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Belavahn had learned all too well during her years as a traveling historian, that interacting with the Dalish could be… difficult. Or full of "pissy, prancing donkeys with tree branches shoved up their arses," as Sera had so eloquently called them once before.
More often than not, they bristle and hiss like an alley cat at her –an outsider– trying to offer knowledge on Elvhen history. Early on, she had hoped sight of her pointed ears or the vallaslin etched upon her brow could ease the tension. Yet, it seemed to ignite their outrage. Their lips would curl in disdain and their narrowed eyes spoke of betrayal.
She understood, she supposed. To them, she had turned her back on the cherished, passed-down stories of her people for the foreign feel of parchment from forgotten tomes.
When she had told Solas this, his nose wrinkled, not bothering to hide his distaste. He told her not to bother, the Dalish had fooled themselves with thinking they could recreate a past that was buried too deep in the earth to be remembered.
Tel’nadas, she had reminded him gently. You haven’t seen what I have seen.
She told him stories of ruins explored, flashes of wonder across a Keeper’s face, eager students clamoring her with questions. She spoke of clans beginning to unite along the south, their numbers growing by the season.
He had hesitated at this, an odd look crossed his face. After a beat he relented. San, Ar dhrua ma, he had said. Alright, I trust you.
The memory brought a small smile to her face as she stared at the man across from her on the chaise.
Moonlight pooled in through the open doors of her bedroom balcony, casting Skyhold’s summits as dark silhouettes against the shine of stars in the night sky. The gentle breeze of cool, mountain air wafted in scents of spruce and late winter. She breathed in deeply, relishing it. The wind tussled the pages of a tome that lay in her lap, open and abandoned, as her attention was drawn to Solas.
Shadows lined his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he bent over a sketch. Charcoal dust darkened his fingers as it made light scratches across the paper. She studied his profile, the usual clench of his jaw when he was embroiled in a philosophical debate or scrunch of his nose when he was waist-deep in his research noticeably eased.
It was a strange sight, seeing him unguarded.
His shoulders, typically so stiff and straight, softened into the crushed-velvet cushions at their backs.
The chaise creaked slightly as Belavahn shifted closer to his side. He didn’t look up from his work, but she caught the slight, up-turned quirk of his mouth at her presence.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured, “What is on your mind?”
She laughed softly, “You.”
“Oh?” He finally met her eyes, a full smirk on his lips, “I’m flattered.”
She snorted, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” A beat passed, “I just like you like this.”
He hummed as his hand stilled, the piece of charcoal hovered over the paper.
“Peaceful,” she clarified, “I don’t think I’ve seen you without some tension in your shoulders.”
He resumed drawing, although his movements had slowed. “I find it… easier to relax in your company. Moreso without throngs of demons.”
“If we run into one more Shade this week, I’m quitting.”
He chuckled at that, “I doubt Cassandra would be willing.”
“Hmph.”
He made more defining strokes on the page before pausing, scanning critically over his work.
Wordlessly, he angled the drawing towards her and she straightened to see.
The sketch depicted an overgrown ruin, crumbling pillars lined the sides etched with foreign runes. With a lighter hand, he had completed the missing remnants of the structure, displaying a grand temple or fortress. A treeline stretched behind it, the shape of it looked strangely familiar.
“Solas, this is…” her fingers ghosted over the parchment, careful not to smudge his work. “Is this from The Emerald Graves? Near the cove?”
He nodded, a wistful look flickered across his face. “You mentioned exploring ruins earlier. It made me think of one that came to me in the Fade.”
Belavahn leaned in closer, her mind already working to commit the building to memory. “The stonework looks similar to what I’ve seen on the outskirts of Crestwood,”
Her eyes lingered on the markings, puzzled, “Though I don’t recognize these rune placements.”
Solas watched her, the light of amusement in his eyes evident, “Ever the scholar.”
She elbowed his side gently, “You’re one to talk.”
“Point taken.” he said simply. “When you spoke of the southern clans uniting, eager for knowledge…” He trailed off, the focus in his gaze faltered.
“You thought of what could’ve been.” She finished.
He shifted his attention back to her with sad, sweet eyes. “I wish you could have seen it. The things I could show you.”
“I’m here now,” she silenced him with a hand cradling his cheek, thumb brushing over the freckles there.
Some of his familiar tension returned, much to her displeasure. His forehead creased slightly at the furrow of his brows. She leaned in to kiss the scar there. She felt him deflate slightly.
“Once this is all over, I promise we’ll go as far as we are able to explore what has been lost.” she vowed.
The look he gave her was unreadable, but kind.
Without warning, he scooped her into his lap. The sketch tumbling off his lap, already forgotten. She couldn’t stop the giggles escaping her as he buried his face into her shoulder, his nose tickling her neck. “I’ve awoken the beast!”
Their laughter echoed, the sound nearly masked by a piercing, mournful howl of a wolf just outside Skyhold’s dense walls.