Chapter Text
It all began in the Exalted Plains, at the camp of the Dalish clan led by Hawen. The Inquisition had already won its favor and the only contact between the organization and the clan had been Loranil’s letters to his friends and Keeper.
Worrying rumors of a dragon dwelling in the swamp at east had convinced the Inquisitor to go back to the Plains to face the beast and make sure to bring some peace to that blasted place. The undead and the civil war had already done damage enough and Lavellan longed to leave the burned fields and elven blood-soaked paths once and for all and never come back, not until there was hope for improvement.
The dragon - a glorious creature whose roar seemed to echo the cries of war and pain that had haunted the region for so long - had been successfully defeated and its carcass sent back to Skyhold. Lavellan had studied carefully the various parts - skin, bones, organs - and her bright eyes and enthusiastic smile when she had raised her head had announced to her companions what she had in mind.
“Could we bring some of this stuff to the Dalish camp near the river? I’m sure they would appreciate it.”
“Dragon skin is quite rare and durable. They would undoubtedly find good use for it.” Solas had agreed with a smile and for once he had not seemed reluctant to visit the Dalish, knowing how important that was to Lavellan. Even Cassandra and Varric had gladly accepted to bring part of the loot to the clan and now they were there, staying for the night after Keeper Hawen had confirmed his trust and respect for the Inquisitor and her friends once again.
It was rare for the Dalish to welcome outsiders, but Hawen had made an exception, seeing how tired Lavellan and the others were and wishing to show them gratefulness for the unexpected and precious gift they had brought to his clan. They wouldn’t be allowed in the aravels, but the fire would remain lit for the entire night to ensure the safety and warmth of the group. Lavellan had bowed her head, knowing the Keeper was giving them a good treatment, one not often used towards strangers.
It was so strange to eat with her people again. Lavellan suddenly realized how much she missed her clan life when the hunters started preparing the hearth for dinner and the children scrambled around it to steal food or observe the preparations with dreamy eyes.
Some of the youngest kids preferred to look at the curious group that had been allowed in their camp; Solas’ bare face and wise eyes, Varric’s hairy chest and height, and Cassandra’s armor and hair probably intrigued them a lot. They were less shy with Lavellan and after an initial, timid approach, they warmed up to her and clung to her shoulders, asking for stories, the battles she had faced, and ancient elven legends.
They reminded her so much of the children back in her clan and she smiled, taking the youngest one - a lithe boy not older than six years - in her arms and replying kindly: “I’m not the best at telling stories. Solas is way better than me, he knows a lot of stuff!” She turned to him, smiling brightly, and was happy to see a blush spread all over his cheeks and ears. The kids stared at him with wide eyes, feeling sudden interest in the bald elf without vallaslin. Their curiosity finally replaced their shyness and they moved to sit near him.
“Can you tell us about the Emerald Knights?”
“Is it true they had wolf friends?”
“Papae says they were beautiful and strong and wore golden armors!”
Solas blinked at the little ones tugging at his robes, at the innocent audience so eager to listen to him, and the glance he shot Lavellan was both amused and grateful. She shrugged, grinning, and scooted nearer to him to show her interest; Solas shook his head, his smile now bigger, then looked back at the children, clearing his throat.
“It is true. They indeed had wolf companions, loyal friends that followed them whenever they went, helping them in battle, warming them at night, offering them their support.” He stopped and frowned slightly. Lavellan knew that expression; it meant he was thinking hard about the next words to use, collecting his thoughts to express better his knowledge, and when he started talking again his voice was sure, unfaltering, flowing smoothly from his lips.
She couldn’t help but focus on them, remembering the night before; in the tent at night, those same lips had whispered sweet things in her ear and had curled into a tender smile while he had embraced her and caressed her back and hair and…
“Ahem.”
Lavellan jolted with a small gasp and turned around. Varric, who was sitting at her left, was smirking at her, his eyes glistening with complicity.
“You look pretty interested, Inquisitor.” he said with an ironic tone, a hand resting on the ever beautiful Bianca.
“I…! Well, yes!” Lavellan babbled, grateful for the kids laughing and talking loudly, their thrilling tones covering her conversation with the dwarf. Solas’ attention was entirely focused on them, so he didn’t hear her when she added, her voice a low whisper: “I love how he narrates our stories and lore and… and it’s always nice to hear them from him.”
“Of course. The stories. That’s probably why you were staring at his face so intently, then.” Varric’s smartass grin made her blush even more furiously and she sighed, giving up.
“You are going to put this into one of your books, aren’t you?”
“You can bet!” the dwarf laughed, the sound cheerful and amicable, devoid of any offense. He was just joking and Lavellan laughed with him when he continued: “The great Inquisitor Lavellan and her cultured, quiet elven lover. Who wouldn’t read a novel like that?” He glanced at Cassandra, who was pretending to be busy with her flask of water, and whispered back: “Our fellow Seeker would be the first fan, I’m sure.”
“I can hear you.” the woman grunted, glaring at Varric. “And stop teasing her! There is nothing shameful in admiring your own lover.” When she looked at Lavellan, her expression softened and a dreamy smile appeared on her face. “You looked so happy, Inquisitor. Solas does the same, you know?”
“You mean looking happy? Because he looks pretty panicked to me, now.” Varric chuckled and Lavellan turned to observe the scene.
