#He's gentle but also fears himself because he's a mage and its been hammered into him his whole life that mages are dangerous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years

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Building bridges, the art of not being lonely.

Fraxusweek (hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus) day 5 mdudes!

Prompt: Losing control

For Freed, rigid rules formed the foundation of his very being. Mind you, the rules he decided to follow almost religiously were never ones placed upon him by others. He had followed enough of those in a past lingering in the backlog of his mind and returning to following them would certainly end with his mind in a state he'd long since forcefully abandoned. Self-administered rules were the only ones Freed Justine considered worth following.

Throughout his early teenage years, one rule was heeded above all. Don't get close to anyone and don't let anyone got close. It was an obvious rule, one that would keep him from getting hurt by less than savoury individuals and more importantly, one that would keep him from hurting people who'd end up being nice. Freed knew how to roll with seedy people, spoke the language of schemers as he was one himself, but had never known how to let genuinely kind people in.

Rest of the fic under the cut!

The first time he'd met someone kind, Freed ended up stabbing them in the back. His jaded thirteen year old mind could not get behind the principle of someone reaching out to him and meaning it. Although Bickslow had never acted out of line, hadn't graced Freed with anything but his joyful, loud self, Freed had seen it as nothing but a farce.

The older boy had basically him in as they travelled together, shared his food with him and held him when nights got cold, Freed always protesting that he could brave it without his help. Bickslow, in his natural elderly brother way, had claimed that it was him that was cold and needed Freed's bodywarmth. Huffing and puffing, Freed had always given up, gratefully soaking up the other's warmth without ever verbally expressing his gratitude.

He had thrown all that gratitude for Bickslow's kindness in the wind though when some policemen had managed to arrest him for a petty crime. A measly loaf of bread, meant for two hungry children, had been enough to get him into serious trouble. As Bickslow was getting arrested, Freed had picked up the abandoned loaf and ran. The last thing he saw, was the heartbroken expression on his friend's face. Quickly suppressing the guilt, he only ran faster. This world wasn't and would never be kind to gentle people. It was a lesson Bickslow had to learn the hard way, Freed reminded himself and he'd keep repeating it over and over.

Life was a lonely, Freed realised quickly after that, but the realisation that he was the one making it lonely wouldn't really hit him until he was twenty years old. Fourteen year old Freed though, got taken in by a girl just as lonely as he was.

Unlike Bickslow, who had been open and trusting, Evergreen was anything but. Whenever she spoke, it was with thorns and needles lacing her words and if one took the time to pry those away, it became clear that she too, was kind. She and Freed held sparring matches and bonded quickly over other little things. During their small talks it was obvious how much Evergreen longed for a genuine friend and although Freed found himself resonating with that sentiment, he never really gave into it. Evergreen was his closest friend and even she was held at an arm's distance. He could tell a whole lot about her, but made sure that she'd never be able to tell anyone any details about himself.

Even when he met Bickslow again, Freed could never really let go of the loneliness that was his closest friend and most dear armour. He'd expected screams, shouts of frustration and maybe even physical violence. What he didn't expect though was the thing that actually ended up happening. With a firm and gentle hand, Bickslow had planted his palm on Freed's hair, a comforting, brotherly gesture. "So you made a new friend? Introduce me to her, won't ya? A friend of yours is one of me. I'm glad that you haven't been lonely."

Their rekindled friendship had privately made Freed happier than he'd imagined being, a sentiment he didn't relay to his friends. Keeping them at an arm's distance was what's best for them, he'd decided. He couldn't hurt them if they weren't within his reach, he concluded. And yet, he formed a team with them. He appointed himself captain, hoping that at least his mind could protect them and himself from his heart.

After a few missions, they approached Laxus Dreyar, the guildmaster's grandson and more conveniently, an s-class mage, with the question to join him. Meeting Laxus Dreyar was Freed's introduction to a new enigma, a new puzzle he'd like to shuffle the pieces around of. The man's heart bled for other people, a fact obvious to Freed but for some reason not to many others. It was amusing for a while, watching him care and hid it all away under a cover with thick layers.

