#and definitely demiromantic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greypetrel · 2 months

Note

(resisting the urge to not say "i'm not calling you a liar" for Raina LOL)

Maybe "This is as good a place to fall as any" for anyone who fits for Radha, or anyone else who fits? c:

Hello Laya!

Thank you for asking and LOL that song for Raina would have been so funny. x°D

This got me thinking. As previously said, I’m all for Solavellan when it’s platonic, not much when it’s romantic. But, Bedroom Hymns was undeniably romantic, and I couldn’t find one way to decline it as platonic (I TRIED). Thinking and rethinking about how to make myself like Solas as a romance enough to write something convincing unlocked me, tho! I tried, let me see how it went, it was out of my comfort zone, but I hope it’s convincing enough.

And for the record, this is the book I followed. Some names are adapted to Dragon Age of course (Arbor Vitae sounded so similar to Arbor Blessing that I just put that. And “Virginian Spiderwort”… I put the name of a random city in the Free Marches. Also, Tevinter Plum is Indian Plum, with a VERY rough assignation.)

Tis the prompt list

Floriography

[ “This is as good a place to fall as any” ]

This is his body This is his love Such selfish prayers And I can't get enough Bedroom Hymns - Florence + the Machine

Radha observed Josephine with the air of a person that firmly believed she was being made a fool out of.

“Oh, come on.” The ambassador laughed. “Don’t make that face, it’s just a coded language like any other Leliana taught you!”

“Except assigning meanings to flowers makes no sense. Why should a Pansy mean thought?”

“It means I think of you. And I don’t know, maybe because it’s such a pretty flower?”

Radha watched Josephine fix the bouquet in front of her with care, a smile she couldn’t contain on her lips and in her eyes. She looked happy, and even if Radha knew who sent those flowers and was burning to tell her that Blackwall was hiding something, and to watch out… Whatever made her smile like that couldn’t be all that bad, she considered. She could attach meaning to those flowers, if she wanted, it really hurt no one, as much as a nonsensical way of communicating that was.

“If you say so.” She shrugged in the end, not convinced.

“I think it’s sweet.” Josie kept on, and turned her smile to her in a way Radha didn’t like. “Wouldn’t you like for Solas to gift you flowers as well, and know he meant something with each one he chose?”

The elf groaned in all answer, rolling her eyes to the ceiling of the office. It was far too silly for her, and as Josephine laughed at the display, she smiled back at the woman and wove a goodbye, turning back and leaving her to attach whatever set of words she wanted to the plants she received.

She crossed the Great Hall, headed to the library, and the thought still stuck, picking at her curiosity all the more because she couldn’t really understand the purpose of it.

She was there when Ydun filled the aravel she and Aisling shared with field flowers, once her sister complained the other never did anything spontaneous. She was there to help Aisling and her girlfriend clean the damn flowers out of the cart, which took the three of them hours of work, and a big question on what to do with all those flowers.

It had been silly and uncomfortable, and even Aisling had agreed that maybe picking flowers wasn’t that nice. That they were nicer growing in fields, instead of dead just for a fleeting moment of beauty.

That had settled the flower matter, for Radha, and she told Solas right away that if he really wanted to court her, beside not entering her dreams uninvited ever again, not to gift her flowers. And he had listened on both things.

But now, working with Leliana on how to circle the Templar blockade in the Emprise du Lion, reviewing reports and trying to concoct a safe way around the main pathway that could lead an armed group into Sahrnia off track, without having them trapped in the snow… The thought kept bugging her most annoyingly.

So annoyingly than when they were finished for the day, after she checked that Aisling and Dorian weren’t planning on setting themselves on fire or make something else explode that afternoon, she started shuffling the bookshelves until she found… ah.

Floriography.

There was a whole book about it, and it was fairly thick. Surprisingly thick.

Shuffling through pages, she discovered it contained pages upon pages with pictures of every single flower and plant, with instructions on how to recognise the wanted variety precisely, curiosities and other uses. Beside a dictionary of associations, ordered one by flower, one by meaning.

Radha wondered why it wasn’t just a book of botany and nothing more.

But, curious as she always was when meeting something new to learn, she placed herself on her spot on the couch in the rotunda, and started to read. With a grudge, and fully intending to disprove that silly method and silly book.

“I thought you weren’t the type for flowers.”

A known, dear voice chuckles over her, coming to sit beside her some minutes after.