The kids had officially proclaimed Solas their favorite storyteller and were asking him question after question, talking one over the other, arguing when one’s question was considered silly by another. Their young age didn’t let them have enough patience to listen thoroughly to Solas’ replies, but they were genuinely curious and interested and fought with each other to receive answers before anyone else. When something was different from the Keeper or their family’s teachings, they immediately pointed it out, confused, and Solas, with solemnity and patience, explained how things really were.
The fact that all the members of the clan - Hawen included - were busy with the food and other issues helped Solas; no one was there to interrupt or judge him, no Keeper was listening to his versions of the ancient lore with distrust or indignation. Lavellan saw the relief and enthusiasm burn like fire in his eyes and felt happy for him. She knew how much he wanted the Dalish to learn their heritage in a decent and truthful way and even though some of his explanations and knowledge were so surprising and never heard of, she trusted him. She was also relieved that he was in no way patronizing the children for their wrong knowledge.
Varric was right, though; Solas was eager and joyful to teach those kids whatever he could, but he wasn’t used to their loud, chaotic manners and for all his knowledge of the Fade, spirits, and elven culture, he had very little idea of how to deal with children. He tried to speak over their voices, to no avail, and in the end he sat still, observing them bicker with a small smile on his face.
“Problems?” Lavellan whispered, leaning in, and he turned his face towards her, chuckling.
“I am afraid I can no longer keep their focus on me strong.”
“They are probably going to settle this with games and some slaps on the face.” Lavellan laughed, looking at the kids fondly, then she remembered the little one in her arms, who had been so quiet and silent she had completely forgotten about him. The kid had fallen asleep, maybe lulled by Solas’ voice or Lavellan’s own heartbeat and warmth, and his peers’ loud cries did nothing to shake him awake.
“Look, Solas!” Lavellan exclaimed in a murmur, teasing him lightly. “I found another big fan of naps!”
Solas snorted and looked at her with warmth, the same she saw on his face during their intimate moments or their travels, when they spoke while walking and their hands brushed against each other. She blushed and looked down at the child, studying the different shadows on his young face created by the fire they were sitting by, moved by the way his tiny fists were grasping her coat, his head resting against her breasts. She could still feel Solas’ gaze upon her and when she looked up back at him, his expression had turned more tender, but also somewhat sad and wistful.
She was about to ask him what was wrong - although that wasn’t the first time she had seen such a change in his emotions - when the kids remembered him and one of them tugged at his robes again, asking him to finally settle the question between them and solve their doubts.
“Tell me your concerns and I shall do my best to clarify things to you.” he replied with a kind smile, the sorrow from before quickly hidden behind it.
“See??” Cassandra whispered and her usually stern and serious expression was replaced by an excited, juvenile grin. “He looked so happy! I often see him look like that while he talks with you, Inquisitor.”
“Can I use those adorable halla-eyes he makes at you as inspiration for a scene of Swords and Shields? Really, they were the mushiest thing I have ever seen in my poor, intense life.” Varric asked Lavellan, not even bothering to hide his own grin, and Cassandra didn’t bother stifling her gasp of sheer joy at hearing that he was working on the next chapter of the book.
Lavellan gave them a lopsided smile, shrugging to give the dwarf her full permission, and went back to look at the sleeping child in her arms. She wondered how both Varric and Cassandra hadn’t noticed the swift change in Solas’ face when he was staring at her, but maybe they weren’t looking then or weren’t close enough to notice the different light in his eyes. Or maybe they didn’t know him and couldn’t recognize his changing emotions as well as her.
Deeply immersed in her thoughts, all concerning Solas and his still mysterious ways, she didn’t pay attention to Cassandra’s unashamed insistence in asking Varric more details about the chapter; nor she started listening again to Solas, who was now describing Arlathan in great details, as if he had seen it himself. He probably had, in the Fade, Lavellan mused with a smile. There was much longing and fascination in his voice and even the children were listening to him in perfect silence now, enthralled by his descriptions, so much they didn’t want to interrupt him with more questions and doubts.
When he told her tales of their ancient past, he was always very clear and didn’t let his passion and love for their culture mask its darkest details. Whereas the Dalish seemed to remember only the most beautiful parts of their lore and history, Solas recalled also the less noble parts, respecting the “true truth” more than the ancient elves’ reputation. For Lavellan it had been a kind of a shock, at first, and her Keeper’s teachings had rung in her head for many days after first hearing Solas’ version of their history.
But he looked so knowledgeable, so full of passion, and his words sounded so truthful and sincere, she just couldn’t help but trust him fully and admire his wisdom and brilliance. The Fade truly must had taught him much forgotten and uncanny lore and she could see why the Dalish clans he had encountered had been scared by his teachings and had refused to listen to him.
“But if what you saw in the Fade is really true, the People must know!” She had said to him once, back when they still weren’t together, but their feelings for each other were already blossoming. She had beamed at him and added: “You could write a book!”
Solas had chuckled, laughing not at her or her idea, but at the image of himself writing an undoubtedly massive and heavy tome, bended over his desk like Varric did when he was deeply immersed in his books.
“Nobody would read it, I fear.” he had said, a small smile lingering on his lips. “And if they did, they would call me mad or a liar, like it happened in the past. No Dalish would accept to meditate on that knowledge and human scholars would simply ignore it or toss it aside.”
“I would.” Lavellan had said and, seeing Solas’ confusion, had hastily explained, cheeks flushed: “I would try to read it without prejudices and meditate on it. I would need some proofs, maybe, but every version of a fact or event should be taken into consideration. If it exists and spirits in the Fade have seen it, there must be a reason, right?”
She still remembered Solas’ proud smile and happy eyes and his soft ‘thank you’ and now, many months after that conversation, she realized she had really accepted his knowledge and fully accepted his expertise on elven culture.
