having her close like this.

“You have a remarkable soul line. It is just about the longest I have ever seen and so straight too. A long life—“

“Something you could observe from the lines on my face rather than my hands, no doubt,” Solas objected, deflecting to mask the true deflection.

She ignored him easily. “Cautious with those you let in, you struggle to extend your trust.”

Lavellan frowned and looked up at him before she rested her head more fully against his shoulder. A small show of comfort, of her understanding something that Solas knew she couldn’t quite define. It was a gentle expression of commiseration and it hit him deeply.

She sighed, finger moving towards the top of his palm.

“Your love line, here, short and curved.” She gestured to where it ended between his fourth and middle finger. “You keep your romantic inclinations private.”

“You would know that better than most,” Solas said, subtly brushing his nose against the top of her hair as he twined his fingers with hers. That was enough intrusive speculation for the moment.

Day 9- Bee (Mine)

Pairing - Pre Crestwood Solavellan

—————

“Is there something I can assist you with in my belongings, Sera?” Solas asked.

Why the dahn’direlan was here, and why— for the love of all things good and reasonable— she felt she needed to throw everything her twitchy little fingers muddled through onto the floor were questions Solas knew would never receive an answer for, and yet, here he was—willingly facing redundancy.

Sera did not seem the least bit bothered by his presence or his displeasure. “My bees’ve gone missing. A big buncha’em I was savin’ for a rainy day an’ now it’s all cats and dogs and no buzzers in sight.”

He was relatively sure he had understood the majority of that. “And what would make you think that I would ever have something to do with any of that?”

“It’s obvious, innit? Yous was the last one I jigged with, what with them climby crawlies in your sleeping bag, and now suddenly my bees are poofed.” She kicked over a small sack that held some of his brushes and tools in it and Solas had to physically restrain himself from knocking Sera on her ass to get her to stop—cringing and sighing would have to suffice, although it was not proving effective at the moment. “Friggin’ shite, I had such a good plan for ‘em too.”

Sera let out an undignified grunt of further unhappiness, as if— somehow— her trashing his personal space was a major inconvenience. “It’s all balls up anyways, I’m out. This room is makin me duller by the minute. Why quizzy has such a hard on for your dusty crap stick I’ll never know.”

“Always a pleasure,” Solas near spat as he held the door open for her, closing it once he was mostly sure she had made it all the way through. ‘And may the door send you sprawling into the nearest very very very painful void on your way out.’

He looked back at the complete mess that was now his room and took in a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stall the oncoming headache. Cleaning had not exactly been on his itinerary for the day, but when had his plans ever really gone his way? Even on a scale as minute as this it seemed improbable.

Later, with his quarters back in order, Solas took some time to stretch and walk about. Sera had not been wrong, his room was exceedingly depressing. It was intentionally so, but even still…

The rain from that morning had finally passed and the medicinal garden Lavellan had planted was fragrant in its dampness. Solas let it fill his lungs in deep inhales as he made his way through.

Morrigan was blessedly absent, and it was him noticing this that brought him to spotting Lavellan, crouched low in a flowerbed.

He observed her quietly, taking note of the empty jars strewn about her mud slicked boots. What was she up to?

“Vhen’an.” He said and he had to suppress the smug grin at Lavellan practically jumping from her skin. She did fall back onto her heels though, clutching another jar close to her chest, although this one was markedly full and...buzzing?

“Solas!” Lavellan exclaimed, letting out a relieved breath. “It’s just you.”

There was a lot to be said for that.

“Hm, apologies for being ‘just me’,” He quipped, savoring the small eye roll she gave him right before she smiled warmly. “You appear to be otherwise engaged, shall I leave you to it?”

“Please stay,” She said a little too quickly. “I am almost finished.”

“And finished with what, exactly?” Solas bent lower to try and get a better look. An interesting mix of guilt and frustration flashed across the Inquisitor’s face as she showed the contents to him.

“Ah, so you are the culprit.” He let out a chuckle, standing straighter as he took the container of bees and examined it closer. “I feel it is my obligation to warn you that our young Sera is currently on a rampage looking for a notorious Bee Bandit.”

“Yes, well, our Sera can rightly stuff it.” Lavellan griped, gently taking the jar and its precious cargo back as it was handed it to her. “I hate those damn bombs of hers and she knows it too. It’s cruel.”

“Cruel?” Solas asked, all playfulness gone. He was suddenly struck by her. The curve of her brow as she muddled over her anger—it was a rare sight to see over something that, in Solas’ opinion, was a nonissue.