Maybe Freed was attracted to kindred spirits, lonely souls who had the opportunity to pull themselves out of it, but not the mental bravery, all of them too familiar with rejection from former friends and family. Laxus did differ from them there though. Unlike Freed's, Ever's or Bickslow's, Laxus' family did not completely reject him, in fact they loved him. It was Laxus who rejected them. Jealousy was an ugly thing, Freed realised, but decided to bury that too before it could fester too much. He'd distance himself enough from that emotion to not feel the repercussions of it.

With Laxus came s-class missions, something that Freed loved above anything. The higher difficulty of their missions, awakened Freed's battle spirit more and more, the thrill of adrenaline yanking out every halted emotion and he'd never cried or laughed more than on the battlefield. Of course, this newly opened hole in the dam, made the damn dam break and it was during one of these missions that Freed completely lost control.

He'd been laughing over something, intent malicious, vicious, he had wanted nothing but intimidate his enemy before obliterating him completely. It felt good, he felt powerful, he felt on top of the world. That sense of euphoria is all Freed remembered of the incident. That and then waking up again, destruction all around, his friends not spared and the lingering sense of an all-powerful exhilaration even as he laid eyes on the devastation he had brought forth.

The guilt crashed into him way too late and so he vowed to never, ever let it come to that again. The emotional bridge he'd built between his friends and himself become larger and the depth beneath him threatened to swallow him whole. It never did though, because although their friendship wasn't all-powerful, it still had its moments of genuine emotional openess that ran deeper than anyone of them wanted to.

But they were young and tired to the bone, so they let the moments pass, indulged in them. Thanks to this, Freed learned to weaponize some of his darker powers. There were still depths he'd never try discovering, but he'd fear there'd be no one to come and get him from the bottom. Weaponized vulnerability was all Freed allowed himself for now.

Then the battle of fairy tale came and went and the weaponized part of being vulnerable was hammered down (wasn't that ironic?). Gone was the armour and there was just a man, lonely but for the first time in his life, ready to not be anymore. He had his friends already, they were there, he would just have to reach out. And so Freed did and broke his most important rule. He hugged his friends and cried with them and it was gross, sweaty, too warm and also the most comfortable thing he'd ever done. He had also waved a friend goodbye that day (and was already looking forward to meeting him again, as they would both be better men then).

Not being lonely was working and working hard, breaking down age-old walls and learning to trust both old and new friends. It was rewarding work though and embarrassing as it was, maybe he'd cried a little bit when his brithday came around and Lucy and Levy had given him a book (I know you enjoy this series) and Mira him a cake (we cook together, do you really think you can hide your tastes from me?). Evergreen and Bickslow had invited themselves for a sleepover and they had fallen asleep in a pile of bodies. Once again gross, sweaty, too warm and very, very comfortable (or at least until Evergreen nearly raptured his appendix by elbowing him in her sleep).

When Laxus came back, permanently, Freed found himself crossing the bridge them first. It quickly became apparent that Laxus, although a caring and compassionate man, was graced with an awkward mess of a character. It shouldn't be as endearing as it was.

Quickly, Freed noted that the bridge they were walking on, was one of more than friendship. Both of them were still amending, finding themselves, finding ways to be more real and honest, but there was no rule they couldn't do it hand in hand.

#fraxusweek #Fraxus week 2020 #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Bickslow #Evergreen fairy tail #Mirajane Strauss #Lucy Heartfilia #Levy McGarden #TheFairyWrites

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0idril0 · 5 years

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Nico/Clint 9

Here’s the next chapter, sorry it’s so long I don’t have my computer at work and I wanted to get it to you!

Thanks @whumpywhumper for beta reading

It starts with Nico’s perspective on being force fed the potion Kristy made.

Link to the rest of the series https://0idril0.tumblr.com/post/186471516755/nico-series

Also there were a few hiccups posting this, sorry if you saw it and it got deleted:(

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Clint’s wolf nudged at Nico insistently, and he felt a gentle tug in his heart. “C’mon Sugar... take some...”Clint’s voice sounded as if it came through water. Was it really him? He wasn’t a dream? His eyes rolled in his head, trying to understand the words Clint spoke.

Warm liquid trickled into his mouth, instantly assaulting his taste buds with the foul flavor. I don’t want it please.... More liquid poured into his mouth and he suppressed a gag, abdomen contracting painfully.

“There ya go...”The bass of Clint’s voice forced his eyes open, and he begged the blurry figure above him not to make him drink the fluid. His tongue stung where the liquid sat and Clint’s voice whispered to him gently as more fluid invaded his mouth.

