Author's Note: I like to make my stories as accessible to everyone as I can, so I purposefully left out the Inquisitor's first name and physical description so that it would be easier to imagine your own Inquisitor in the leading role. Even if the choices here don't reflect your own gameplay, please feel free to play pretend a bit and make the story your own. I wrote this for my fellow Solasmancers—EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT IN THE NEXT GAME. Just repeat that mantra to yourself.
Inspired by party banter between Cassandra and Solas in the Hissing Wastes. Mild spoilers for the DLC Trespasser.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age: Inquisition or any of its characters.
Perfume
Eau de Felicidus Aria. A treasure well-loved at one time, and one that had brought love with it. It had been a gift from Vivienne, she recalled—a day that she remembered very clearly…
The sound of Lavellan's footfalls hitting the stone steps echoed across the chasm of the upper balcony as she climbed the stairs to Vivienne's quarters. Vivienne was waiting patiently on the outside of the balcony, a slight breeze lifting up the hem of her robe as an orange ray from the setting sun cut across her figure. Lavellan braced herself for the unavoidable confrontation that was sure to happen, taking the final step onto the balcony and taking a deep breath before joining her out in the open air.
When the mage had asked to see her earlier that day, she had been on her guard. She thought, perhaps, it was to disapprove over Cole's extended stay, or that the drapery in the throne room was too clownish, or some such nonsense. As much as she tried to close the gap between her and Vivienne, there was always something that came up between them that reminded her of why they were so different.
And so she had been surprised when Vivienne offered her a gift.
"Is that…perfume?" Lavellan leaned against the rail of the balcony, still facing Vivienne, as one of her eyebrows arched in a question.
Shaken out of her reverie, Vivienne sharply glanced towards the Inquisitor out of the corner of her eye, her body unmoving from where she had stood taking in the view of Skyhold. Clasped gracefully within her hands was a rounded glass vial, cut in facets like a crystal with inlaid gold engravings of the Orlesian lion and decorative corner scrolls. The liquid inside was a transparent rose color and seemed to emanate a slight glow, or maybe that was just the shimmer of the glass, Lavellan thought. It looked incredibly expensive.
"Yes, my dear. It's a rather rare one, at that. The flowers used in its making are in danger of extinction." Vivienne shifted her body to face the Inquisitor, the light behind her slightly concealing her face in a silhouette."You must wear it to the Orlesian ball, darling."
Lavellan's hair rustled in the breeze, the murmurs of her people working below in the courtyard the only sound to reach their ears as a moment of silence passed between them.
"That's…very kind of you, Vivienne. But I'm not sure I understand for what—"
"First and foremost, it is a gift." She interrupted. "As the Inquisitor, you have appearances to upkeep."
Vivienne blinked, her face betraying no emotion, her gaze steady. How she exuded such confidence, Lavellan would never know. "However, if you wear it to Empress Celene's ball, then all the nobles will know you wear it. It is simply a display of status. Magisters' wives used to bathe in the stuff to display their wealth…we simply can't have you mistaken for a commoner."
"Oh." Lavellan wasn't sure if she had just been insulted. "Well then, thank you, for all I have to impress the nobles with are my Dalish manners." The corner of her mouth curled up playfully as she attempted to lighten the mood.
But Vivienne was always ever serious. "Do not sell yourself so short, my dear. You came this far on your manners, didn't you?" She held up the bottle in between them, the waning sunlight glinting through the glass and making it shine. "Take it."
Lavellan reached out and grasped the vial firmly in her hand. Releasing her hold on it, Vivienne nodded once in approval, turned, and strode purposefully across the balcony back into Skyhold where her makeshift quarters resided.
Turning the perfume in her hand, Lavellan examined it. It was truly a generous gift, but maybe not the most practical. Most of her time was spent leaving Skyhold on expeditions, battling their enemies, and tactfully engaging in diplomatic matters. What reason would there ever be for her to use such a thing other than at the Winter Palace? Ah well. The gift was in good faith, she figured, and so she would wear at least this once to the ball.