She huffed, settling better to get in contact with him, allowing Solas to hug her shoulders and peek on the page she had opened on her bent thighs, as she kept on reading.

“This language is stupid.”

“Is it? I think it’s a clever way to communicate in an environment where being open is socially frowned upon.”

“Bah.”

She scoffed, not convinced, and turned the page.

“A rose changes its meaning according to the colour. It makes no sense.”

“A letter can stand for two different sounds as well, making equally little sense.”

Radha huffed through the nose, shaking her head. Not convinced at all. Solas chuckled some more, and bent to press a kiss on the side of her head.

“Would you like to try?”

She turned to him, raising one eyebrow in a silent and very disappointed question that, apparently, just amused him more.

“Just to see if it makes sense in the end, or if it’s fun.”

“Crittography is fun and doesn’t require the death of a plant.”

“It’s far less beautiful, tho.” He countered. “The brief time a flower is allowed to bloom adds to its meaning. Even if its life is brief, it’s not less precious. All the more so for it. And the sentiment attached keeps on even if the petals wilts. I find it quite poetic.”

Radha shrugged, seeing the point of his words but not fully agreeing with it. She settled herself more comfortably against his side. If he was in a mood for explanations and reading and not for painting, it was fine with her. Aisling had rubbed off her too much for Radha to not have picked up that love was in touch.

A slender arm clutched her closer, another kiss made her lips curve up in a smile, and she turned another page, deciding she may as well indulge him. If not just to prove it wrong. It didn’t work for Cullen and Aisling, she didn’t see why it should work for her. But if he wanted to try…

“As you wish.”

“I will think of something.”

She shrugged it off, and went on reading, trying to figure out if the whole thing had some sense upon it. But no matter how much she read, she just couldn’t figure out how one person could look at a bush of lavender and think of Distrust.

---

Radha found the first flower three days later, early in the morning when she walked out from her room.

On the ledge of the half wall, just in front of her door, he left her the Floriography book. In its pages he firmed the stalk of the first flower, shining white against the dark of the stone, tiny flowerets gently moving in the breeze that swept the Keep. She conceded herself half a smile, just for the care he took to leave her the guide as well. Shuffling through the pages, it was easy to find the flower she needed. It was a fairly common bloom and she of course knew its name well.

Lily of the Valley: Return of Happiness.

She rolled her eyes to the sky, but kept smiling, as she gently smelled the flower.

Silly and sappy.

She needed to find just the right answer. She was early anyway, she could spend ten minutes finding for something on the damn book.

Facing Aisling and asking her if she could please summon a very specific flower she had but a picture of in a book was another story. She hated to ask, and she knew that of her siblings, the one truly skilled with Creation magic was, without a hint of a doubt, Pavyn. But, she didn’t really trust other mages on such a personal matter, their brother was miles and miles away, and Aisling would have had to do. Even if she smirked with a horribly knowing smile at her. Saying nothing, and at the same time saying everything.

Radha groaned at it, Aisling laughed, and she gave her the flower she had asked anyway, telling her to come anytime for the next. This looked like an important mission, and had the priority, surely.

The flower was left on his desk right after, during lunch.

Ostwick Spiderwort: Momentary Happiness.

Because she was playing the game, but she was playing to prove it silly.

They went on for days, leaving flowers to each other back and forth, in places each one knew the other would have found it and know whom it was from.

When they met, they never spoke about them, of course: the fun was in the secrecy of it, and talking about the flowers would have broken the game.

Solas left her a White Periwinkle: Pleasures of Memory.

Radha shook her head and oomphed, found just the right flower, and pushed Aisling to create it anyway even if she disagreed with her choice of proving a point.

“Can I at least tell him I disagree with-”

“No, Shrimp.”

“Oomph.”

Tevinter Plum, for Privation.

He didn’t say anything, but looked at her funny that evening, raising just one eyebrow as he saw her, in a silent question. She rose one of her own, challenging him to say something. He smiled under his breath and spoke of something else.

The next morning, there was a jonquil in a small glass jar on her spot at Leliana’s table. Leliana smirked knowingly, but all she had to say at the third time she looked at the plant – just to check the jar wasn’t staining the map it rested upon, of course- was:

“It means ‘I desire a return of affection’.”

Radha groaned and urged everyone -who was horribly giggling at her, to get back to work, they had no time to lose in silliness and flowers.

