#i added a scene where solas saves lavellan when she gets wounded

[lagunapoint]

Solas's loneliness after the Inquisition - and the moment of saving lavellan from trouble :)

[branwen-lavellan]

Day 8 of @14daysofdalovers​‘s prompts.  Solas/Lavellan with my Inquisitor Branwen.  This is mild NSFW.

It’s been a rough week, and I’m super behind.  Hoping to get caught up in the next couple of days.

“Ow!” She cried.

“It Abelas, Vhenan,” said Solas, “but you must sit still.”

The four of them sat around the campfire: Branwen, Solas, Dorian, and Bull.  Branwen sat with her right leg extended forward and as relaxed as she could make it, given the circumstances. She had a massive gash in her thigh that oozed thick blood. Solas stitched it closed with black thread. 

They had fought a high dragon in the Hinterlands and won, a massive victory, but it had left them depleted of all resources.  No more health potions to mend their wounds, and no more mana potions for Solas to replenish his stores. Nothing left save one cracked jar of bees.  They’d chucked that into the woods, fearful of what might happen if the crack expanded. 

So, with no magic left to help them, Solas was left to do things the “normal” way.  Branwen had chugged from a flask that Bull had handed her, then braced herself. The small, hooked needle sunk into her flesh, sliced through the tissue, and popped out again, drawing fresh blood as it did. She winced.  “Fuck!”

On the other side of the campfire, Dorian winced along with Branwen as he watched Solas pull the thread taut.  He and Bull, who stroked Dorian’s head as it lay in his lap, had already been patched up.  Branwen had insisted they go first.  Bull had enough basic medical training to be a help.  He and Solas had made quick work of Dorian, who had taken the worst of it.  He’d been thrown across the field by a swipe of the dragon’s tail and been left with a nasty head wound that Solas had healed with the last of his mana.  He’d cracked a rib, too, but, Solas felt that it was less pressing.  Bull had wrapped his chest in bandages to add support.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever felt pain like this,” said Dorian, wincing.

“You’re good, Kadan,” said Bull, “I’ve got you.”

“We should have been more precautious,” said Solas, low near Branwen’s ear, “but we managed to accomplish a great feat today.  You should be proud of yourself, Ma Lath.”

“I’ll be proud once you’re finished,” she said.  “It hurts like a mother.”

Bull snorted, and the laugh, however small, caused his knee to jerk.  “That’s a colorful image.”

Dorian cried out, clutching his ribs. “Damn it all!” he said, sitting up.  Bull moved to help him, but he waved him off.

“Sorry, Kadan,” said Bull.

“It’s alright,” said Dorian, before adding, with a mixture of affection and disdain, “you oaf!”  He took a deep breath, wincing as his lungs expanded.  “Vishante kaffas.  How am I meant to get back to Skyhold like this?”

“When our mana is replenished, Dorian, I will heal you further,” said Solas, still stitching Branwen’s wound. 

“You May have to teach me to do that myself. I’ve never been the best with healing magic, though. Still, worth a try.”  He stood, despite the pain. “I think I need to lie down for a bit. I don’t think I can watch much more of this,” he said, nodding towards Bran's leg. 

“I don’t blame you. Ow!” Cried Branwen, “fuck!”

Dorian turned his nose up at the whole scene. He walked by Branwen, reaching a hand out to clasp hers as he passed. “Sorry I’m not more supportive, but I was never all that good at bedside manner.”

She waved him off. “See ya in the morning, Dorian.”

He hobbled into one of the tents, cursing in Tevine as he lay down. Bull stood and followed after him.  “You need anything, Boss?”

“More of whatever you were drinking.”

Bull laughed and threw her the flask. “I’m gonna go check on our favorite Vint.”

Branwen watched him go. She was, frankly, a little surprised at how far things had progressed between the two of them, given Dorian’s frequent denial and protestations. Whatever the case, they seemed happy. 