It had been a long day.
Who knew it would take a Dalish elf to set an empire in order? Too much sneaking around, delving into secrets, listening to idle gossip and resorting to blackmail for one day, she mused.
Orlais had been set back in line for now, and Lavellan breathed a sigh of relief knowing all the political manipulations were done. Feeling the exhaustion creeping upon her, she had escaped from the celebrations to one of the upper balconies to get away from the crowds.
Instead, she had found Morrigan there, waiting.
"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them," Her voice rang out clearly in the evening air, and Lavellan did her best not to start in surprise at the unexpected interruption. "Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."
A sudden rise of distant cheers from the rooms inside seemed to happen on cue as Morrigan finished speaking. The night was warm and pleasant, and the lanterns that lined the balcony edge gave off a soft glow that was almost drowsy. It was tempting for Lavellan to let down her guard and believe that it was indeed just a joyous celebration and not a stepping stone in the long fight ahead.
Ignoring the disarming elements of the moment and the urge to give in to her own weariness, Lavellan lifted her chin and brought her shoulders back. She still didn't trust Morrigan. Leliana had said as much, and she didn't know what to expect from the mysterious apostate.
"There's plenty of opportunity for that later. I wanted some air."
"I had no wish to interrupt your breathing, only to bring news." Morrigan paused for a beat before continuing, "By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celine wishes to offer you any and all aid…including mine. Congratulations." No bias was betrayed in her voice, and Lavellan wondered to herself whether this decision had been by the mage's design, or if she had grudgingly been forced to accept Celene's orders.
Morrigan could certainly prove useful to the Inquisition, but she would have to keep an eye on her. She seemed like the kind of person who would always have an ulterior motive. Lavellan was tired, though, and if this was going to be a problem for her, she didn't want to solve it right now. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."
Morrigan smiled at her knowingly. "A most gracious response."
She turned and walked away, the trim of her wine-colored dress gliding along the marbled floor. "I shall meet you at Skyhold." The sound of her steps faded as she drifted off into the inner rooms and Lavellan leaned against the balcony edge, letting her head hang down as she closed her eyes and finally enjoyed the quiet.
As quickly as Morrigan had left, though, another pair of soft footsteps approached. She sighed. Why was it that she was always needed by everyone all the time?
But this—the pattern of the footfalls was one she recognized and she raised her head slowly, opening her eyes—this was a welcome visitor. She felt a sense of relief wash over her as Solas came up and leaned on the balcony next to her.
"I'm not surprised to find you out here—thoughts?" His calm voice cut through the air, and she felt a little spark of warmth rise through her at the familiarity of it.
A lot of things were plaguing her mind tonight. Usually she had to keep up appearances as the "strong and fearless" Inquisitor, and so these thoughts would be kept to herself. But not with Solas. There was an understanding that no pretenses were needed, and she found she could be herself without losing his respect and faith in her as their leader. And while she would readily choose to share what was on her mind with him, tonight he got the short version:
"It's been a very long day." Lavellan spoke softly, lifting herself up from the balcony.
Solas nodded in understanding. She knew that he could already read it in her face. As Solas turned his head to look at her, he expressed his own agreement, "For everyone, I'd imagine."
As he looked back to the balcony and the view of the shadowy gardens below, Lavellan took in the sight of him. It was strange to see him dressed up in such finery, knowing him as she did. He was a person of simplicity, and she had actually been surprised when he told her how much he was enjoying the ball.
A part of her wished that they both had the luxury to be themselves that evening, to behave freely, openly— to enjoy the dancing and the music. But they lived in a world of dangerous politics and unbending class restrictions. Two elves, enjoying each other's company and partaking in the night's events? Andraste forbid.
Solas continued, "It's nearly over now. Cullen's giving the men their marching orders as we speak."