She wasn’t ready to give in so early, so her choice was, and at that Aisling giggled in mirth. Not that Radha minded.

A Lady’s slipper: Win me and wear me.

To which the answer was quick:

Saffron Crocus: Mirth.

Radha smiled at it, and mirth was what she felt. Before the cook saw her with that particular flower in her hand and yelped, asking her where did she found it and if there were others, if there were enough they could have saffron for free and-

Flowers were dangerous, Radha decided, running for her -and mostly for Solas’ life from an overeager cook that would have demanded the mage to grow her a field of crocuses daily, if she had caught her and coaxed a name out of her.

The next flower, she found it herself in the garden, growing spontaneously in the meadows. A fitting answer, she thought, returning to the rotunda just to slip it behind his ear, with a briskness that masked some shyness out of inexperience. He turned, and she was out of the opposite door with just a glance of pink cheeks.

Wild Daisy: I will think of it.

When she finished with her training, patting dust away from her trousers after the Iron Bull threw her to the ground the fifth times as she was distracted by parrying Krem’s sword, his answer was in the scabbard of one of her daggers. For all she blamed this stupid flower thing for being silly and pointless -and it was silly and pointless and a waste of magic- the small twig with red lantern-like fruits brought a smile to her face, and made her forget that her back was sore and she fell badly on her shoulder.

Gooseberry: Anticipation

The game continued in the next days, and keeping a straight face when they were together became more difficult.

Radha thought she had a good control over herself: she wasn’t emotional in the way Aisling was, bursting into tears and smiling wide so everyone could partake in her emotions as well. She felt hers, but always kept them private. This new thing, tho, the expectation of seeing the hint of a coloured petal or of a leaf every way she turned, made her silly.

Her lips curled up in a smile almost automatically when she caught a glimpse of Solas, in a way she found silly and blamed herself for it. It happened to others, it happened to Aisling and Pavyn and Vyrina: it didn’t happen to her. It never did, and she wasn’t interested in having it happen. She was happy as she was.

And yet, seeing him smile back, something melting in his face, posture relaxing ever so slightly, took some of the disappointment away from her.

She left him a sprig of mezereon: Desire to please.

He answered with a white mignonette: Your qualities surpass your charme.

She was happy that he left it in her room, so nobody could see her blush. He wasn’t scarce in compliments, but she wasn’t really good at receiving them. Less of all in replying it: it felt… Too much, too soon, and she didn’t know what she should do.

After hours and hours of mulling it over, thinking if she was ready to be more direct and give a compliment back -he knew she admired him, what more could he want? Courtship was stupid. She decided that maybe not. She also decided that asking Aisling would have been a terrible idea if she didn’t want her sister to arrange with Leliana and Josephine a way to close them both in the same room with candles and rose petals and a chocolate cake so big no couple of living beings could ever dream of eating on their own… she may as well just offer him some sincerity back.

That would have worked better than Aisling setting them up, surely.

Amaryllis: Timidity.

She stayed the whole morning on pins and needles, uneasiness settling in the depth of her stomach in a way that was familiar of every time someone had requested something physical or emotional from her, and she just… Hadn’t it in her, and was made to feel in defect because in the field of love she wasn’t interested… Or in this case, when she surprisingly found herself interested, she needed to proceed slow.

He didn’t make her wait, tho: his answer was waiting for her in the war room, where she was expected for a recollection of the official plan to gather an entrance in the Emprise and Leliana had requested her presence.

A ceramic glass, stained with paint on the border -one of those he used for water when he painted, she knew- with clean water and a sprig of Evergreen Thorn, heavy with firey red berries.

Solace in adversity.

A consolation, and an acceptance. Aisling and Josephine looked at her, seeing the twig. Josie was worried, knowing probably the meaning of it, and asked her if everything was all right.

“Yes.” She answered. “Yes, it is.”

And she was fully sincere in her words.

The answer was fairly easy to find: it was Aisling’s favourite after forget-me-not, and it felt like a witty remark.

A tiger-lily on the top of his scaffolding, in the same glass: For once may pride befriend me.

She was up in the first story of the library, in the corner beside Aisling and Dorian to see his reaction. He turned the flower in his long fingers, and he heard him chuckle, as she had intended him to. He turned towards the nook with a sly smile, caught her eyes.