“They seem like a good fit for each other,” she remarked. 

Solas did not look up from his work. “A surprising pair, to be sure.”  He pulled the thread taut again, rubbing a thumb along the side of the wound to massage the pain away as best he could. “But good for each other, I think.”

Branwen smiled. “To think, if all this madness had never happened, they never would have met.”  

He looked up at her, then, and smiled. “To think,” he agreed.  He continued his work. “I’m almost finished, Vhenan. It won’t be long now.”

She looked off into the distance, out over the vast hills of the Hinterlands, imagining simpler times. “This is nothing,” she said, “you should have seen me when I received my Vallaslin.”  Compared to the feeling of the tattoo machine pricking ink into her face over and over again, the pain in her thigh was nothing.

She felt a sharp tug, then heard the snap of the thread. When she looked back, he was tying the ends and cutting off the excess with one of her daggers.  “There,” he said. He reached out a hand for Bull’s flask. “May I?”

Branwen sighed. “What a waste of whiskey.”  

Solas unscrewed the top and poured the contents over her wound, and she hissed at the burn. Then he handed her the flask again. “I suspect there is enough for one more sip.”

She took the flask and made a toasting motion towards him. She sucked the drink down, savoring the burn and the way it clouded her head and numbed the pain.

Solas said little. He was a quiet man at times, but there was something in his manner that worried her. He was so much more quiet than usual, more reserved. “Are you alright, Solas?” she asked. 

He continued to massage the area around her wound tracing little circles in her skin. “I am fine, Vhenan.”

“Just fine?”

He did not meet her gaze, but rather stood and gathered more wood for the fire. “I am very tired,” he said as he threw another log on and poked the pile with a stick until it caught. 

She frowned. “I know you well enough at this point to know you’re not, Solas.  What’s wrong?”

He watched the flames for a moment before finally meeting her gaze. He smiled, a bittersweet look in his eyes. He shifted, settling down right next to her. “There was a moment during the fight,” he said, “where I thought we might not survive.  I thought you might not survive.”

“Well, I did,” she said, bumping against his arm. “We all did.”

He closed his eyes, lost in thought. She waited in silence for him to respond. At length, he turned to her, his head pressed against her head and said, “come to bed with me.”

She reached a hand out to his face, tracing the worry lines that had etched their way along the corners of his eyes.  He closed the gap between them,  pulling her close and pressing her lips to his.  She breathed him in, the taste of whiskey mingling with the taste of him.  The kiss was desperate, just like those first kisses they had shared in the Fade and on her balcony.  The longer they had been together, the more comfortable and relaxed he had become, but every now and then, that edge of desperation would push through again - that need, as if he hadn’t been touched in so long.  As if this was all coming to an end.  She loved that he kissed her with such passion.  It took her breath away every single time.

He broke the kiss with a gasp.  “We shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” she asked.

“Because you are hurt,” he said.  “Because you need rest.”

She huffed, worrying her lips to hide a pout.  Then, she got an idea.  She flashed a wicked grin at him.  “You know,” she said, “this whole ordeal has left me feeling awfully stressed.”

He furrowed his brows.  “I can certainly imagine.”

“I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to get the rest I need,” she said.  “Not when I’m so worked up.”

He narrowed his eyes.  He was starting to catch on.  

“If only there was something I could do to help me relax,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled.  “You are as cunning as ever, Vhenan.”  He looked away, thinking.  “Fenedhis,” he said.  “This is unwise.”

“But oh so fun,” she said, rubbing his thigh, her hand shifting ever higher.  

He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over her lips.  Her heart leapt in her chest.  “I have some conditions.”

“Oh?” she asked, “and what are those.”

His nose bumped against hers, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.  He whispered to her in Elvhish, “you have to be on top.”

She blushed, though maintained her composure in every other way.  She responded in Elvhish as well.  “I think that can be arranged.”

“Then come to my bed,” he said again.  Before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, stealing a kiss and her breath all at once.