Lavellan blinked, his clear voice awakening her from thoughts of the evening's earlier events. She had to remind herself that she had this moment now, and that would be enough.
A round of loud applause and laughter sounded through the open balcony door as one dance ended and another began. Abruptly, Solas stood up and she felt his hand come to rest on her back. She wondered what had disturbed his peace that he moved so suddenly, but then he turned to look at her.
He grew animated as he indicated his head towards the inner rooms. "Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me."
He pulled away from her and bent down, offering her his hand. He looked rather handsome in his crimson uniform, light gleaming off the silver buttons, as he bowed before her.
Lavellan couldn't help the smile that slowly spread across her face. She had been looking forward to spending time with him all evening, and the eagerness in his expression and voice made it all the more cherished. Before this night, she had had no idea that it was in his character to behave in such a romantic way.
"I'd love to," she said as she firmly placed her hand in his.
Solas clasped her hand, and she felt the gentle tug on her arm as she was drawn towards him. His other hand slipped down to rest on her upper back as she positioned her left hand on his shoulder.
Settling into their positions, they quickly fell in step and moved about the marbled balcony with such ease that Lavellan forgot for a moment that she was still a newcomer to the particulars of Orlais dancing. Solas seemed right at home with it, however, and she reveled in this time they had together.
She caught herself holding her breath and had to remind herself to relax. There was something about being so close to him, in such an intimate setting, that made her heart beat louder and faster with each moment. It seemed as though they were barely touching each other, and yet the moment was so delicate that she felt if she were not careful, it would shatter.
She had never expected to find such a person in her life, or to have…whatever this was.
Solas was…unique. When she had first encountered him, he had been very adamant and passionate about his beliefs. He spoke of things she had never heard of or been taught before, about exploring the Fade and the true nature of spirits. He was so darn sure of himself, as though he had never had been proved wrong in his life. Perhaps that is what drew her in.
At first, she hadn't really believed his tales. Her queries were a polite indulgence, and nothing more. But the more he had to say, the more questions she had. The certainty and confidence he had in his truths had made her begin to wonder about her own.
There had been one day after conversing with him, when she was heading back up to her quarters, that she realized she actually felt some embarrassment on behalf of her people, at their stubbornness and lack of reception to new ideas. At their ignorance. It was then she became aware that his words were striking a chord in her, and suddenly she needed to know more. And that, in turn, is what drew him to her.
As their friendship was built up, mutual respect began to change into something more. She would catch herself thinking about him when she was alone, and be self-conscious when they were together. She would be playful with him, and he would flirt ever so carefully back.
And then, in one moment, in a dream of all places, she acted on her words and made a bold move. She had reached over and touched his face, turning it towards her suddenly, and then pressed her lips against his in a heated kiss. There was a moment of surprise on his part, and she had pulled back and turned away, not sure if she had made an embarrassing mistake. But she was proved wrong when he had reacted immediately, pulling her back in towards him fiercely and kissing her with such need and passion, as though he had been trying to resist her and could no longer. The urgency and longing in his eyes had set her insides on fire, and she could still feel his warm lips slide over hers, and the strong grip of his hand upon her arm…
"Is something on your mind, vhenan?"
Lavellan's mind snapped back to the present. She tilted her head up towards him as an amused look came across his face. A heat rose through her and she suddenly felt very shy under his intent gaze. A blush broke across her face.
"No, sorry, I just…" She had to break eye contact with him to regain her composure. He was making her feel flustered. Not that she minded, entirely. "I was just remembering something…pleasant."
"Ah." He said, a knowing smile spreading across his lips.
She glanced back up at him and the look on his face halted her movements as their dance came to a sudden still. The warmth in his eyes as he stared at her was overwhelming. A beat passed as they stared at each other, their bodies still in their positions but with no motion to carry the dance.