Caressing distractingly the little boy’s soft hair, she wondered if her clan would ever hear him out or chase him away as other clans had done before. Keeper Deshanna was a kind woman, but she would undoubtedly question Solas’ source of wisdom and his status, nor Dalish nor city elf.
She would also question their relationship, but Lavellan only felt her cheeks burn with joy and pride at the thought of introducing Solas to her friends and family. They would ask many questions, frown upon his origins, but she knew them and she knew they would also try their best to accept him and make him feel at ease. Marriages between different clans weren’t rare and Lavellan had met and grown up with more than one person coming from another Dalish clan, a man or woman betrothed to one of her group. In the end, after a slow start, everyone became family.
She knew, though, that she couldn’t go live back with her people. Not just because she was the Inquisitor now; the clan, despite being broad-minded, wouldn’t let a barefaced elf live in the camp. And Solas would never accept its rules and traditions.
However, she was sure - or at least hoped - that her clan would treat Solas with respect, despite his singular situation, as long as he didn’t become full part of the group; maybe it would require more time for them to welcome him fully, but hers wasn’t a particular harsh nor serious clan, unlike others she had heard talk about around the campfire at night. They would respect her mate, even if just to respect her.
She raised her eyes from the sleeping child, Solas’ voice, eyes, smile, and lips capturing her attention again. She smiled too, imagining her friends’ surprise in hearing she was with someone.
Life in the clan was rough and there wasn’t much time nor strength left after a hard day of journey or work to spend time with the opposite sex. Also, strict rules that every clan observed dictated how men and women within the group had to behave with each other and specific rituals had to be followed to enter in a relationship with someone.
The Keeper usually matched future couples, studying the interactions within the clan and finding the best matches, while trying to be fair to people’s feelings at the same time.
Lavellan had never been with someone before Solas; her duties had always prevented her from setting her eyes on someone and her quiet shyness had done the rest, letting Keeper Deshanna know that she wasn’t interested in someone for the moment. She had many friends and some of them had told her about their experiences as their flirting rituals proceeded, and she had listened with wide eyes, trying to imagine those same scenes with her and an unnamed, faceless lover in them. Apart from that, though, she had just been too busy with her Dalish life to fall for someone and simply imagining a future relationship had been enough for her.
Then the Conclave had happened and she had met Solas.
She forced herself to think of something else, but soon memories of their first time together filled her mind and Lavellan quickly looked away from Solas, biting her lips, her blush spreading down her neck. It had been intense and sweet and wonderful and so unlike anything she had ever imagined. The nights after that one had been even more beautiful and she felt like a completely new person not just because of the Anchor thrumming in her hand or the heavy responsibility of the Inquisition upon her shoulders. She felt older, more mature, and complete also thanks to Solas.
Undoubtedly her clan would also comment about her physical relationship with Solas, but could they blame her?
‘He is so beautiful.’ she thought daring to look at him again. And she wasn’t referring to just his looks - which were pretty damn good -, but also his mind, spirit, heart. The way his eyes squinted when he smiled, how he snorted when he laughed, his noble profile, and bald head complimented his inner qualities and Lavellan knew for the umpteenth time that she was so, so deeply in love with him.
Then she heard giggling and her eyes darted down; the sleeping boy was awake and his still bleary eyes were looking straight into hers, a sleepy smile on his lips.
“Is he your husband?”
A sudden, heavy silence fell upon the group near the little campfire, while the elves, gathered around the hearth to conclude the preparations for dinner, continued their lively conversations.
The other children turned simultaneously to look at Lavellan, whose face had become pale and expressionless; she felt Solas shuffle, likely uncomfortably, next to her and she gulped.
“Oh, shit.” she heard Varric mutter under his breath, while a very anxious Cassandra pretended once again not to be interested to avoid embarrassing her.
“I…” Lavellan croaked out when she finally regained her voice. She cleared her throat, but that only made the sleepy child and his peers giggle again, the sound grating her ears like the shrieks of a Despair demon.
And pure despair was what she was feeling in that moment and it was a wonder no demon came out of the thin Veil attracted by her inner turmoil. She would have very much preferred it rather than face what was coming.
“You were staring at him.” the little child continued. “And your face was so, so funny, because it was all red and you were smiling like Mamae smiles when Papae gives her a compliment.”
“Is he your husband?” a little girl repeated with a gasp, clasping her hands together. For a moment, she reminded Lavellan of a pointy eared Cassandra. “Are you going to have children? When people get married, children always come!”
Lavellan prayed the Creators to open a small Breach right beneath her to swallow her whole into the Fade, but they did no heed her prayers - and to be honest that didn’t surprise her at all - and an older kid spoke up, standing up on his skinny, long legs and studying her with a puzzled expression: “Can you still lead your organization if you are pregnant…?”
While Cassandra hid her face behind a hand and Varric burst in a fit of coughs, Solas intervened, his tone eerily calm: “We are not married.”
Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was a naïve part of her, but Lavellan could have sworn she had heard a hint of disappointment in his voice, as if he truly desired to be married to her. She had to put aside those thoughts for the moment, though, as the child in her arms replied with surprise: “But she stared at you with such big eyes!”
“He did it too before, I saw him! It means they are in love!” a girl giggled, followed by her friends, and Solas once again explained, infinitely patient and dignified: “We are lovers. That is why we look at each other in such a sweet way.” He turned to Lavellan and his smile helped her to calm down, even though her heart was nearly exploding in her chest and she felt lightheaded and terribly warm.
