A/N: This is just some drabble prompt from tumblr. I don't know, I may add in more later on? I had some ideas of my own. If I do, it might span the length of the game, but I doubt it'll get that far. xD My Inquistor's name is Thema, since I love me some Egyptian names. If I do make more drabbles, it won't be in an even timeline. One can be at the end of the game, while the next can be in the middle or beginning.
Her feet are sore and her hands calloused, dirt beneath her nails from a long days work of planting the elfroot in the garden with the sun blazing down all morning. It was the first day in a long time where she simply wandered about Skyhold in silence, without the ever present need to be out and about, saving this and that, killing him or her or that thing spitting acid at the farmer's cows. The sun is setting over the mountains, coloring the sky in oranges and pinks, the slightest yellows. It reminds her of the fresco in the rotunda, and it's almost second nature, the way her body turns and begins to walk in that direction without even hesitating.
She is humming as she walks through the halls, as passes Varric with a lazy wave and a wink, and even as she opens the door and it gives that horrible screech to announce her presence. Lavellan feels that ever familiar smile light up her features, even caked in dirt, and her lips begin to form around her greeting, "Haren—"
He's in the middle of the rotunda, smudged in an array of colored paint, and he's holding himself up with such careful precision, shifting muscles and even, smooth breaths. He is without a shirt, skin pale and unusually broad shoulders for an elf, something that makes her cheeks burn red and her fingers curl awkwardly in her dirty shirt. She tries not to ogle, honestly, but it's a hard thing to accomplish, especially since the older elf failed to even acknowledge her yet. So she takes her time, watching intently the way muscles tighten beneath his skin like a taunt chord pulled tight, and the graceful movement of his hips as he shifts weight to one foot or the other. He looks almost as though he were dancing, except the movements were careful and firm, training each muscle with one sure move of his limbs.
Up above, where the crows caw obnoxiously loud, she hears an unmistakable chuckle, and Dorian's head peeks out over the railing long enough for her to glower at him. Of course he's watching, she thinks, he's probably enjoying this as much as I am.
"Inquisitor," she freezes at the sound of Solas's voice. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that staring is impolite?"
He's not even looking her way, but there's a certain warmth to his voice that tickles her spine. "No, but I will gladly take any punishment you have in mind for the offense." It comes out so fast, so unexpected, that she has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep in her gasp of surprise. Spending too much time with Dorian, you twit. Look at his ears – they're red! You've done it now, Lavellan. Despite her worries, she hears laughter again, except this time it's sweeter, tender, and more valuable to her than gold.
Solas's eyes crinkle at the corners the way she adores, lips quirking into a smile. She sucks in a breath, and curls her fingers into each other. "Come, Vhenan. I want to show you something."
As soon as she takes his hand, she is lost in daydreams as he begins to touch her, innocently guiding her body to the measured movements of the exercise he was just practicing. She hates to admit that she's more focused on his touch or each graceful sway of his body to really pay attention to what he's saying. He's telling her about this being relaxing, but it's not the words so much as the voice she pays attention to. She'll blame it on her exhaustion as she curls into bed at night, like a cat who had sat out in the heat for too long and swats at a mouse but can't get up enough energy to give chase. She feels like that at this moment, covered in dirt and sweat; She feels as though she earned the right to at least be entranced by Solas just for one day and not feel like an idiot for it.
But eventually, to her dismay, he moves to stand by himself and leaves her to her own mechanisms and clumsy body. She knows she's supposed to watch and learn, do as he's doing, but she's caught up again at the very sight of him, too distracted by the muscles on his back to notice she's stepping with her left and not her right foot, and then she's falling.
His name is on her lips in a humorous squawk, so loud that it startles the crows up in the rafters and sends them into a frenzy and Dorian into a cursing fit. Solas turns and scrambles to catch her, but even with his finesse and swiftness, gravity is stronger and pulls them both down painfully onto the floor. Thankfully, he was quick enough to keep her from knocking her head too hard on the stone, but there will be a bump, she is sure of it. She hears herself whimper, her head spinning and she's seeing pigeons fluttering above Solas' head and poking with their beaks like protecting an egg—
He's above her, pressed against her side in a way that might've seemed inappropriate if someone were to walk in on them right at that very moment. He's cradling her head and gently soothing the tender area with his fingers.
Definitely a bump.
He's chuckling then, fondly; "You would have put all the elves of Arlathan to shame with your grace, Vhenan."
Her head is throbbing, but she manages to smile up at him, more so when she feels the soothing touch of healing magic. Her smile, though, seems near delirious. There's a burst of color around the curve of Solas's ear that catches her attention though, bright with yellows and blues. She suspects he must've scratched it while pondering his art, and she near laughes at the sight of it, reaching up to trace the pointed ear affectionately. His gaze softens and she swears she can feel his heart through his chest pick up, but then again, she always had an over active imagination. "The elves of Arlathan never had anyone to catch the clumsy ones of their time – but I have you. Of course they wouldn't stand a chance against my pure poise and dignity when you are watching out for me."
He chuckles, perhaps a bit quieter this time and she fears it's something she said, but by then it's too late to ask as he's pulling her up from the floor and wiping off some mud that must've been sitting on the bottom of her chin.
"Again, ma sa'lath? I promise I will try to pay attention this time."
"Do not make promises you cannot keep, lethallan. It's unbecoming of you."
Despite the sternness of his voice on his last remark, despite the amusement crinkling at the corners of his eyes, he falls back into an elegant stance again to which she attempts to mimic. She gets distracted more than once as the hours go by; Solas, himself, is caught glancing one too many times in her direction, much to her delight.
Later that day, with a heaping plate of food in front of her face that makes her drool, Dorian kicks her shin from under the dining table with a smirk plastered on his face.
"You totally did that on purpose, you little minx."
She grins and touches the still sore bump on her head. "It was worth it."