He slowly leaned in towards her, and her breath caught in her lungs as his nose brushed against hers and a soft kiss found its way to her lips. She breathed out, and her entire body relaxed as she released the hold of their clasped hands and slid her newly freed hand up behind his neck. His hand dropped to her lower waist as he pressed in further, tilting his head to the side to reach her better as she pulled him in with the firm press of her fingers upon the back of his neck. Lavellan kissed him back with fervor, and for a moment, everything was alright. There wasn't an ancient Tevinter magister trying to enslave the world, there weren't endless rifts and demons, and there certainly weren't any more infuriating Orlesian politics.
The faint music emanating from the ballroom tapered off to a close and a final wave of applause and cheers signaled the end of the last dance for the night.
As she pulled away from him, Solas wrinkled his nose as he let out a hearty laugh. "Is that…perfume?" He said, surprise coloring his voice.
Her face flushed an even brighter shade of red.
She suddenly felt silly that someone like her—a leader, a fighter, and a Dalish elf—would partake in such a frivolous practice.
"It was a gift from Vivienne." Lavellan tried to explain, pausing for a moment as she glanced downwards before she started to ramble on. "I don't know what I was thinking. It doesn't quite suit me, does it? It was a bit of petty thing to do, I suppose—"
"Calm yourself, vhenan." Solas chuckled at her ruffled state. "It is an unexpected revelation, but certainly not a disagreeable one. I had best keep in mind you take an interest in such things." He teased.
She smiled up at him sheepishly.
"And," he breathed softly, lowering his face down to her once more, "it does not suit you ill at all."
Unable to resist any longer, she tilted her head up to kiss him.
Perhaps I should wear this more often, was the last thought that crossed her mind as she was swept away.
The landscape here was just beautiful. There was something about the stillness of it all—how the dark sky was filled with stars and only the faint wisps of evening clouds disturbed their light, along with the endless horizons of sand that stretched to a beyond she could only imagine, and the brilliant glow of the torches as they lit up the long forgotten ruins in such an dramatic way. It was quiet, peaceful, untouched—it felt suspended in time from everything else. The Hissing Wastes was truly a marvel.
There had been groans of complaints from her companions—mostly Dorian, as Cassandra and Solas had given up a long time ago making their protests—about the terrain. Everyone in their party had opted to stay at the camp, and Lavellan had taken great amusement in their pain by making them draw straws to volunteer for the daily expedition.
"Is there no end to this sand?!" Dorian suddenly burst out, his voice breaking the solemn night. "Why, just yesterday I spent several hours trying to get it out of my robes. It's a nuisance. It shouldn't be allowed to exist."
Lavellan chuckled. He had been the lucky winner of the short straw on yesterday's venture as well.
"Oh, enough already!" Cassandra responded, exasperated. "You don't have to polish off all this armor when we get back to camp, let alone haul it everywhere!"
"Well now, that's a life choice, my friend."
Lavellan rolled her eyes at their banter as she trudged up the next hill of sand. She wouldn't lie, the conditions here were horrible for covering long distance, and the air was chilly if she were to describe it generously, but the presence of this place was just awing. And of course, she had the pleasure of her present company to improve her demeanor.
"Please, we must remember the purpose for why we are here, and choose to bear the elements for time being," Solas interjected, "…however unfavorable they are."
Solas had handled the territory well for the most part, until the native wildlife seemed to take a disliking to him. To be fair, he had stepped on the tail of the hibernating lurker first.
For the most part, the difficulty was in trying to get a foothold in the uneven sand as they were constantly winding in-between dunes, lumbering up hills, stumbling down them…then they would come across some broken ruins and climb up ladders, crossing platforms to reach the other end safely, and then have to climb back down. And then they would turn a corner and stumble upon a Venatori camp…
Alright, so it wasn't perfect.
"For Andraste's or whoever's sake, can't we rest for a bit?!" Dorian exclaimed.
"Alright, alright," Lavellan chided him jokingly, "There should be a good vantage point at the top of this ridge. We can stop there for a bit." Even as she suggested the idea, she became aware of her own physical exertion.