He didn’t understand, had he been bad? He’d fallen asleep without permission. But hadn’t they wanted him to rest? Nico turned his head, trying to spit the fluid out. The large hand on his head forced it straight, tilting him until the liquid settled in the back of his throat. It burned as he swallowed, inhaling some of the liquid. He sobbed at the new pain, fever making him forget to be quiet. “Easy...” Clint whispered through the fog. He hadn’t meant to, please don’t make him take more please please.

A new voice joined the others and his heart hammered against his chest. Nonono.... Clint said he wasn’t going back. Tears slid from his eyes, unnoticed by Nico. The world slowly started to settle around him, the burning liquid melting his leaden limbs. He raised a fist, fumbling at where he’d heard Clint. He clung to what he thought was his shirt, silently begging. He doesn’t need more training, please, just let him rest for a little while, he’ll be so good.

A harsh growl cut him to the quick and he stopped pulling, fearful that he had made the wolf angry. “You get what you get, pet, if I say you need more training, you need more training. You’re so stupid you need extra lessons, don’t you?”

He could hear the man’s voice in his head, in his ears, it echoed in the room they were in, blending with Clint’s as angry voices yelled above him.

“-I will tear your heart from your chest.” Clint’s voice was suddenly loud in his ears, and he flinched. His stomach burned as whatever liquid Clint had forced him to drink churned increasing the low level nausea he lived with.

“Now, I wouldn’t dream of that.” The man’s voice was cold, familiar in the worst way. He tugged weakly at Clint’s shirt, holding onto reality. Was this reality? Was the boss really here? Fever muddled his thinking, and he gasped, starving for oxygen.

He’d thought that he’d heard Evan. Kristy had said they were going to Evan. Had he dreamed that? His eyes fluttered open, the blurry world spinning around him as he tried to focus on the man who had entered. Maybe they’d given him to the Boss to make him better? And they were unhappy because he was too stupid to improve. The thought was familiar, and it held a bitter pain. He’d thought Clint had liked him as he was; he should have known better. He’d never been good enough.

“For god’s sake.” The table jolted, jostling him roughly, and he croaked as he felt every injury ignite. “Can we focus, please?” What sounded like Evan’s voice broke the tension radiating from Clint, the rumble of his growl halting slowly.

“Of course Evan, as soon as Clint’s able to think clearly.” The silvery voice was clipped, anger clear. The man’s anger made him shake harder, tensing as he waited for more pain to be dealt. Nico could feel Clint’s anger through their bond, his trepidation and worry. It crashed against him, drowning him, as his and Clint’s emotions cascaded together.

Fluid caught in Nico’s throat as the influx of emotion made him breathe faster. He coughed weakly, breath rattling loudly in his chest as he fought to drag in oxygen.

Hands quickly maneuvered Nico’s face until something hard pushed against his cheeks and nose again. He sobbed quietly, trying to turn his face away from the pressure. He’ll be good, he doesn’t need the muzzle anymore, please. Cruel straps tightened against his cheeks, cutting into the sensitive flesh. He mentally begged Clint to make it stop, wishing he could speak to him through the bond.

“There’s a time for you to fight later, and now is not it.” A hand carded through his hair, trying to settle him. Evan’s voice exuded calm, and his skin tingled with magic where Evan’s long fingers brushed against his scalp. “I think you both know what’s best for Nico right now; he needs to be healed. No one here is going to hurt him.” Evan’s voice flowed over him, soothing. He focused on the hand in his hair, and he felt his heartbeat slow. The conversation around him became duller.

“I know he needs to be healed Evan. I-I don’t know what’s going on with me. I usually have more control than this.” Shame and worry flowed through the bond. Nico instinctively reached for it, stumbling in his attempt to sooth.

“About that, Clint, I think the bond may be affecting you. It’s supposed to be done under calmer circumstances. You need to slow down and think.” The hand didn’t stop its ministrations, and Nico felt himself melting at the sensation. “I know it’s hard to think, but you may need to step outside while Martin works.”

“I’m not fucking leaving him right now,” Clint growled.

“I’m not suggesting that, just go stand outside the door, or in my office. Get a little space.”

Clint took another small step back, straining Nico’s frail grip. The calm that had begun to infuse him shattered. No. Don’t go. Don’t leave him alone. His throat worked, a rasp stalling in his damaged throat.