She felt the shiver of magic and the smell of ozone, and the next thing was something velvety and delicate caressing her right cheek. She startled to the side, thinking of something evil, for to her right there was just stone wall.

It was no demon what met her, but a single flower growing between two stones, and what velvety touched her was its leaf, spiky and sharp beneath delicate rosy and purple flowers.

“Can you go elsewhere before I puke with all this sappiness, please?” Dorian complained, groaning aloud.

“Hush, you!” Aisling giggled, swatting his arm aloud. “They’re cute, leave them be.”

“They’re getting sappier than you and Cullen, and I’m getting diabetes. Too much straight energy for me.” He groaned aloud, as if he was in pain, and let his bust fall heavily back, a wrist on his forehead for added dramatics. “I think I may die.”

Aisling hoomphed under his weight, collapsing back a little in surprise. A pile of books fell down under their combined weight, but they went on bickering about Radha one moment, their experiment the next. In the meanwhile, Radha had found which flower it was, and what did it mean. She snorted a laugh.

Oak leaved geranium: True friendship.

“See? Sappier by the minute, I swear!”

“Leave her be!”

It was, all in all, a nice afternoon full of laughter. And in all sincerity, all Radha could answer was but one flower.

Saffron Crocus: mirth.

It went on for some days more, and Radha slowly and carefully had to admit, if only to herself, that it was indeed amusing to go back and forth that way. No words, no grand declarations nor speech. Just colourful messages, well thought for their synthesis, to the point.

A bellflower in her glass, at breakfast: Gratitude.

Corn straw, deftly braided, between his quills: Agreement.

And then, after a day, when Radha was thinking he had stopped, they got through with it and had their fun but there was only so much they could tell each other through flowers -not thinking that she spent the day looking this way and that expecting a petal, a splash of colour in her field of vision… Another one that left her unsettled.

He had asked her if he could leave a couple of books he had meant to lend her directly in her room, instead of leaving them in the rookery where she was, and let her bring them back herself. She paid it little mind and told him yes, and in the evening, when she returned, there wasn’t just the four volumes of history on her desk. No.

There was a flower on her pillow, bright and colourful on the white of the sheets.

Ranunculus: You are radiant with charms.

Radha felt her breath grow short, the blow stronger this second time around, and she wondered if it was normal. She didn’t like this romance thing, she always felt like she was dancing without knowing the steps nor what he expected from her. This compliment thing… It left her uneasy and terribly, horribly seen.

Was it so bad, this insistence and being seen? Yes. But maybe… She didn’t mind being seen by Aisling, but Aisling had ways that were more delicate, and didn’t put a mirror in her face. This… A rational part in her calmly acknowledged that it was courtship, every animal did it. Birds flaunting coloured feathers to attract the female, hallas fighting for the same reason. Bonding gifts served the same purpose. Reproduction as the end goal. But this wasn’t that. She’s been clear that she wasn’t interested in that, she didn’t want children of her own, and she didn’t know if she would have ever been willing to try more intimacy than kisses. She never had the urge before, after all. He had been understanding and told her he didn’t mind it, he was happy with just whatever she had to give, and wouldn’t have asked for more.

It was the companionship, what she didn’t expect. It was the gratuitous appreciation of what she was, not what she could do, her qualities and skills. The way he listened to her and asked her opinion after long, long explanations, and seemed to value each and every of her words, remembered what she told and interpreted her ways for what they were, appreciated them. It was the smile he had just for her and the tender way his eyes would melt.

It was how her heart beat fast and how her mind could, if she tried, figure out the exact way he would have said “You are radiant with charms”, and how it made her horribly dizzy.

She prayed Aisling was in her room and was alone -she couldn’t face Cullen on this. Creators, asking one person was a lot.

Luckily, she was there and she was alone -made a weird face when Radha confessed she didn’t expect her to be, but was quick in changing the topic. In a way that told her that she didn’t want to talk about it, but still. They sat together on her bad, legs crossed, with all the curtains of the canopy drawn, it almost felt like an aravel: Radha spoke and Aisling listened with attention.

“It’s scary, isn’t it?” She asked in the end, an understanding smile on her face as she cupped her face to look at her in the eyes.

“What?”

“Falling.”

Radha glomped down. Was that it? Was it? All the fuss, all the chasing and sighing, all the novels and poetry, for this? For feeling dizzy and unsure? She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all, but something clicked true in her.

She nodded, feeling herself blushing madly.