The moon was enormous, and it lit up the sand in hues of blue, lighting their path as they struggled to the top of the dune. Lavellan might have even found their progress amusing if she wasn't party to the struggling herself. As if understanding their pain, the ground leveled off at the top of the slope, and several boulders were present, half-sunken in the sand, casting off dark shadows in their direction. In the vicinity, a few scattered trees made their home.
"Thank the Maker…" Cassandra mumbled under her breath.
"Indeed." Solas concurred. "Although, do remember we need to make the journey back."
Cassandra and Dorian shot him a glare that would have made Corypheus tremble.
A large piece of bedrock jutted out in-between two of the boulders, and Solas and Cassandra made their way to it as Dorian and Lavellan moved towards the boulders on either side. The large rocks seemed to be formed into a circular shape, and there was a dip in the sand centered within the area that gave evidence that this area had been used as a campsite sometime in the near past. The remains of some kindling rested inside the pit and Lavellan nodded in appreciation as Dorian waved his hand over it as he passed and a crackle of energy lit it up.
As Lavellan removed her gear and settled down onto the boulder, the relieved ache in her calves made her realize just how long they had been walking. She closed her eyes and sighed as a swift breeze swung by and ruffled her hair. She forgot sometimes that her Dalish upbringing made her more accustomed to the outside elements than her companions. Cassandra and Dorian were probably more familiar with traveling through such weather from one destination to another, not having to actually live in the wilderness. As for Solas…well, she didn't really know much about his background. He had kept it mostly to himself, and she hadn't tried to press the matter too far. From what she could tell, he was a bit of a nomad himself, but where his journey had actually begun was a mystery.
The flickering light from the small fire cast dancing shadows around them, and Lavellan turned to look at her companions. Cassandra sat closest to her, with Solas on the warrior's other side as they shared the same seating space, and Dorian was across from Lavellan, warming his hands at the pit.
"There, that's better." Dorian sighed contentedly, the fiery glow lighting up his dark features. "What good is a mage with frozen fingers, hm? I need to be at my best in order to shine."
Cassandra rolled her eyes as Solas shook his head.
"A truly good mage knows how to judge and respond to his elements," Solas began, "otherwise he can be easily overcome. What good is a mage who is hindered by frozen fingers?"
Cassandra tilted her head back and laughed. "He is saying that you are full of it." She clarified.
The Tevinter lifted his chin up proudly and gave them a dirty look from the corner of his eyes. "Unlike our resident apostate over here, I don't require it of myself to sacrifice style or comfort for substance."
Solas opened his mouth to respond, and Lavellan's eyes lit up as a smile found its to her face. Despite their previous objections, they now seemed relaxed and at ease, and she felt a small bit of happiness inside of her begin to grow as she watched them jesting with each other, warm laughter and friendly voices filling up the dark night air.
A soft wind whistled past, and the clusters of leaves on the trees brushed together like the bristles on a paintbrush, a soothing and familiar sound. Breathing in the fresh air deeply, Cassandra suddenly turned to look at Solas, cocking one of her eyebrows up in surprise.
"Is that…perfume?" She said incredulously, eyeing the apostate elf up and down.
A moment passed as Lavellan registered the question in her head. Then she froze. Her eyes widened as she realized what Cassandra had just asked.
Eau de Felicidus Aria. No…they couldn't tell, right?
She had been with Solas earlier that day, separated from the rest of the group. It had been a rather intimate venture, to say the least. Only now was she realizing that the scent was so strong. Surely it wasn't that obvious…
The mage himself seemed unconcerned at the connection that Cassandra was about to make. "You must be—" He began to speak as he inhaled the air. The scent lingered in the passing breeze and suddenly he stiffened up, his only reaction the slight twitch of an eyebrow as he came to the same realization as Lavellan. "Strange. Perhaps it's the trees." His painfully sad excuse rang out in the quiet night.