“So no children?” another girl groaned in disappointment and Solas sounded as sad as her when he answered: “No children.”
The tender melancholy Lavellan had seen in his eyes returned and she wished to chase it away forever, replacing it with never-ending joy and relief. It was time to change topic, she decided, but just as she opened her mouth, the drowsy kid talked again: “When you two will get married, they will come, though, right?”
Solas hesitated for a second, then he smiled at the boy and nodded slowly.
“Perhaps.” he said and the sadness was still there, raw and alive, and Lavellan couldn’t take it anymore.
“Kids, why don’t we go to the hearth and see how the food is coming along?” she gently picked up the child and passed him to Solas, who awkwardly took him into his arms.
The children cheered and followed her, eager to finally eat, and for the moment they forgot about the stories and legends of their people.
Lavellan took the youngest ones’ hands and led them to the hearth, where Hawen, the hunters, and the older kids were tending to it. When she saw what was cooking on the iron griddle, her heart leapt with joy, the embarrassment slightly fading away.
“Hearth cakes!” she exclaimed, eyes as big as the children’s gathered around the fire, and memories of her clan and childhood flooded her mind, threatening to make her cry with nostalgia.
Then she remembered the present situation and blushed; Hawen and his clan were kindly giving her and her friends food and rest despite the difficulties that every Dalish group had to face and they had no helped at all with the food. The Inquisition had greatly helped the clan, but the Dalish were treating them with much generosity nonetheless, and Lavellan felt bad again.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, fidgeting anxiously. “I am sorry, I was distracted by the children and-”
“Don’t worry, da’len.” Hawen interrupted her with a smile. “We are happy the young ones find themselves comfortable among you. It means you are good, patient people and we appreciate it.”
“Was your odd barefaced friend telling them stories?” one of the hunters, a strong elven woman with many scars on her face and hands, asked with a smirk. “They looked fascinated by him.”
“Yes, he was.” Lavellan says with a wide smile, wishing to let everyone know how good her lover was. “Solas knows many things and he is very good at sharing his knowledge.”
“I hope they were truthful, trustworthy stories then.” Hawen added, the warning in his voice barely concealed, and before Lavellan could reply, joy gone from her lips, footsteps from behind made her turn around.
Solas, Varric, and Cassandra were standing at a respectful distance. Solas had a polite smile on his face, his hand resting upon the sleepy kid’s shoulder; Varric, with Bianca on his back, grinned up at Lavellan, hands on his hips; Cassandra looked uncomfortable and stood awkwardly there as many glowing elven eyes stared at them guardedly, with puzzlement and surprise.
“We were wondering if we could help with anything.” Solas said, his tone casual, but also defensive and a bit ironic, as he was ready to hear his offer be refused. His eyes moved to Lavellan and his smile turned warmer; she blushed, realizing he had done it for her, and she knew how difficult it was for him to stay like that among the elves he didn’t consider his people. She was too well aware of how they looked at him and how they considered him a stranger despite their common race, but he still had faced shame and voluntarily made the first step to make her feel at ease and not embarrass her in front of another clan.
Varric and Cassandra had also probably felt her same sting of shame in seeing how much the clan was doing to give them a proper dinner and didn’t want to just look and wait for food. Cassandra clearly knew they were outsiders there, though, and her nervous stance betrayed her awkwardness.
“Of course.” Hawen said after a long moment of silence, his lips curling into a half-smile, a little thing that visibly brightened his eyes. “Since you are so good guests, we can’t refuse your help.” He motioned them to come closer and Solas and the others did so, standing next to a happy Lavellan.
Master Taniel, the merchant and craftsmaster of the clan, gave them all different tasks: Lavellan and Cassandra would skin nugs and rabbits, Solas would prepare the herbs to season the food, and Varric would help Emalien, the Hearthkeeper, rekindle the fire and keep its temperature right enough not to burn anything.
The glow of the hearth illuminated Cassandra’s armor and made Lavellan’s eyes look like puddles of sun; it also made Bianca shine beautifully and one of the hunters pointed it out with curiosity.
“That’s a very nice weapon, dwarf.”
“Isn’t she?” Varric grinned, all proud. “I found her in a deep cavern in the Free Marches, under a pile of gold and gems.” He leaned in, lowering his voice, and the elves - especially the children who had found another great storyteller - leaned as well to hear better.
“The hideout of a band of mercenaries. Their boss was a mighty warrior that brought into his cave any rare treasure he could find. His name was… uh, Horn. They called him Horn.”
Cassandra groaned, while Lavellan and Solas snickered, knowing all too well what Varric was doing. The kids listened with much interest, even the older ones, captivated by the intense adventure slowly taking form in their mind. Some of the grown-ups fell for the dwarf’s original words and ideas, too, and Hawen and the older members of the clan listened with amused smirk, but they didn’t interrupt Varric as he started to describe the mercenary’s personal pink dragon.
“Thank you.” Lavellan whispered as she cut the exterior, harder skin of a nug and Solas, sitting next to her, nodded.
“It is no problem. I enjoy being useful.”
“Not just for this.” she said, referring to the bowl he was mixing herbs in. “I also mean the gesture in general. It’s been very kind, Solas, and I’m sure the whole clan appreciated it.”
She cleaned her bloody hand on the grass and rested it upon Solas’, smiling at him, heart hammering in her chest, a deep blush spreading again over her face and neck. Solas stared at her intently, with so much intensity she felt drawn by his eyes, which now looked more blue than gray, with specks of golden created by the light of the fire.