“Yeah, I know, it’s shitty. Truly horrible.” Aisling agreed, moving forward and dragging her bust down to hug her shoulder, collecting the rogue against her frame. “It’s ok, tho. You can cut the game any time, there’s no obligation to answer. You already told him that you were shy, it’s ok. He won’t insist if you don’t want him to.”

Radha hummed, knowing she was right. It wasn’t anything serious, this game of theirs, anyway. The experiment had proven its point, she could call it out whenever she wanted.

And yet, that ranunculus…

“And- What if I wanted to?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drowned her face in the crook of Aisling’s neck.

Fingers started to thread in her hair, caressing and soothing, a kiss pressed on her cheek.

“Well, then. If you wanted to… You can be sincere about why you don’t want to reply. What about it?” Aisling asked. “Is there another flower for shyness?”

There was, they discovered after running all the way down to Radha’s room and the book. And checking also what Dandelion meant now because Aisling decided she may as well try it too, and “Cullen is definitely a dandelion”. She was very disappointed when she discovered that Dandelions meant “Rustic oracle” (“What does that even mean?? It makes no sense!” and Radha couldn’t but agree). But they found one for her as well, and it was with a sigh to get some courage, that she left it on his desk, very early in the morning.

Peony: Bashfulness, shame.

As embarrassing as it was, that was what she felt.

Waiting for an answer, after all, was still better than dreading answering in the first place. She had work to distract herself with and… Was that Cullen with a crown of dandelions on his head the one Varric and Sera were whistling at?

She had work to distract herself with.

The answer came soon enough, thankfully, and it calmed her down considerably.

A twig with leaves of white poplar: Time.

She smiled at it, relieved in her anxieties. The perfect answer, really, and she felt silly, now, for doubting him so. He gave her time, and time was what she needed. With a fuller heart and a calmer mind, and more faith in the future, she gently pressed one of the leaves in her notebook, as a keepsake, and went on with her day.

Her answer was a columbine: Foolishness.

She felt a little foolish for worrying so, truth to be told, and if sincerity paid off… Why not keeping up? Maybe it would have brought something else of good, while she tried to unwind the ball of yarn her feelings and thoughts got wound up into.

She had time, yes.

The next one was another leaf. One she knew fairly well, and which spoke thankfully more of him than on her.

Arbor Blessing: Unchanging friendship. Live for me.

Radha knew, turning the trail in her hand and rubbing the leaves between two fingers to release the balsamic perfume of them. Surely he meant just the first meaning of it. He was the first one to say she should pursue other interests and friendships that weren’t him. With a dedication she didn’t really understand.

That little slip tho… That little inattention, finding something with a meaning so contrary to whatever he ever told her.

Maybe he was equally bashful about this whole endeavour. Thinking of it, he always spoke of her and her qualities, what he saw in her. Never of what he himself was feeling more deeply than expressing friendship. Before this one. This one little slip that…

Maybe she was reading too much into it. But he was always so precise and careful, measuring his words with such attention, that Radha found hard to believe that he just read half the definition.

Weirdly enough, that little slip made her heart beat, but not with the anxiety of those days before. No. This time it was tenderness, and recognition.

If he was bashful too… Maybe she really had nothing to fear.

Maybe she already had fallen, and she didn’t realise she already landed.

Beside, her mother didn’t raise a quitter.

So, she marched to Aisling and asked her one last flower. This time, knowing perfectly well what she wanted.

The next morning, Solas found a thin vase on his desk, in a corner as if it had been always been there.

Inside, sprouting tall and proud, one single purple lily.

First emotion of love.

Radha, that evening, got back into her room to find not one flower, but a full bouquet. It was just one bloom, and it filled the room with a pleasant, sweet perfume.

Lily of the valley: Return of happiness.

She smiled wide, didn’t mind he entered her room without asking, and let her treacherous heart keep her awake for long, that evening.

Enjoying the sweet smell of lily of the valleys for the brief and precious moment while it lasted, and maybe understanding a little better why people gifted flowers.

Why Lavender meant Distrust, tho, she never understood.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solavellan #solasxlavellan #da fanfic #dai #writing petrel #radha lavellan #and look this is probably the first thing I can properly tag as solavellan!#(flower language means absolutely nothing to me either if you were asking)#(why lavender means distrust?? WHY??)#oh yeah she's ace #and definitely demiromantic

15 notes · View notes