A/N: Last week was Asexuality Awareness Week.

My Inquisitor, Venara Lavellan, is asexual. I wanted to write a romantic scene that highlighted her connection with Solas, but without sexual content. Venara's sexual orientation is very important to me, as I am asexual myself and I don't see many ace characters represented in media. It is crucial that asexual relationships are written about both in media and in fanfic, to demonstrate the many ways in which that can take shape as there is a whole spectrum of experience. It's also important to understand that a relationship that doesn't have sex/doesn't have regular sex is just as valid and healthy as the ones that do.

This piece is a continuation of another Venara/Solas short story At Last, which can be found on my profile. It is not necessary to read that one first to enjoy this one. I chose to post them separately as they were inspired by different prompts and were written for different events. The prompt for this piece was "Your bed after travelling."

Thanks for reading!

Serenity

Sometimes, there were things waited for with a longing ache in the heart.

Sometimes, those things never came.

But sometimes, they did come. It was a long wait, but they did come.

Welcome home, Venara had murmured, pulling herself tight against him on the castle steps. Solas had held her, the pressure of his hands warm and familiar against her back, the wind pulling gently at her long hair, spinning it around them both.

When what felt like hours had passed, she untangled herself from his grasp, slipped her hand in his and led him up the steps towards the open doors of the great hall. The train of her black gown slid softly over the stone, whispering against it. Solas walked beside her, his tall figure casting a shadow over her in the late afternoon sun. She glanced up at him, smiling quietly at his stoic profile, head held high, eyes looking forwards. Despite his stern gaze, she could feel him relax, the weight of his most recent journey washing away with every step they took.

They passed Josephine and the visiting countess, Venara nodding and stating a quick apology before sweeping down the hall. She could hear Josephine deftly explaining the sudden change in schedule, the frantic murmur of hushed gossip from the visiting dignitaries, merchants and traders gathered in the hall.

Inquisitor Lavellan and her elven apostate…

Venara knew they could cause quite a stir for anyone unfamiliar with Skyhold's peculiarities. She and Solas did not look like a usual couple—particularly not today. Solas stood a foot taller than her, dwarfing her. He was travel-weary, his clothes worn and stained and patched, the hem of his tunic bearing distinctive burn marks. Whatever he had encountered on his travels had given him trouble. In contrast, Venara was small, erring on the side of tiny. She was dressed formally for the duties of the day, her gown exquisite in black and gold with black fur wrap to keep her shoulders warm. Josephine had worked tirelessly to cultivate an appropriately regal image for her, one that she had slowly grown into.

Despite their shared elven heritage, the care in their gestures, the fondness with which they looked at each other, something about them did not quite match.

"I see little has changed since I've been gone," Solas murmured, eyeing a masked Orlesian lady as they passed. A hand hovered over her mouth and she quickly dipped her head to whisper something in the ear of the gentleman who stood beside her.

"Whatever they're saying, someone has said before," Venara said. She slipped her arm around Solas' and strode down the hall towards the dais at the end. The desire to escape to the privacy of her chambers was overwhelming. "At this point, I've heard it all."

"Ah, yes," he said, the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes creasing as he chuckled. "The enticing speculation about the personal habits of the Inquisitor. I'm certain there's enough gossip there to fill one of Varric's novels."

"Let them have their ideas," Venara said, climbing the steps of the dais and pushing past the lavish Inquisition throne. She swung to her left, headed towards the door that opened to the stairwell that led up to her chambers. "I can't control what people think. Nor do I care. Not anymore."

"There is freedom in such sentiments," Solas said. He halted and looked at her with those tired blue-grey eyes. He placed his fingers gently under her chin, raising her face up. "Would you not say?"

"Hmm," Venara said, smiling. She stood on tip-toe and kissed him. "Yes, I would say so."

Then she pushed the door to her chambers open, pulling Solas with her. It banged shut behind them, shutting out the hall, the whispering dignitaries and all her responsibilities to the Inquisition.

They mounted the stairs, arm-in-arm, Venara dragging her long, heavy skirts with her. They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell as they climbed, up and up. It had been so long since they had been in the same place together, Venara didn't want to fill it with endless chatter of fleeting things. She simply wanted to enjoy what it was like to be at his side again.

When they reached the landing, Venara unceremoniously kicked off her black velvet slippers and swept across the room. She passed the cream-and-gold sofa and lit the fire with a single gesture. It burst into life, crackling merrily in the fireplace. She smiled, a faint hint a pride tugging at the corners of her lips. It had been a long time before she was comfortable casting fire magic and even now she could only control the simplest spells—and it was Solas who had taught her how to do so.