She saw love in his face, love and peace, and he pressed his forehead against her, just for a few seconds, a discreet gesture that showed how much he cared for her. He wasn’t overly affectionate in public, but the little gestures he used around other people were clear enough to show how important and deep their relationship was.
She felt his hot breath tingle her nose and lips and, with a squeeze of her hand, he kissed her, lightly and sweetly, whispering: “Ma sa’lath.”
“Ma vhenan.” Lavellan murmured, her voice filled with emotion, and Solas smiled too, before letting go of her hand and pulling away to focus back on the spices. The tips of his ears were red, though, and he couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes nor the raised corners of his mouth.
Varric concluded his story with an epic fight featuring darkspawn and the defeat of the pink dragon and the entire clan clapped and laughed, while he bowed his head, a hand on his chest. Lavellan noticed the deep look of concentration etched on Cassandra’s face as she skinned the nug and giggled when she saw her shock as a charming elf sat near her and commented on her skills.
Emalien, the young woman who had lost her brother, poked the hearth cakes with a wooden fork and exclaimed cheerfully: “They are ready!” She was the Hearthkeeper and it was her duty to pass the food to every member of the clan and guest.
“Is the meat done, lethallan?” she asked Lavellan and the Inquisitor handed her the nugs she had skinned, while Solas the bowl filled with mixed seasonings and spices. Emalien gave it all to other members of the clan so they could prepare the meat and hurried to take out small boards of wood and woven leaves to use as dishes.
Lavellan bounced on her spot, eyeing the hearth cakes with something akin to adoration and pure awe. It was a rare, delicious treat back in her clan; she always used to look forward to the day they could actually prepare them. It was usually during a celebration in honor of one of the Creators or in occasion of a birth and she could still remember the taste of the hearth cakes her mother prepared, so delicate and yet so good.
The food that the cooks of Skyhold prepared was great, Lavellan couldn’t deny that; it was unlike anything she had ever eaten in her life and she had discovered many tastes she didn’t even know could exist. She had asked to send some of the most particular and best dishes to her clan, but the long journey would have spoiled them, so more elfroot and medicinal herbs had been all she had been able to send.
Emalien passed her a wooden plate and Lavellan thanked her, before looking at the cake with a happy, goofy smile. Years had passed since the last time she had seen one and she wanted to savor the moment.
“Vhenan?” she heard Solas say low in her ear and she hummed to let him know she was listening, gaze still fixated on the steaming cake.
“Yes?”
“You…” Solas chuckled and the sound was enough to distract Lavellan from her food. It truly meant his voice and laughter were something divine.
“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching to fight a grin.
Solas chuckled again, shaking his head, and Lavellan thumped him.
“Come on, spit it out!” she giggled and the other elf caught her hand, entwining their fingers together.
“You look ravenous.” he said, affection clearly audible behind his teasing. “As if you haven’t seen food for days.” His smile became a sly, roguish smirk and he added: “But I know for a fact that we had a particularly good breakfast, this morning.”
Lavellan huffed, feigning offense. She loved food and never hid it, even though she was much capable of spending the whole day without eating a single thing, if necessary. Still, when the occasion arose, she didn’t miss the chance to grab a bite of something good and tasty. That morning they had eaten fresh, warm bread and milk that a noble ally had sent for the camps of the Inquisition scattered in the Exalted Plains, hoping to boost the morale and gain points with the organization.
“It was good, yeah.” she admitted with a pout and Solas chuckled again, knowing she wasn’t really mad at him for his joke. She laughed with him and her expression became a bit somber, nostalgic, as she explained: “You are right. I haven’t seen this kind of food in years.” She felt Solas’ calloused fingers rub gently her skin and the feeling brought pleasant tingles down her back. “I used to eat hearth cakes when I was with my clan. We didn’t prepare them often, but when we did it was always funny and nice.”
She touched the warm cake with her free hand and sighed, continuing: “My mother was the best at making them. Keeper Deshanna always asked her to prepare food for the clan and I helped her. I picked the ingredients and put them in the dough with the other children. We watched them cook on the griddle and poked them with our fingers until they were ready.” She giggled, doing the same now, and felt Solas moving closer, so much she could smell his scent even among the one emanated by the food and burning wood.
“We touched them so much that in the end all the cakes had dents and weird shapes in them. My mother always let us do it, but the Hearthkeeper got so mad when he saw us!”
“It sounds very beautiful.” Solas agreed with sincerity and Lavellan rested her head on his shoulder, took a small piece of cake and put it in her mouth, closing her eyes. She relished the taste, different and yet so similar to the one she was used to, and after all those years and all the things that had happened to her, she found it to be comforting, like a message from home assuring her that everything was going to be fine.
Solas’ presence made the feeling even stronger and she raised her head, happy to see him eating as well.
“I’m glad I can finally eat them again with you.” she softly said and Solas blushed, this time not a simple darker shade of red on his ears and cheeks, but a full blush that covered his entire face. He looked moved by her words and the smile he gave her was so full of emotion she couldn’t help but turn pink in return.
“And I am glad I can eat them for the first time in your company, vhenan.” he looked down at his plate and hummed appreciatively. “They are good indeed.”
“Oh, I know! I could eat tons of them!” The nostalgic mood gone, Lavellan went back to the cake, filling her mouth with it while keeping Solas’ hand in hers.
They continued to eat like that, until the other elf proposed: “You could ask the kitchen staff at Skyhold to make them for you. I am sure it would have no problems in preparing them for you, if the recipe is provided.”
