At first, her humour is in self-defence. A lone, young, small Dalish elf in the middle of a hostile shemlen war camp, shackled and hated? The situation definitely calls for a few jokes to ease the press of hateful eyes and hearts upon her. And if it wins her a few friends along the way, well, all the better. If a few self-depreciating quips, wry comments, or humorous remarks means she won't be spitted on one of those straight, overly sharp swords which are continuously waved menacingly in her direction, well... good!
It is probably natural, then, that along the way, between the fighting and the getting to know them and the falling down mountains, acceptance grows. They change from "them" to "us", her de facto clan, since hers is so far away.
So she makes a few jokes with Varric, who is surprisingly responsive for a child of the stone. Her morning ritual grows to include stopping by his campfire to trade quips. The first one to laugh buys the other their first ale of the day. Varric wins, more often than not.
It is easy to make Blackwall laugh, but he always frowns at her afterwards, so she's never entirely sure if he was genuinely amused or not. That and all the hair on his face. Though she has to admit, half the fun in making him laugh is watching his beard move.
Josephine laughs easily, girlishly, and over girlish things. She listens avidly to the worst gossip Haven has to offer, and so Lavellan finds herself up on roofs, behind cottages, balancing on tree branches, all to hear the latest rumour and scandal. This was how she found out about the lay sister and Bull, for example. They both laughed over that one. Then wondered over the practicalities. Then laughed some more.
Bull laughs loudly, heartily, and adores dirty jokes that make her blush. The more improbable the better. Then he laughs even harder, while Krem rolls his eyes beside them. She is never entirely sure who benefited most from the jokes, while talking with those two...
Vivienne is a tough nut to crack. In fact, the only time she's seen the mage smile is when she is discussing Orlesian fashion mistakes. Lavellan makes a mental note to get her and Leliana together, maybe with a bottle of wine or two, to see what might happen.
Cole's never laughed. Not once. She doesn't think he has the ability to comprehend mortal humour. It's a shame really, he has such a lovely speaking voice, she's sure his laugh would be perfect.
Sera's like Bull, she likes dirty jokes. Only not really the ones about penises. They make her uncomfortable. Get it? Uncomfortable? Oh fine, I'm leaving. She always leaves the tavern quickly, she thinks it's the way Sera fondles her bow while frowning at her.
When Cullen laughs it's awkward and he always apologises and walks away right afterwards. She's puzzled, when did laughter become a sorry matter? So she shrugs and walks over to Cassandra, who eyes her and flatly says "No." With a sword in her hand. She backs away.
And she's not entirely sure when it happened, but now Lavellan lives to make Solas laugh.
He's such a serious man, all grimness and angles. She's not quite sure how to approach him with humour, at first. She's not ashamed to admit he's more than a little intimidating - an elf who apparently hates elves, aloof, a loner, with formidable magic and forgotten knowledge. Their very first conversation was pretty much an argument, and she still cringes to think back on it. After that, she wasn't entirely sure he even had a sense of humour.
But he's a scholar at heart, a teacher. When he's talking about the Fade and his eyes glaze over a little and his fingers twitch longingly she has to bite her knuckle to stifle her smile, and then looks at him wide-eyed and innocent when he asks, crossly, if she's paying attention. "Yes, hahren," she says dutifully, and he snorts a little, then continues.
Solas likes intellectual pursuits, she discovers. Maybe his humour is not so far behind? So she scours Haven and then the Hinterlands for books, notes, scrolls; searching desperately for anything funny in them. She leads them all to the tops of small mountains (or are they big hills?), the depths of dark caves, up waterfalls and down ravines, the cellars of farmhouses, and to piles of generations old refuse in weathered human ruins. She stops in at that dwarven bookseller frequently. He never has anything funny, but Cassandra eyes the romance novels.
Her calves complain, but Solas approves of her voracious reading of everything in sight. If only he truly knew why.
She smiles a wicked little grin to herself and stores a quip for later use.
All their travels, all their wanderings, all those cramped muscles and aching feet and constant ambushes and bear attacks, it's all worthwhile when Solas laughs. When those little lines appear around his eyes, and the corners of his delectable lips lift just that little bit, she's lost. When his eyes change from "grumpy, ominous storm clouds on the horizon" to "soft, warm, fluffy fennec fur blanket you want to wrap yourself in forever"... she does. When he laughs he leans in towards her just a little, and she can feel the warmth emanating from his body, catch his scent in the air, almost taste him; she blushes, and maybe daydreams a little.
Occasionally, though, he's surprised her by laughing at something crude she's shared with Bull, and those are the laughs she likes the best. The breathy, almost ashamed little chuckle with the adorable little snort at the end. It has to be the cutest thing she's ever heard and it makes her laugh in turn, looking up at him with brightest joy in her eyes. It makes her ever-so-serious, mysterious, magical hahren safe and mundane, for the moment, as if he's laid aside the weight of his fascination with the Fade for being in the world. With her.
She finds herself savouring that fleeing moment of shared happiness, treasuring it. She tries to make him laugh at least once a day. More, if possible. Sure, what they're doing is important, but it doesn't all have to be grim and fatalistic. And maybe it's just her wishful thinking, but it seems like his frowns are lessening and the severity of his face is easing. She's glad.
He never laughs at her though, and she's grateful for that. She's erred several times, dealing with the shem, she's never quite sure what their humour entails and a quip can easily fall flat. Or she's fallen off rocks, landing hard on her arse, winded and gasping. Once she trips on a tangled clutch of spindleweed and lands face first and spluttering in a creek. Her cheeks flame redder than the herbs beside her and she wants to sink into the ground with embarrassment. But all Solas does is take her by the elbow and help her to her feet. (Unlike Varric and Bull, who do laugh. She pokes her tongue out at them.)
He only laughs, gently, with her, later, when she makes a joke about finding the best herbs with her face. It's just the two of them, both leaning towards each other, a tiny shared moment of humour and relief.
And then he snorts at the end.
Totally worth it.