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Solas was getting used to looking down at Lavellan.
The elves of today were small and dainty compared to those in the times of Arlathan. Though not immediately apparent, Solas was built like the ancients and next to another elf he would tower him, much more so next to an elven woman.
When he kissed Lavellan he was always afraid he would crush her fragile body, break her delicate frame. He had no such reservations in the Fade, but in the waking world he was painfully aware of the difference. Whereas once an elven woman stood and looked him directly in the eyes before melting into one of his kisses, Solas’s head had to tilt downward so that his lips could meet Lavellan’s. Whereas once an elven woman filled an embrace, Lavellan’s body felt like it would evaporate in his arms.
He chastised himself for thinking her weak, for she was anything but. He’d never seen a stronger woman.
Solas was getting used to looking down at Lavellan.
He was not the only one who looked down at her. For the last millennia the humans had looked down on elves like Lavellan, the Chantry had looked down on mages like Lavellan, and had she lived in ancient Arlathan, the nobles would look down on branded people like Lavellan. They did not share, however, his admiration and adoration in their looks. She deserved better.
If there was one worthy of godhood, that would be Lavellan. She deserved to sit on a golden throne and stand high above the ground. She deserved to be worshipped and showered in adulation. She deserved to be feared and respected for the reckoning force that was her will. She deserved her beauty be painted on every wall and canvas. She deserved to be looked up as the goddess she was.
But the world was ever unfair to treasures such as her.
Solas was getting used to looking down at Lavellan.
He was painting her latest accomplishment on the walls of his study when Lavellan walked in. Solas was sitting on a low bench, hunched at his mural. She was tall for a moment, before her sweet voice made him stand at attention like it usually did. She walked towards him, stopping seductively close to him, stealing the paintbrush from his hand and securing it out of his sight as she crossed her arms behind her back.
He looked down at her face. The hypnotic dance of her lips always brought a smile to his mouth, and when he failed to formulate a response as she stared at him, wide-eyed and pouting, he saw the mischief in her eyes. A streak of paint adorned his nose as Lavellan stroked it with his brush. She giggled, and the sound was honey to his ears. Solas couldn’t help but kiss her, urgently tasting the smile on her lips, as sweet as her laughter.
The brush dropped to the floor and Lavellan slowly directed him to the worn couch he kept in his lair.
Solas was getting used to looking down at Lavellan.
Paint-smeared and flirty, she straddled him, arms wrapping around his neck. She leaned in for another kiss, this time gentle and slow. When they parted, Solas looked up. He swore he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.