“You might be right....” The words registered slowly and betrayal carved at Nico. Thought you’d stay, want to keep him, please don’t go.

There was a sound of leather shoes against linoleum, and Nico panicked. His grip on Clint’s shirt tightening minutely.

His sensitive nose could smell the cinnamon cologne, hear the tic tic tic of the watch his captor favored. The subtle things he had begun to associate with terrorpainnononoplease.

Nico fought against his lax body. He barely felt Clint’s warmth against his hand as he clung desperately to his shirt. He couldn’t feel the shirt. Was he real?

He shuddered in terror, he couldn’t breathe, panic crushing his chest like a vice.

Another hand touched his arm, and Nico shuddered at the familiar sensation. Long fingers caressed his collar bone before traveling down and lightly brushing against his bandaged ribs.

He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. His eyes fluttered, unable to focus through the blinding light. The hand continued to trace his chest, and he sobbed at the sensation.

“It’s okay Nico, he’s going to help you.” Brian’s singing tenor attempted to comfort him as his large hand rubbed circles into his leg. I’m going to help you be the best pet for them, Nico. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, and he fought a moan. He would hear it; he’d put the collar back on. Oh god, Clint please.

Clint’s shirt slid from his frail grip as the wolf took yet another step back. It felt like his heart was ripped from his chest. “Nnnn....” Fear pounded against him, and he reached desperately for the wolf.

There was a rough sob from Clint. But he didn’t return.

“Let’s see what we can do for you, little human, hmmm?” Nico jerked as a slender hand settled onto his forehead, partially covering his eyes. Nonono- green light exploded in his vision, searing his eyes through his eyelids. He bit his tongue, fresh blood oozing across his taste buds as a scream built in his chest.

His lungs seized as magic pushed into his chest, a weight settling against his heart, and Nico felt as it squeezed. His back arched as his body ignited, burning, every nerve crackling as if it were on fire.

“Get off of him,” Clint’s voice roared, far away. If he could have screamed he would; he felt his hip crack and his leg spasmed.

The hands were ripped away forcefully, and the magic tore through his body like fishhooks as it followed. He heard a wolf’s howl as voices erupted around him.

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“Get off of him,” Clint snarled, tears blurring his vision. Martin’s magic cast a sickly green glow through the room, and he felt his hackles rise at the sensation of the magic on his skin.

Clint growled, the beat of wrongwrongwrong crashing against his ear drums with the frantic beat of his heart. It blocked rational thought, and he felt his ears lengthen in response.

“Clint. Calm down.” Evan’s magic slammed against his wolf, stunning him. Clint roared, vision pulsing as he fought against the older man’s magic.

“Fuck.” Kristy cowered behind Brian, clinging to the man’s waist. Brian held out a hand to him, baring his neck, and he dismissed them, turning back to Evan and Martin. He chuffed, baring his teeth at Martin.

Martin still had his hands resting on Nico; his Mate’s body arched under the onslaught of magic. There was a loud crack, and Nico’s whole body seized, muscles slamming against the metal table. Clint roared, stepping forward to shove the mage away from his mate.

“Clint. Calm down. Now.” Evan’s eyes flashed red.

The smell of cinnamon burned at his nose, and he roared again, lunging at the older man. His claws missed Evan’s face by inches as the wry man jerked backwards, slamming against Martin. Martin smirked at him. “What’s wrong Clint? I thought you wanted my help? I can always leave and let nature take its course.”

It hurt to think. Clint growled, shoulders popping as they threatened to change.

“What the fuck, Clint, fucking stop.” Evan’s eyes glowed, solid red against his aged face. The magic pummeled at Clint’s wolf. He shuddered, stumbling against the steel table holding Nico. It rattled his Mate and there was a small gasp of pain as Nico rocked against him. He sent a wave of reassurance through the bond, wolf howling; he could feel Nico’s spirit cling to him, desperate.

Guilt ate at him, he’d felt Nico’s terror when the magic had started. He should have stopped it before Martin started. But he was so desperate. And Martin had just hurt Nico more. What was he supposed to do?

Martin had backed away, placing Evan between the wolf and himself. Coward. He sought out the mans eyes, challenging.

Evan’s magic grew, and he growled against the invasion, shaking his head roughly as his vision began to blur.