“You don’t think so?” Lavellan turned her eyes to him, determinedly even. “To take jarfulls of these benevolent and purposeful creatures, stuff them into a cramped little space, and then launch them to their death all for the sake of possibly disarming an enemy?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I never gave it much thought, nor had I any idea you felt so strongly on the matter.”

Lavellan gently rendered the cork from the jar’s opening, keeping the bottom of the lid rested against the lip of the glass as she brought it around to the various blooms she sat amongst—slowly allowing a few bees to trickle out and drink from the water and nectar gathered within the petals.

“Strongly on matters of justice? Or strongly on matters of bees?” She asked.

“The latter, obviously, I know you to be steadfast on all things moral,” Solas said.

She hummed. “And what could be more moral than standing up for those who have no say, regardless of how small?”

His chest tightened at the notion. Unbiddenly, the image of her standing beside him during the heat of his rebellion against the Evanuris filled his vision and he found himself wanting it so very badly. For him to find her now, of all things, was cruel in its own way too. What they could have built together—overcome together…

Their world could have been so much more than the sad sum of his mistakes. It could have been righteousness coated in holding her for eternity. It could have been justice and kissing her unendingly.

Solas shook the thought away. “It must be difficult for something so small to show its gratitude.”

He watched as a few of the creatures crawled curiously along her knuckles and palms. She looked at them with the purest proudest delight and he could not stop staring and wondering and wanting.

“They make do.” She smiled, gently guiding them back to their flowers.

Solas placed a soft hand on the top of her head, his fingers deftly pulling a stray leaf from her damp hair. Lavellan laughed as he presented it to her.

For as much as Solas wanted there to have been infinitely more for the two of them, he found himself content with the thought that there was a great deal left that they still could be in the time they had.

Day 12 - Watching Sunsets

Pairing - Post Trespasser Solavellan

—————

Fen’Harel found himself waiting for sunsets.

Unknowingly, he watched each cascading hue as the sun dipped under the horizon. He itched for sleep in the day’s absence.

Soon the hours became minutes and then mere moments before he could see her again. He fell into the dreaming with an eagerness that wasn’t entirely proper. Unrestrained, expecting, hopeful.

He waited for that liminal moment—the one where he could see her in perfect blinding clarity while she still assessed whether or not what she was perceiving was the waking world. He waited for that untraceable fragment of time when suddenly his shoulders didn’t feel immeasurably heavy, because she was there and there was no burden on them existing together.

Oh, how he loves her dreams. They felt like home. Calm and full and welcoming.

They felt like her and he wished he could be suffocated with it. He tried to fill up his senses and remember the exact flavor of the fade on his tongue.

She would trail her fingers amongst the branches and bark of her subconscious forest, leaving life in her wake in beautiful sprouting blooms and he would follow her bountiful tracks. Each step would bring her closer, each move a feeble hope to have her nearer still.

Then she too would sense him, her natural gait falling back into smaller and slower steps, circling another tree until all that was in sight were her fingertips.

His own were never far behind. The promising spark of skin almost, almost, touching sent his blood aflame.

Then she would breathe a singular hopeful “Solas?” before she’d completely disappear, awoken from their shared dreaming.

The countdown began again and he would be ever watchful.

Day 13 - Love Bites

Pairing - Solavellan Hell

—————

In the weeks before his aborted confession of his actual identity, and consequently the explosive disillusionment of their romantic relationship, the two of them had taken it upon themselves to take every minuscule opportunity for intimacy.

Solas wasn’t sure what exactly had started this escalation, but from one moment to the next he just knew this was how it would be. He could see it in her eyes and posture as plainly as he was sure she could see it in his.

For example, if they both found themselves in the same empty corridor on their way to their individual responsibilities about Skyhold they would always somehow manage to leave it with clothes slightly askew and— in Lavellan’s case— hair in need of fixing. On more than one occasion, she would be in his arms before he could recollect putting her there, sharp teeth upon her skin in pure unadulterated delight.

Even in the heat of it all, the marks he gave her were purposeful. An act in deliberation. A reassurance of his own will and capability to actively place his own existence upon her and not have it be some haphazard fluke. To have this little spark of pain he would give her not be an accident. Most importantly, to have her want his marks at all— to consent to them and wear them happily.

Hers, which she would rise to give in equal measure, would ground him to the reality of this world he created. That someone born from what he viewed as his greatest mistake could mark him too in some way and have it as the physical proof of this world’s existence blatantly on his own skin. As a consequence to amorous action, welcome as they may be. A vindication.

So, when it all finally crumbled and Solas found himself horribly alone in the rotunda where once there were hushed giggles and stifled bliss, he found the last traces of her fading from his neck and shoulders and he had never realized how attached to them he had become until they were finally gone.