She stopped by the fireplace, one hand resting against the mantlepiece. Solas had halted on the landing, looking around the room with a strange look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked.

His eyes swept over her. She felt the heat from the fire's flames, heard its lively crackle. Warmth flooded her and she blushed.

"Vhenan, I haven't said a word."

She glanced away, eyes downwards. "I know. It's just… It's been a very long time since you've looked at me like that."

"You're beautiful," he said simply.

"It's this dress, isn't it."

"No," he said, crossing the room and taking her hands. "You are beautiful. The dress is, too—my compliments to Lady Josephine's seamstress—but it holds no weight in comparison to you."

"Solas—"

He kissed her, pulling her to him, wrapping her in a firm embrace. "You may not believe it," he murmured. "But I do. And that makes it true."

Venara sighed against his lips, taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. Her nose wrinkled. "Do you need anything?" she asked, drawing away and walking across the room. "Your journey was long, you must be tired."

She disappeared behind the privacy screen in the corner and checked the large copper tub. She had planned on a bath after her negotiations with the countess, and she was happy to see that the servants had filled it. The tub had heat runes attached to the bottom to keep the water warm. She slipped a finger into the water, testing it.

Still warm.

"Or do you want a bath?" she called.

"Venara—"

She reappeared from behind the screen. "They drew me a bath. It's yours, if you want it. Wash off the dirt and the grime."

He sighed. He hadn't moved from the fireplace. "There's no need to fuss—"

She rushed over to him, bare feet sinking into the thick rug as she reached up and pressed a hand against his lips. "I want to fuss. Take the bath." She kissed his cheek.

"Is that a polite way of you saying that I smell?"

She patted his cheek. "How did you guess?"

He sighed. "Then how can I say no?"

Venara grinned. She helped him slip off the pack he carried, setting it down carefully by the edge of the sofa. Solas watched her, an amused expression his face as she unlaced his tunic and tugged on it, She lifted the hem, but she needed him to pull it over his head—he was too tall for her to do it herself. He obliged, his wolf jawbone pendant thumping against his chest, but as soon as the tunic came free, Venara frowned.

"What's this?" she asked, resting a hand delicately against his chest. An angry red burn slashed across his stomach.

"It's nothing."

"What happened?"

"A fight." Solas caught her hand and squeezed it. "There were… complications. I was caught off-guard."

"You know you don't have to go alone," Venara said. "Whatever you're researching, I can help you—"

"You have your duties, I have mine," Solas interrupted. "It would only be a distraction. The Inquisition needs you more than I do."

She drew back sharply. "Thanks, I guess."

"That is not what I intended!" Solas sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I simply meant that between my research and your missions, the scale is more heavily weighted in your favour. Your work is more important. The Inquisition is more important. Without it, Thedas would have fallen into chaos long ago."

"And what if they were equally important?" Venara countered. "What then? Would you accept my help?"

"No, vhenan," Solas said. "If I am being honest… this is something you cannot help me with. It must be done alone."

"Then will you at least tell me what it is?" Venara asked.

"Someday," he replied sadly. "When I am able. I trust that you can understand that."

She shook her head. "You're going to drown in your own tragedy if you keep this up," she said. "I would know."

"I know, vhenan," Solas said. He drew her close, pressing her against his bare chest, and kissed the top of her head.

Though neither of them spoke of it, the death of her clan at Wycome and the following events hung heavily in the air.

Solas finished undressing and disappeared behind the screen, his clothes left in a tidy pile by his pack. Venara heard him settle into the warm bathwater. As he bathed, she slowly crossed to the wide, stained-glass doors that opened out onto her balcony. It was cold outside, so she did not open them, but she gazed at the mountains beyond, their white peaks turned blue, pink and violet by the glass.

Behind her the bathwater splashed.

Venara pulled at her wrap, slipping it off her shoulders and hanging it over the edge of the sofa.

"Solas," she said, running her fingers over the wrap's thick fur, "tell me what you saw in the Brecilian Forest. What kind of adventures have you had since you've been gone?"

"Hmm…" His voice echoed from behind the screen. "I saw a white wolf, twice the size of any you would find in the mountains. She was alone, her pack gone. She carried a strange magic with her. She let me touch her side. She nipped my fingers, then turned and disappeared into the woods. I did not see her again."

His voice was smooth and gentle, filled with its own unique musicality. She was glad to hear it again, this time in person and not in her memory. Venara smiled, digging her fingers into the fur.

"I saw an ancient flower bloom, one that requires such a fine balance of exposure to the Fade that I have not seen its like in years," Solas continued.

