The days in the Exalted Plains start to blend together until Keela only knows that each dawn brings another battle and every sunset a few hours reprieve from the endless fighting. The Freemen seem to lurk behind every jutting rock structure while the ramparts run rampant with the undead. The disputed land certainly lives up to its long and bloody history and she often wonders if it wouldn't be better to raze it all to the ground one more time and begin anew.
Now she thinks only of how much she wishes for a steaming bath and a feather bed. But there is only the lukewarm drag of a cloth against her side and the sting of medicine as it seeps into the claw marks there. In a moment of desperation she let the Arcane get too close as she gathered energy for one final, brilliant assault. If not for Solas' barrier, she would surely be cut in half.
"This middle one will need stitches, Your Worship," the medic says. "Our mage healer was killed in the field a week ago and we have yet to receive a replacement."
She regrets sending Solas away when they broke into camp to attend those with worse injuries. Mending magic is hardly painless, but his touch offers a comfort she can find no where else. Although, perhaps it would not be so comforting now. She can still see his sour expression, hear his furious chastisement about her behavior ringing in her ears. She did not so much send him away as he stormed off from her side.
"Fine, if you mu-"
"I will take over from here."
They both glance up to find Solas approaching and Keela swallows a frustrated sigh to see the neutral, guarded expression on his face. The needle seems less daunting than what will undoubtedly fly from his mouth, but she keeps hers closed as the medic gives up their spot.
Solas kneels and begins his work in silence, but there is little peace about it. His fingers are efficient, his manners professional, and Keela knows he is holding back. Normally she would bear this treatment with something similar. Stubbornly stick up her nose and stack the bricks between them until they topple.
She wants something different now. It seems a thousand years ago since their first night together here on the plains and ever since then she wants more than what has always been. She longs to fill in cracks she never knew existed, to reach out and connect again instead of merely colliding. There is a hope that his anger is born only from concern, but for a second she hesitates, unsure, before she leans forward and presses her face into his shoulder.
Solas pauses in his ministrations and she can feel the tension in every muscle. That he does not shove her or move away is a good sign, so she takes a breath and another chance. "I'm sorry," she says as her hand fists into the fabric at his waist.
"A meaningless sentiment when both of us know you will continue with such reckless behavior in the future," he replies with heat yet his body relaxes a little beneath her. "The Inquisition will cease to function without the Inquisitor. Thedas will likely fall to Corypheus' forces. You cannot afford to take so many risks when the stakes are so high."
Keela closes her eyes, suddenly so much wearier than before. "And is that all I am to you, the Inquisitor?"
The magic fades away from her side completely as Solas gently pushes her upright. There is little anger in his expression now, but something swarms dark within his gaze. Fingers trace the lines of her vallaslin and she can't tell which of them is in greater pain.
She reaches out with both hands to cup his face, ignoring the burn in her side and wishing to comfort whatever this hurt is. "Solas?"
He answers with his mouth on hers and she takes a sharp breath, surprised. Solas presses the advantage of her parted lips and soon there is only the warmth of his touch, the way her spine tingles as they tangle further. A different kind of desire and pleasure bursts inside at the slow and devote rhythm building between them.
It is something simple yet complex, something quiet yet strong, something that makes her feel light yet seems heavy with meaning. She pulls him closer, legs wrapping around his middle, searching for the name of it with every sweep of her tongue. Hands dig into her hair and hold tight like he is desperate to never let her go, but still their embrace never grows too bold. It is an act of cherishing, a sweet need that makes her heart ache to beat in time with his.
Before she can understand it completely, Solas falls away but does not go far. She can see the flecks of violet and gray in his blue eyes and the battle still raging there. "You are much more than that, Keela, and I…"
"Yes?"
And then it is over and he smiles. "I accept your apology."
She can see the clarity slipping through her fingers no matter how hard so wants to clutch to it. They both seem unequipped for whatever it might be, so she laughs despite the feeling of loss she can't understand. "I'm relieved."
Solas presses his forehead against hers. "As am I."
They remain that way for a few heartbeats more before he reminds her of the weeping wound in her side. She returns her head to his shoulder and it seems like the last couple minutes didn't happen as he settles back to the task at hand. The thought evaporates as he brushes hair from her neck and leaves a soft kiss against her pulse. She feels it beating again, that thing just within reach, and knows she is almost there. They are almost there, and for now it is enough.