“That’s right. Calm. Think.” Evan slowly approached, blocking his view of Martin. His chest rumbled, growl vibrating the small room. “Stop. Think of Nico. He needs a healer, I can’t do much more for him.”

“If he’s healing him then why is he in so much pain?! He’s fucking seizing. His magic feels wrong!” Clint slurred around the fangs in his mouth, voice deep and guttural.

Martin sneered as Clint. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the intricacy of what I’m doing. So, let me put it in layman’s terms. Magic has many varieties. To heal him, I need to use some of his energy, and it’s... impure.” The older man grimaced, bringing a fist up, green magic sparking at his fingers. The wrong feeling had dissipated. “The magic is going to hurt. From the little view I did get before you panicked, he’s septic, and broken. I won’t be able to do this all at once.” Martin let the magic sputter out, glaring at Clint, before returning to his more aloof posture. “This will take more than one session. And it’s still possible he will die. Will you be able to control yourself? Or do I need to leave this to it’s natural conclusion?”

Clint ground his teeth, conflicted. He felt his shoulders pop, the change reversing slowly. His wolf did not like this, but Nico needed healing.

He could feel Nico’s panic. The smell of adrenaline souring the air. He trembled, conflict eating at him. His mate was dying. Even with all they had done, he could smell the inevitable. He’d tried desperately to ignore it, but he could smell the way Nico’s insides were rotting. Toxins flowing in Nico’s blood, poisoning him. His heart stuttering in his chest fitfully, damaged. His lungs were filled with bacteria, drowning him. His beautiful hands were almost black from lack of blood flow and his bones ground together at every movement. Even Nico’s spirit was weakened. What was supposed to be an unearthly presence was barely more than a flicker of a candle in the night.

He straightened, glacially, from where he had curled over Nico, his resolve crumpling as he settled back into his human skin. “If you hurt him with your magic Martin, and he doesn’t live, nothin’ will be enough to stop me. Not even you, Evan.”

#tags arent saving #its driving me insane #nico series #whump #nico #my ocs #clint #poor nico #angst #magic #protective clint #like super protective #omg #im not touching this post again

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years

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All Things Green and Growing

I did an art trade with @scharoux (and if you haven’t seen what she drew for me yet LOOK AT SLEEPY BEDROOM EYES SOLAS WITH ME) and I am SO PLEASED to share the piece I did featuring Rhaella and Solas <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots for February coming SOON!)

Pairing: Rhaella Lavellan x Solas

Rating: Teen for some steamy kissin’

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Rhaella loved plants for their resilience, their beauty, and their mystery. She supposed all Dalish elves were closer to nature than their city cousins or than any other shemlen, but she was even closer still. When she was not training with her Keeper, honing her magic, she was studying herbs, plants, flowers, trees, moss. Everything under the sun was worthy of study, of course, but there was a particular joy in studying plants. A comfort there that she found few other places.

That comfort did not fade after she became Inquisitor. If anything, it grew stronger. When Skyhold and its obnoxious nobles was too much, or when she’d had a particularly difficult day on the road, she could always slip away to some quiet spot near the camp and absorb herself in nature. She was collecting samples from everywhere they went, drying, pressing, and documenting them in her journal. She and Adan could spend hours in the undercroft back at Skyhold mixing and matching the herbs, and they’d found several particularly potent combinations so far.

They were in Crestwood - Rhaella, Cole, Solas, and Blackwall - and she was hoping to make good on a promise she’d made Adan to improve Sera’s jar of bees. She was crouched in a gully, examining the blood lotus she’d picked, trying to determine if the strains that grew here in the northern part of Ferelden were any different than the ones she’d sent Inquisition forces to harvest in the Hinterlands, pretending she didn’t still feel sore from the tumble she’d taken while fighting the undead near the shores of the lake, when she heard a light footstep entering the gully behind her.

It was not Cole, who would have appeared at her side in a puff of smoke. It was not Blackwall, who would have approached with the sound of clanking armor and a polite clearing of his throat. So it had to be the third member of their party.

Rhaella felt a brief, sweet pain in her chest at the thought of her father, who had given her the skill of differentiating sounds and gaits long ago, but that was quickly erased by the voice behind her.

“I thought I might find you here.”