Venara's hands crept to the back of her neck. She unfastened the closures, her fingers working their way down her back until the dress was open. Though the fire was burning happily, the room's air was still cold and a shiver ran down her spine. "And? What did it look like?"

"White and gold," he said. "A rare and delicate find. It has potent magical properties, but I did not dare pluck it. It deserves life more than I deserve to study it."

Venara slipped her arms out of her sleeves. "What else did you see?"

"I saw Sylvans amassed in the centre of the wood," Solas continued. "More than have been seen together for an age. They were tall and proud and ancient, and I kept my distance. I saw a Dalish clan, travelling eastward, towards the ocean. I spoke to their Keeper. He knows your name—he spoke highly of Clan Lavellan, and of Istimaethoriel. He sends his condolences."

Venara swallowed the lump in her throat. "Which clan?"

"Delthaerian."

"Ah," Venara said. Her eyes pricked and she leaned against the couch, the bodice of her dress falling down around her waist. "Keeper Olryos. I remember him. He was kind."

"And what of you? What have you seen?"

Venara lowered her head, rubbing the back of her neck. "I went to Emprise du Lion," she said. "It was a world of snow and ash. Red lyrium had taken hold. You can imagine what that entails." She paused, trying not to remember the horrors she had found in the Sahrnia quarry. "I had to return to Val Royeaux. I met a young elven woman there—unintentionally. She is studies at the university. Law. Or, at least, she wishes to study law. The officials will not let her, but she sneaks into the library after hours to read texts that are forbidden to her."

"Brave woman," Solas murmured.

"Yes," Venara said. "I quite liked her. She could be an ambassador to rival Josephine one day, if Orlais will let her." She paused and slipped off her gown. She bent and picked it up, hanging it over the back of the sofa to rest with the wrap. She was dressed only in her shift now. "I've been to a lot of places since you've been gone," Venara said, crossing her arms tightly around herself, her skin prickling in the still-cool air. "But they've all been dark and twisted in their own way. I haven't dreamed, not in a long time. These places were too… broken. I didn't want to see what memories remained in the Fade."

The water lapped against the sides of the tub. A moment later, she felt Solas' damp arms around her, still warm from the water's heat. She inhaled, breathing in the smell of him, calm washing over her. Her hands snaked around his forearms and she clung to him. She could feel his bare skin through the thin fabric of her shift.

"Do you want to dream?" he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"Yes," she said, releasing herself from his grip and turning around, her eyes finding his. "Yes. Please. Let's go to the Fade. Let's dream. Together."

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her. In one smooth motion, he picked her up. She nuzzled against him, relaxed and content in his arms. He carried her to the far side of the room and gently placed her on the bed. It was Orlesian in style, something that Josephine had imported for her, the white wooden frame gilded and carved with an intricate pattern of vines and leaves. It was vastly different from the bedrolls Venara had grown up with in her clan's aravels, but she had grown used to it. The mattress was firm, the blankets rich and soft—they felt smooth and pleasant against her skin. She pulled off her shift, tossing it on the floor and crawled under the covers.

Solas joined her, sliding into bed next to her and wrapping his arms around her. Venara felt his pendant poking into her back; she reached over her shoulder and tugged on the long leather string, pulling it forwards. She ran her fingers curiously over the jawbone.

"You always have this with you, don't you," she said.

"Yes," Solas replied. "It is... a reminder."

"Of what?"

"Of things that were lost. Of things that could be."

"Like that wolf you saw," Venara said. "The one whose pack was lost. She will find another."

"Perhaps." He kissed her shoulder, his lips pressing no harder than the flap of butterfly's wings. He ran a hand down her arm, carefully tracing the intricate pattern of her golden tattoos. "Are you all right, vhenan?"

"Mmm…" Venara's eyelids fluttered. She was struck with the desire to sleep. She was never more comfortable than when she was in her lover's arms. "I'm more than all right."

Her fingers were still entwined around the jawbone pendant.

"I feel sorry for the wolves," she murmured.

"Do you?"

"People don't understand them," she said. "They fear them, they think they're maliciously hunting their prey, toying with them, seeking to do ill. But they're smart. They're clever. They don't intend ill will. They merely do what they need for their pack to survive."

Solas paused, hand still on her shoulder. "That is… an interesting observation, vhenan."

"I like wolves," she said, nestling next to him. She loved the feeling of his skin next to hers. Though she did not feel the desire for sex, she enjoyed being here with him. "Hold me?"

"Always. Shall we dream?"

Venara smiled. "Yes."

Solas kissed her cheek. His breath fluttered against her ear for a moment. She closed her eyes and let sleep—and dreams—take her.