A Morning in Toulon

The town was called Toulon.

It sat tucked away in a little cove on the Waking Sea, several hundred leagues south-west of Val Royeaux. With the civil war ended and Corypheus' forces retreating from Orlesian soil, the Orlesian countryside was on its way to recovery, slowly becoming safer for common folk to traverse.

Venara would probably never be called "common" again, but she enjoyed basking in anonymity when she could. With the political climate and pressure from Corypheus' forces weakening, she had a moment to breathe. A week ago, she and Solas had slipped away from Skyhold, taking their horses to Jader, where they caught a ship and set sail for a quieter part of the country on an unexpected, but very welcome, holiday.

Toulon's port was small, filled with small-time traders and fishermen. The occasional representative of the Merchant's Guild came through, but for the most part, Toulon escaped the notice the rich and powerful. It had even remarkably caught little of the civil war, aside from rumours and hushed whispers. It almost possible to believe that Corypheus and the Grand Game had ceased to exist.

They took a room in the only inn. It was small and plain, but its floors were clean swept, its hearths were warm and the food was sumptuous. The innkeeper, Marie, was a matronly, business-like woman with strong arms, red hair and a kind smile, who barely spoke a word of King's Tongue. Despite this, she insisted on speaking to them in common (for the practice, Venara would later find out) and doted on her guests, never once remarking on their elven heritage. She took one look at Venara's scarred face, murmuring "Ma pauvre enfant", and immediately set about making her feel at home, providing her with a bath, a hot meal and a steaming mug of something she called chocolat chaud.

(Venara was very grateful it wasn't tea. Solas seemed to like it.)

The first morning after their arrival, Venara and Solas were sitting downstairs in the large, bright common room. The inn was mostly empty, save for a few farmers who had come into town for an afternoon off. Venara had chosen a seat by the window, where she could gaze out at the passing street and glimpse the ocean beyond. Vines curled around the window ledged and flowers bloomed beyond. Every house and building on the street was painting with bright colours and decorated with carefully cultivated flowers. Josephine would call it quaint, but Venara thought it was perfect. It was a side of Orlais she had never seen before and she much preferred it to the zealous richness of Val Royeaux.

Venara hummed to herself as she leaned against the window, toying with a lock of loose, curly hair. The warm smell of baking bread wafting through from the kitchen. Venara breathed in deeply—it was such a soft, peaceful smell. She loved it.

I love everything about Toulon, she thought in a dreamy haze.

After a moment, she thought she heard Solas chuckle.

"What?" Venara asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "It's been a long time since I've seen you this… content."

She took in a breath, exhaling softly. "I am. I like it here, like the quiet. It's peaceful."

"If anyone deserves a moment such as this, it is you."

Venara tilted her head to the side, curling a strand of hair around her finger. "And not you?" she asked. "You've worked as hard as anyone to achieve victory, in any form. You deserve this, too."

He smiled softly, his blue-grey eyes looking away. "As you say, vhenan."

"Solas, what's wrong?" Venara turned away from the window and sat up straight. She reached out across the table, capturing his hand with her own. His hands were so much larger than hers, the long, strong fingers the completely opposite of her short, stubby ones. "You're being… distant."

His hand tightened around hers. "I am lost in thought, that is all. This place is conducive to contemplation, and there is much to think about."

"We came here to get away from that," Venara said, laughing softly. He was always contemplating one thing or another. Some habits were hard to break.

"Yes," he replied, "but some things cannot be forgotten, no matter how hard we try."

He let go of her hand.

"If you need to talk, you know you can tell me anything," Venara said.

"I know, Venara," he said. "Believe me, I know."

She smiled and decided to let it go for now. Whatever it was that had so captured his attention, he would come to her with it when he was ready.

He always did.

Venara sighed, turning back to the window, smiling as a line of children in bright colours tramped by, singing and shouting in excitement as they tugged on their caretaker's hand. She caught the smell of warm bread drifting towards her and moments later, Marie appeared, carrying a tray filled with freshly baked croissants and several slices of peasant's bread.

"For you," she said, her thick Orlesian accent gliding over the words as she set the tray down between them.

"Oh, Marie, thank you, but I can't—"

"For you," Marie said, shaking her head insistently. "Comment dites-vous… Newlyweds, ouais?"

Venara's eyebrows shot up. Solas laughed.

"Oh no, no," Venara said as Solas continued to chuckle, "we're not… We haven't been… Nous ne sommes pas mariés."

Marie's smile didn't fade. Instead, she laughed, placing a hand on her chest. "Oh, pardonnez-moi, c'était ma faute. Vous êtes si, em…" She paused, trying to think of the words. "Happy," she said, finally. "You… em… brighten each other, yes?"

"Thank you," Venara said. "That's very nice of you to say."

Marie nodded and gestured towards the tray again before excusing herself. Venara reached for a croissant and gently pulled it apart. It was fresh and crumbling, but it tasted so soft and sweet, melting in her mouth. She glanced across the table at Solas, feeling every crumb that clung to her mouth.

He reached out and gently brushed them away.

Venara swallowed. "You should have one. They're really good."

"Have them all, if you wish," Solas said. "I'm content as I am."

"With what?" Venara asked, reaching for a second croissant.

"Being in this moment with you," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

Venara's hand hovered over the plate.

"Sweet talker."

Venara stood up and walking around the table to sit on his side. She threw herself down beside him and kissed him soundly. Then she grabbed a croissant and held it out to him.

"You really should have one," she said, leaning against his shoulder and wrapping her free hand around his.