It had been only a fortnight since the balcony, the kiss, his arms tight around her and his heart hammering beneath her palm - since the way he’d stared at her like he was a sailor, and she was his last glimpse of the shore. The memory filled her in a rush. There had been other moments in the intervening time, but not many of them. They had been too busy in their time in Crestwood to have much time alone.

“You are an excellent hunter, then,” Rhaella said. “You’ve found me.”

Solas crouched beside her, and she turned to him, and she would have sworn that the air between them hummed - that the air was thicker, harder to breathe, just because he was near. It was still drizzling outside the thick canopied gully where she was studying the lotuses. She knew that now because Solas’s face was covered in a fine layer of water. It beaded on his nose and his chin. She wanted to wipe the beads away - to kiss them away. A pang of panic filled her at the thought. She was already so close to this man. Already so in love. She did not know how to navigate that. Her parents had taught her many things before their death, but not this.

“Am I needed back at camp?” she asked instead.

Something shifted in Solas’s expression. Rhaella could not quite catch what. That was part why she’d fallen for him, after all. His intrigue. He had as many mysteries, as many ways of unfolding, as flowers and herbs and seeds did. What was at the root of him - his knowledge, his silence, his pain? Rhaella suspected it might be similar to what lay at the room of her being - the loneliness, the fear.

“No,” he said. He took a breath as if to speak again, and then caught himself. “Shall I leave you to your studies?”

“Of course not,” Rhaella replied at once. On impulse, she reached out and touched his forearm. His cloth armor was soaked through, but heat radiated off of him, filled her palm.

“Good,” Solas said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I did come to see you, after all.”

“You should have worn a hood,” Rhaella said, trying to cover up the nervous excitement in her voice. The things he had said on the balcony still played on a loop in her mind whenever it was not full of plans, thoughts, ideas, the injustices of the world - but it was still hard to believe it was real. That he had called her his heart, said he loved her, kissed her like kissing her was the only thing keeping him alive.

Solas shrugged. “It was not so bad. I knew the end of my journey would be worth the rain.”

Rhaella could not resist then. She leaned forward and put her forehead against his, felt him sway towards her, a vine in a breeze, and she kissed him. It was gentle, brief, a brush of parted lips, a sweet parting and rejoining. She felt like crying or bursting into laughter or perhaps both when it was done. How could so much feeling be swept up in one gesture?

Easily, she supposed. The same way help and harm could be bound up in one plant.

“Do you want to help me?” Rhaella asked. “I’m removing the seeds from their pods and trying to see if there are any differences between this breed of blood lotus and the ones in the Hinterlands.”

“I see. Have you noticed anything so far?”

“Well, the seeds in these ones seem to have a rougher coating, but I’m not sure what that could mean…”

It went on as so many of their conversations did, whether they were about magic or spirits or how best to help the refugees of the various wars wracking southern Thedas, or about the philosophies of the Qun or of the Dalish clans. There was a constant give and take, an ebb and flow between them, that Rhaella had found in few other places in her life. He never got mad when she challenged him, or shut down. He met her, toe for toe, word for word, and if there was passion in their disagreements, it was the passion of ideas. She very rarely found herself angry at him. Not since the early days of their friendship, when she’d had to correct him on several of his assumptions about the Dalish.

It was growing dark in the gully by the time they finished removing the seeds from the lotuses and spreading them out on a cloth for examination, and Rhaella knew their idyll had to end. There were undoubtedly reports and requisitions waiting for her back at camp, and she really did need to rest after their fight near the lake. They would push onward after this, towards the caves where Hawke’s Grey Warden contact waited.

Solas seemed to sense her reticence to leave. He also lingered, taking longer than he should have to sort the seeds into the pouches Rhaella procured for that purpose, staring up at the dark canopy above them. Staring at her.

“Shall we share a cloak on the way back? I can’t have my Fade expert catching a cold,” she said.

Solas smiled and put his arm around her. He was one of the few elves she had ever met who was taller than her, if only by a little, and it was easy for her to drape the cloak over both of them. He squeezed her shoulder and she leaned her head against his.

“Inquisitor, I am not confident that your only motive in offering to share a cloak with me is professional,” he said as they started to walk.

Rhaella turned and kissed his cheek. She had not done that yet, she realized. A whole fortnight since he confessed his feelings, and she had not kissed his cheek yet. She kissed it again, regretted the action, feared it was a silly thing to do, but he just smiled again.