Lavellan tried desperately to hold back a grin at the humor of his situation as she looked away, her cheeks stinging in embarrassment.
Cassandra glanced at the nearby crop of trees and shrugged, the association seemingly lost on her.
Solas abruptly stood up and with a flash of his hand, the flames from the pit were put out with a layer of frost. "Perhaps we should return to the main camp, yes? The night will only grow colder."
As he quickly picked up his staff and strode off, Cassandra jumped to her feet in an attempt to catch up. Lavellan looked up as she started to push off from the boulder where she sat and caught Dorian's eye. The mage had a knowing gleam in his eye as he winked at her before getting up and following the others. She shook her head in mortification.
Perhaps it's the trees, indeed.
Now she held the bottle of perfume in her hand, dust coating it from where it had sat unused for all these years.
It had been forgotten amongst all the clutter and collections that filled up what had been the wine cellar in Skyhold. For a time it had become an unofficial storage area after a number of miscellaneous items had made their home down there, but now those items lay stuffed within stacks of crates that filled up the old Haven chantry entrance hall.
After Halamshiral, it had been decided that Skyhold was no longer safe and they were put at a disadvantage by their enemy's knowledge of the fortress. They needed to move out and regroup, and so they had returned to familiar territory—where the Inquisition had first begun all those years ago. Since the time the small town of Haven had been buried in an avalanche, the area had been slowly cleared away and repaired until it started to look like its old self again.
Lavellan stood there, amongst all the chaos of transported items in the large foyer of the chantry. Most of the structure had been rebuilt, and a soft blue glow emanated through the stained glass that had been replaced on the upper windows. There was a lack of furniture, though, with only a few bulky tables and wooden chairs scattered around. Some of the tapestries had been replaced on the wall and several decorative vases placed at select entranceways, but the stone floor was bare save for the piles of Skyhold relics that they had brought with them. Someone had taken the time to rebuild the main shrine to Andraste, however, and a number of torches had been placed on the walls that bathed the room in a flickering gold light. It was such a strange feeling to be here once again, after everything that had transpired. So many things had changed since she had been here last. It felt like a bittersweet homecoming in some ways.
Why here?
Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you.
Lavellan shook her head. She needed to focus. She had been looking for a chart, but when she saw that familiar shape hidden amongst a number of enchanted objects in one of the wooden crates, something had pulled at her and she couldn't resist the urge to pick it up.
Lavellan turned the vial in her hand, the last remaining quarter of the blush-tinted liquid swelling to the side where it crested over and fell back into itself. Brushing her thumb over the surface of the glass, she cleared away the dirt to reveal the sigil of House Valmont. The symbol had a little less power behind it now—a little less respect—after the events that had transpired during her times at the Winter Palace.
She sighed as she placed the bottle back inside the box, the movement kicking up a small puff of dust from the other items that were crushed inside the crate. The bottle had been forgotten during its time at Skyhold for the past several years, at least.
The memories it brought back were of happier times, but yet they also brought back pain. There was a tinge of hurt and betrayal that seemed to underly all those moments now.
Her emotions were conflicting. The hurt of what had happened, both emotionally and physically, brought her through cycles of depression, anger, sadness, and despair. It hurt more than she could ever show. After some time, her pride would kick in, and she would remind herself that she could be strong again. She had to.
She wrested herself from the past and focused on the task at hand. Leliana, Cassandra, and Scout Harding were on their way. She would be expecting them in the room downstairs, the prisoner's quarters. Where she had once been a prisoner of the Inquisition. It had been the very beginning of everything, and so it would be again.
Lavellan searched for her war map of Thedas amongst the clutter, and spotting it poking out of a barrel of charts and loose sheets of schematics, she grabbed it and tucked it under her good arm, pivoting on her heel and striding towards the stone steps that led to the prison below.
They had plans to make.
As she closed the door behind her and bounded down the steps, the perfume sat there hidden amongst the maze of disarray, waiting for the day when she would hold him close once more.