“They would need very specific ingredients. Halla butter, for example. And it’s no easily found outside Dalish clans. We tend not to sell it, it’s too precious, and when we do it’s expensive as hell.” Lavellan shrugged. “It would taste different with anything else and I prefer to remember the cakes like this, as they truly are supposed to be.”
Solas seemed to think about it, humming again and munching slowly; around them, the Dalish clan was loud and cheerful. The presence of the Inquisition wasn’t as jarring as before and everyone looked quite at ease.
Taniel and the children were listening to Varric, who was telling another story, this time featuring a brave heroine with freckles on her nose, orange hair, and a drooling mabari; Cassandra was exchanging advices about weapons with the same hunter that had complimented her skills; the rest of the clan was eating and joking without holding back, now used to the odd people that had visited and helped them so often.
Solas wasn’t paying attention to any of them, though; his hand still in Lavellan’s, he kept eating in silence, eyes fixated on the hearth, until he spoke again, softly: “You would like to eat them more often, though, wouldn’t you?”
Blinking, confused for a moment, Lavellan realized what he was referring to only after a few seconds, and then chuckled with a nod.
“Well, yes, it would be nice. But as I said the traditional ingredients would be too difficult to find or too expensive to buy. I don’t want Josephine to waste all the Inquisition’s money because of my culinary tastes.” She bumped playfully Solas’ shoulder and grinned at him: “This evening will be another beautiful memory I will always relate to hearth cakes. It is more than enough and more than I could ask for.”
Solas remained silent for a second, watching her with an intensity stronger than before; then he smiled back, brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed it.
The rest of the evening proceeded smoothly; the nugs and rabbits were put on the griddle and Lavellan waited for them to be ready before putting the hearth cake aside and eating the meat instead.
“I want to keep it for later!” she explained to Solas, who blinked at his own almost finished cake and left it as last dish as well.
Varric had conquered the children’s hearts with his stories, while Cassandra was listening with great attention to Master Taniel and her explanations about craftsmanship. Lavellan spoke with other people of the clan, answering their questions - most of which regarded Loranil and how he was doing in the Inquisition -, sharing her worries about the Venatori still scouting the area once in a while, discussing the wellbeing of her own clan.
“They must be proud of you.” Keeper Hawen said. “An elf commanding a force as powerful and influential as the Inquisition is an enormous step forward for the People.”
“Do you intend to return to them once there is peace?” the scarred huntress asked and Lavellan, the small rabbit she was eating blocked midair in front of her mouth, blinked and looked back and forth from the woman to Hawen. Then she lowered the half-eaten meat and watched thoughtfully the glow of the hearth, now mild and less warm than before.
“I don’t know. It depends on how things will evolve in the future.” she looked at the huntress and showed a bittersweet smile. “I miss them, but I think my place is with the Inquisition now. It would be difficult to go back to that life after all that has happened.”
She didn’t mention Solas and the life she hoped to have with him; she knew her clan would accept him, in the end, but she couldn’t possibly ask him to live a life he didn’t believe in, following rules and beliefs he considered wrong. She would introduce him to her friends and family, receive their best wishes for happiness, and then leave with him, exchanging letters and messages like she was doing now.
It was not that bad, after all, and she could always visit them. Perhaps with children, later, when peace was finally back in Thedas and the clan had finally accepted him as her husband…
Keeper Hawen seemed to understand what she was thinking and nodded slowly, his eyes moving to Solas, who had politely focused his attention elsewhere and was speaking with Varric. The huntress, though, was less discreet and moved closer to Lavellan to whisper with a knowing look: “The bald elf is your lover, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Lavellan smiled proudly, two red dots on her cheeks. Ready to talk about Solas and all his beautiful qualities, to tell everyone in the camp how good and kind he was, she sat straighter and was about to start when another woman intervened:
“Isn’t he too old, though?”
Lavellan froze, staring wide eyed at the elf that had spoken, a friend of the huntress. The latter glanced at Solas and Lavellan couldn’t see him, but he had visibly tensed up and kept his back turned to the women.
“He is much older than you.” the huntress commented with a confused frown and another friend of hers, the halla breeder of the clan, leaned closer towards Lavellan and murmured with worry: “Men of his age have usually problems at impregnating their wives. Were you not bonded with someone younger back at your clan, Inquisitor?”
Lavellan gaped at them, unable to come up with a decent answer, to make her brain work. This wasn’t what she had expected! This wasn’t the reaction she had imagined! Where were the envious, admired questions about their relationship? Where were the giggles and sighs of longing caused by Solas’ charm and her own words of love and praise for him?
The huntress laughed seeing her expression and continued, her voice even lower: “Oh, I see. He is your first love, huh?”
“You should consider other options, Inquisitor.” the halla breeder added calmly, her long fingers prying easily the hot meat of a nug off its bones and putting it in her mouth. “He may be good as a fleeting dalliance, but if you are looking for a long-lasting relationship, you should think about getting a younger man. One who can give you children.”
“And not die before you.” the huntress’ friend sighed. “Trust me, my husband was much older than me and he died just four years after our bonding.” She patted her stomach and a bad, cold shiver went up Lavellan’s back. “And no kids.”
“With your reputation and status, I’m sure every Dalish clan would be willing to cede a warrior or First.” the halla breeder said with a wink. “In fact, I heard that Keeper Hawen wanted to ask you something about Loranil.”
“Look. Even some of our warriors have already taken interest in you.” the huntress nodded towards the elf who had spoken with Cassandra. He was eating, but his dark eyes often moved from his food to where Lavellan was sitting and then they quickly darted back down on his plate.