“I hope that clears my motives up,” she said.

She didn’t mind the rain on their walk back to camp, either.

After that, plants became a language of sorts between them. She woke to fresh flowers in her tent if Solas had been on watch after her. He learned that she loved wildflowers best, both for their natural beauty and for their natural variance. She saved them all, every last one, and carried them with her wherever she went.

Rhaella also knew that if Solas seemed distant, weighed-down, caught up in the tangles of his own mind, she could always get him out in nature and get him breathing more easily. Even in the desert, they could find the beauty of vandal aria or the buried poison of deathroot. They could find shade where there was sun, thick forest where there was cold, and they could always find each other.

The Forbidden Oasis was a particularly good place for such comfort. They camped outside the temple of Solasan one night, and Rhaella woke early to find Solas still on watch. It was still rather cool, but she found herself looking longingly at the waters of the oasis nonetheless. They had killed the giant the day before, and the Venatori who were skulking in the area. There was no harm in taking off her armor.

Solas turned when he heard it hit the sand. His eyes widened. It had been a long journey to this place, and they had been busy when they first arrived. They had not had any time to themselves. The oasis seemed like an invitation from the gods to remember that they were more than Inquisitor and Rift mage. That they were something as elemental as the waving stalks of grass that bordered the still, glassy water and the tall, sandy cliffs. They were in love.

“Come in with me,” Rhaella said when she was hip deep in the water, her linen underclothes clinging to her.

Solas did not think twice before complying.

They were not bare when they met, but that was fine. Things were moving slowly between them. There was so little time for just them, after all. For moments like this - the morning sun coming over the cliffs, and Solas’s hands on her waist, his body against hers, his lips pressed to hers, her own hands raking down his scalp and neck and back.

“Vhenan,” he murmured each time they parted, in the same quiet tone he used to identify different parts of different plants. It was matter of fact and awed at the same time.

She kissed and kissed and kissed him, breathlessly, touched him everywhere she could reach, felt the tickle of grass and wet sand against her legs, and then hard stone against her back, and then cool air as Solas lifted her from the water and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Solas held her there against the rock, groaning softly, pressing into her, each kiss he gave her deeper than the last, each one following a rhythm that made her blood sing. When she put her hand on his chest as she had the first time they kissed, she could feel his heart pounding.

“Vhenan,” he said one final time when they both pulled back, woozy with joy. There was something sad in the word now, though. Rhaella cupped his cheek.

“Vhenan,” she said. She was no longer nervous around the word. It was real as sunrise. The rest of their party would be up soon, and then it would be time to head into the temple itself. No more time for nature, for growing things. For them. That was why Solas sounded sad, surely, when he called her vhenan that last time.

Solas studied her. He ran his thumb over her cheek.

“I wish we could let down your hair,” he said, the other hand finding and playing with the end of her braid. “I wish we had all the time in the world to simply enjoy this oasis.” He spoke like this moment was already a thousand years behind them.

“Me too,” Rhaella said. She needed something to turn his attention back to bright things, and she spotted it out of the corner of her eye. “Look - blood lotus. Just like the first time we snuck away from camp together.”

Solas followed her gaze to the other side of the water and saw what she meant, and smiled.

“Indeed. Though perhaps we might have wished for a less ominous sounding flower to mark the occasion.”

“I disagree,” Rhaella said. “Blood isn’t ominous. It’s binding. It is family and tradition and belonging. I feel all of those things when I am with you.”

Her stomach dropped at what she had just admitted. The future she imagined when she could, when Corypheus and all the weight on her shoulders and all the challenges she faced did not weigh on her quite as much. The two of them exploring fields forever, side by side.

There was water on his nose and on his chin just like there had been that first afternoon in Crestwood. She’d been too afraid to wipe it away then. What they had together had still been too new. This time she had no such fear. She kissed each droplet away and felt Solas relax into those feather-soft touches, and knew they had both come home.

“You are right,” he said. “As you so often are.”

Rhaella grinned. “I am bringing that up the next time we argue about the proper applications of paralysis glyphs.”

Solas laughed. The sound carried over the water. All was well, and growing as it should. They walked hand in hand back to the shore.

#beach writes #rhaella lavellan #solavellan fic #dragon age fic #yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

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