arlathvhen | Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

Solas does not laugh, but the huff of his breath is it's own expression of appreciation. Yes, alright, their difference in age was occasionally a fertile ground for humor. That she felt so comfortable as to joke about it felt... better. More than anything, he wished not to become a tyrant to her, only because he was the older, and more powerful.

He knew well what that felt like.

"When I am with you, I am truly young... In spite of myself," He teases, slowly relaxing; there is no rational need to clutch, after all, "And you have ever seemed to be wise beyond your years. Perhaps we meet in the middle."

If there was ever anything he didn't need to fear in their relationship, it was that he would turn into a tyrant over her. That she would even let him, indeed, would be its own fantasy.

Her silly joke pulling him into a mood for levity, and she was glad for it. Glad enough to give him another kiss, this time on the cheek. "Very well. I shall endeavor to act as a woman of several thousand years. I'm not sure I will be able to do this very easily, but if it is your desire, my heart, you need only consider it done."

Starting to pepper his face with little fluttering kisses is not, perhaps, the way to start off this declaration. But she does it anyway.

Solas smiles at her teasing, at seeing Beleth so easily brought to joy, even after so pointless and petty a fight. He allows her caresses with a strange, weary sort of contentment, still feeling scraped-hollow and relieved.

She could never know, could never be permitted to learn, where his mind had gone, nor how close to the abyss his plans had momentarily veered. Let that knowledge pass forever from her hands; it could only cause her pain.

"Vhenan," He says quietly, full of tenderness, "I will love you still, when you are old in truth. Be as you are now, for as long as you wish. There will be no reason to hurry."

No, she doesn't know what thoughts had run through his mind, or how grim they had been. But she does see a weariness in him, one that he seems to carry as naturally a burden as one's own limbs. Was it the fight? The worry of what she'd done, the risk she had taken, and how it would rebound upon her? Or maybe it was the hundred other worries that seemed to crowd his mind.

Either way, she was of a mind to soothe them.

Both hands reach up to cup his face, and she presses a firm, solid kiss to his lips. One, then another, and slowly begins backing up, towards the bed (one of the first pieces of furniture they'd brought in, luckily). Pulling him along, still cherishing him with long, slow kisses.

"Well, the me that I am now has a few ideas on what I wish for." That made no sense. Especially in the context of what Solas said. She doesn't seem to care.

He chuckles at her eagerness, allowing himself to be led. If the argument was bitter, then all the sweeter was forgiveness afterwards; His hands in her hair, and his lips on hers as she tips them backwards and onto the bed.

What he did not owe to this woman, could not be known. She was in everything he did, even now, and he no longer knows how or why he thought to run from her. He is only glad that the curtains are drawn, and the door firmly shut.

The rest would wait, for another day.

Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

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