“See?” the huntress whispered in excitement and her friends giggled, commenting on their companion’s alluring features and strength.
“What do you see in your lover, anyway? He is a bit… particular, with that bald head and his long face.” the breeder asked, then gasped, a hand covering her mouth. “Oooh! Is it because he is good in bed? Is that why?”
“He looks well built. His shoulders are broad, at least.” the huntress’ friend admitted, studying Solas’ back with a critical eyes. “But he also slouches a lot. Mage, right?”
“Why is he barefaced? Is he a city elf?”
Lavellan knew they weren’t telling and asking her those things to hurt her, it was just the mentality of the Dalish that made them speak like that and give her that kind of advices, but she couldn’t help feel mortified and so, so sad. Then another feeling came, stronger and bolder, a prideful and indignant rage, and she frowned, clenching her fists on her knees.
“I don’t want anyone else.” she replied, hissing her words, perfectly aware of Solas’ presence. The noises and laughs of the clan partially covered their conversation and he was still turned to Varric, but she didn’t want to risk it.
She still hadn’t see how much his shoulders were tense and rigid and the way his head was hanging.
“He is my vhenan.” she continued and the three women were taken aback by her tone and angry face. “And he is such a beautiful, wonderful, kind man! You have no idea how good, brilliant, and charming he is!” She breathed deeply, trying to regain her composure, but to no avail. “I don’t care if he is older than me, that doesn’t matter. I don’t care if you don’t find him attractive, he is to me, and that’s what counts. To be frank, I don’t care what you think at all and if you sat here just to criticize my lover, then you can leave.”
The three women remained silent as Lavellan angrily went back to her now cold food and a heavy, stressful silence lasted for many embarrassing minutes, until the huntress spoke up again:
“We apologize, Inquisitor. We didn’t mean offense.”
“Too bad, I am already offended.” Lavellan grumbled and glared at the other elf when she lightly touched her arm.
“We were just… curious.” the huntress, looking visibly sorry, shook her head. “He is not the kind of lover we would expect another Dalish to choose. We know your situation is now particular, but…”
“He is a great choice. I am very lucky to have him.” Lavellan replied, a massive scowl etched on her face. “I love him and I am proud of him.”
In that right moment, Solas got up. The dinner was almost over, anyway, and he excused himself, saying he needed some fresh air far from the fire.
Lavellan looked at his back as he walked away, her blood turning into ice, her heart beating too fast. Had he heard…?
She quickly stood up as well, forgetting about the hearth cake she had left on the grass, but before she could follow him, Hawen approached her.
“Inquisitor? May I have a word?”
“I…” Lavellan glanced back at Solas, who was heading towards the edge of the camp, alone, shoulders slumped down, as if he was carrying a heavy weight. She bit her lips and nodded quickly, impatiently, not caring about well manners.
“Thank you.”
Hawen brought her near the aravels, where less people were; the clan was still cleaning things up near the hearth, so they were alone and could talk in peace.
“Inquisitor, you have helped my clan greatly and for this I am most thankful.” Hawen started and Lavellan dreaded what was about to come, because if what the breeder had said was true, then the Keeper had something very specific in mind.
“I am always happy to help my people.” Lavellan replied with controlled politeness, her eyes moving to Solas every few seconds. She could still see him, standing near the river, looking down at the water.
“I allowed Loranil to join your Inquisition and his messages have been reassuring. Your words tonight confirmed them and it makes me equally happy to hear he is doing you a great service.” Hawen put a hand under his chin and observed Lavellan with curiosity.
“Tell me, have your ever thought about strengthening your alliance with a Dalish clan?”
Lavellan inwardly groaned and for the second time that night she prayed the Creators to open a Rift under her feet and make her disappear into the Fade. They didn’t listen - again - and she had to face the embarrassing topic.
“No, Keeper.” she answered, mustering all her patience and kindness. “I have no interest in doing so… not in the way you are suggesting, anyway.”
“Oh?” Hawen looked surprised for a second, then let out a brief laugh. “I guess you’ve already been told, then.”
“I am flattered, Keeper Hawen, I know how important a marriage between a member of your clan and the Inquisitor would be for your people, but I am already in a relationship with someone else and I have no intention of breaking up with him.” Lavellan stood straighter just like she had done when speaking with the three women and her expression was serious, accepting no excuses.
“The mage without vallaslin, right?” Hawen didn’t try to hide his disapproval now. “I have no right to comment about your personal relationships, Inquisitor, but would you allow a worried hahren to give you a piece of advice? Not just because you are refusing my offer. You cannot surely believe such a relationship to be productive or positive in the future.”
“Your clan already explained it to me.” Lavellan replied bitterly and crossed her arms, signaling her wish to end the conversation as soon as possible. “And I gave my answer. We will have to find other ways to strengthen our alliance.”
“I see. I apologize on behalf of my people too, if their words have wounded you.” Hawen cleared his throat and stepped back. “It’s a pity, though. One of our best warriors had also volunteered to be part of this… idea, in case you were interested. Now that I know you won’t accept, I will tell him there is no need for him to leave the clan.”
“The Inquisition’s doors are always open for everyone who wishes to join.” Lavellan reminded him, but this time it was Hawen who shook his head, refusing.
“No, Inquisitor, one member is already too much. We lost too many people this year, as you well know.” He bowed his head, a respectful, although cold, gesture that Lavellan returned. “Thank you for your time, da’len. And don’t be too surprised, when more requests and proposals will arrive to you from all Thedas.”
