And she is beautiful.

The way the sunlight bounced off of her crimson locks, making them burn a fiery red as she walked across the gardens and leaving her easy to spot even during the most crowded days. The way her slender hands moved rapidly as she talked to herself, her pink lips moving just as fast with near-silent murmuring, organizing a mental to-do list as she headed through the main hall. The way her icy blue eyes crinkled as she laughed at another of Varric's wild tales or one of Dorian and Bull's overly-detailed romantic trysts. The way her pale skin - dotted with freckled constellations that scattered across her nose and cheeks and disappeared into her collar - tinged a bright red color as her temper rose with angering news, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts while she attempted to calm herself. Even her vallaslin, a simple swirling design across her left eye, caught his attention enough to be considered almost endearing, something he never would have dreamed of in a thousand lifetimes.

And she is intelligent.

He believed her mind was the most beautiful thing about her. The way she would approach him in the early hours of the morning, curiosity prickling in her brain with questions about the arcane that had burdened her all night. The way she listened intently to his recounting of his journeys through the Fade, those beautiful eyes widening and a hazy expression of wonderment clouding her pupils. The way she was always able to keep her composure, thinking rationally and reasonably during a judgement at Skyhold or out in the world beyond as their small group traipsed through the brush, or snow, or sand, or any of the other countless things they were forced to step over. The way she allowed him to rant and rave his opinions of the Dalish, yet firmly stood her ground in defense of her people. No matter how he may feel about her heritage, he had to admit that her loyalty to them was admirable, if not the slightest bit irritating.

And she is kind, and compassionate.

Not many leaders would take it upon themselves to visit their companions frequently the way she does, concerning herself with their physical and mental well-being on top of the other burdens she must bear. Or the way she called them all her friends, and truly meant it every time the word escaped her lips. The way she cracked the occasional joke to make everyone smile even in the most troubling of times. The way she humbly brushed off her own new-found importance to share the glory with their ragtag group of an Inquisition. The way she asked about their personal lives, taking a special interest in the histories of her comrades and remembering even the smallest of details; it was a pleasant surprise for Josephine when a small box of chocolates appeared on her desk after a lament regarding her sister stealing her birthday candy as a child, and though the Inquisitor denied any involvement the others all knew that she was the mysterious gift-giver.

And she is -

She emerges onto the steps leading to the courtyard, derailing his train of thought as he stands above the people on the battlements, lost in his daydreaming during an afternoon stroll. He watches her: she nods respectfully at visiting dignitaries passing her on the staircase, oblivious to his eagle-eyed view of her. Her head turns as her gaze sweeps across the courtyard, as if she knows exactly what she is looking for. And she finds it.

She approaches the Commander as he watches his men train, swords and shields flashing in the afternoon sunlight, the clanking sound of metal-on-metal echoing even up to where he stood above them all. The Commander's arms are crossed, his jaw rigid as his narrowed eyes scrutinize each and every movement made in front of him.

Even from this height, he can see how the Commander s hard gaze softens as she nears him; his tense muscles relax as she gingerly touches his elbow. She whispers something in his ear and they share a laugh carried off by the wind, never reaching his ears so far above. The Commander calls for a break, something his tired men revel in. They disperse, slinking off to rest their aching joints and rejuvenate with cold water. The Commander pulls her aside, resting his forehead against hers while they talk quietly, away from the ears of others yet not from their prying eyes.

He can see the onlookers, their darting eyes and clicking tongues spinning wild tales regarding the Commander and the Inquisitor. Rumors had slipped their way into conversation a time or two back in Haven - whispers analyzing the shared conversation and the not-too-discreet looks passed back and forth - but now they were running rampant and being proven all too true. They were there outside the war room, talking in hushed whispers and standing far too close. They were in the library, swapping quiet words of affection and longing glances. They were up in the battlements outside the Commander's office, stealing quick kisses and soft smiles. No matter what he did, he could not escape their blossoming relationship.

Solas sighs heavily, turning away as the familiar heaviness in his chest begins to ache. That heaviness always indicated that it was time to dive headfirst into his research. 'Obsessed' was a guise he used all too frequently these days to explain away his unyielding efforts to learn more of elven artifacts, yet under the mask he was simply keeping his mind occupied, pushing away thoughts of her and painful recollections of her encounters with the Commander, encounters he had the misfortune of witnessing. Such as this one.

And he..., he thinks sadly, casting one long, last wistful glance in the direction of the happy couple below.

He is lucky.


* Based on a Tumblr headcanon in which Solas will have a crush on Lavellan even if she doesn't pursue a romantic relationship with him. (Inquisitor's appearance modeled after my own Lavellan). Originally published on my Tumblr; someone requested that I upload it here. Made a couple of minor changes between here and there.