Lavellan watched him walk away with a bad feeling festering in her heart. He was right, of course. Josephine had already made some innocuous jokes about “all the nobles of Thedas fighting for your hand, Inquisitor!” and even though no letters or messages of that kind had arrived yet, Lavellan knew that what had transpired that night in Hawen’s camp was just the beginning, the hint that something bigger was coming.
His wasn’t the only clan interested in marrying one of their people with the mighty elven Inquisitor; the more she did, the more powerful her organization became, the more her suitors grew in number. And if a simple Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains had already made plans to wed the scout already working for her or one of its warriors to her, then there were no doubt other bigger groups interested in seeing her married with one of their chosen, lucky guys.
Creators, she wasn’t going to allow that. She was ready to answer angrily to every single letter, if necessary, and show everyone how happy she was with Solas. No one in her Inner Circle, nor in all Skyhold, had made any ill comment about them. There had been crude, silly jokes from Sera and Iron Bull, knowing glances and smirks from Leliana, giggles from Josephine and happy sighs from Cassandra, even a wink from Dorian, Krem, and the dwarven bartender, but nobody had dared to criticize their relationship and rudely warn her about possible problems.
The thought of the three women asking her questions and meddling in her business still made her grit her teeth in rage. Fuming and livid, she went to gather her cot and heavy blanket for the night from their bags they had left near the smaller fire, which had been rekindled as Hawen had promised. The clan was getting into the aravels to rest and wishes of goodnight and safe sleep echoed in the camp, many of them directed at the Inquisitor too. She returned them politely, even hugging some of the children, until the warrior that had been watching her all night smiled at her and repeated the wish of a good, warm night with too much sweetness.
She answered with a mumble and a deep frown and ignored him as he, confused, went into an aravel without saying anything else.
She completely ignored Cassandra when she chuckled and told her that “that elf has asked me many questions about you, Inquisitor”.
And she put all her effort into searching for Solas; she looked around, until he appeared behind her, holding in his hands the hearth cake she had forgotten after speaking with the three women.
“If I recall correctly, you wanted to keep this for last.” he said to her with a soft smile and Lavellan’s heart swelled with joy and love, touched by his gesture and thoughtfulness. She thanked him with a kiss, took the cake and put it in her bag, before smiling back at him and asking breathily: “Do you want to sleep with me? Not here, maybe. Somewhere more… private.” she added quickly, wishing to stay alone with him, far from Varric and Cassandra so they could talk and cuddle freely.
“I know the right place.” Solas nodded, taking his own cot, and Varric intervened, worried for them: “Are you going to be alright so far from the fire, lovebirds?”
“Do not worry, Master Tethras.” Solas replied, his smile never faltering, his voice containing a hint of smugness. “We know how to keep each other warm.”
“Nevermind, Chuckles. Pretend I didn’t ask anything.” the dwarf snorted as Cassandra, already inside her bedroll, groaned loudly. Lavellan wished them goodnight, stifling her giggles, and then followed Solas to the outskirts of the camp, where the usual statue of Fen’Harel had been placed.
“Here?” she exclaimed, surprised. The statues of the Dread Wolf were used to keep demons far from the camp and protect it, but it was rare for Dalish elves to approach them voluntarily and spend time near them.
“Scared of the Dread Wolf, vhenan?” Solas asked, his cot already down on the ground; his tone was teasing and serious at the same time, letting her know he was ready to move if she wasn’t comfortable there. Not wanting to appear overly superstitious - it was just a statue, after all, and surely the Dread Wolf had better things to do than pay attention to two lovers resting near one of his portrayals -, Lavellan shook her head and rested her bedroll next to Solas’, slipping under the leather and blanket she had brought.
“Not if I am with you.” she answered with a grin as Solas joined her on the ground and she didn’t miss the way his eyes glinted with amusement, but also something similar to a bittersweet sentiment she couldn’t quite grasp. He used a spell to warm their bedrolls and keep them that way for all night, then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest.
Lavellan breathed in his scent; grass and old paper, elfroot and humid soil. Even a hint of sweat, but she liked it - no matter what Dorian and Vivienne said - and she nuzzled her face against his neck as he kissed her head.
She raised it to look at him and the sight of him nearly made her gasp. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, solemn and regal, his eyes deep and dark, his gaze intense and tender at the same time. She kissed his chin, then his cheek, and finally his lips. She couldn’t understand how people couldn’t see beauty in him; was it because they didn’t know him as well as she did? Was it because he was different and so unwilling to be at the center of attention, far from everyone’s focus?
It didn’t matter. She was there for him and she would make sure to tell him how proud of him she was. Since their first conversation at Haven, she’d had the impression that he wasn’t used to talking with someone about his interests nor being listened to when he spoke. She promised she would do her best to keep making him feel respected.
So she raised a hand and caressed his face, tracing a finger down his cheek, until he turned his head to playfully bite it. Lavellan giggled and the sound made Solas smile.
“You have a beautiful smile, you know that?” she said and Solas looked surprised for a moment, almost shocked, as if she had gone mad. Then he made that cute noise of his - a snorting laughter - and pressed his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes.
“Thank you, vhenan.” He kissed her nose, then: “But I believe yours is way more beautiful than mine.” He slowly turned serious and rested his palm on her cheek, his thumb stroking her vallaslin, then moving to touch her lips.
He looked sad and Lavellan braced for what was coming, sure that her worst fears had come true.
“My heart.” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you happy with me?”