Elliana was still waiting for the dream to end. Surely it had to be a dream, to have had Solas tell her he loved her, to have him kiss her the way he had. She had the heart of a dreamer, hope ever-present. She’d dared to believe that Solas might feel the same, but after months of his distance, of his denial of her feelings, she’d started to wane, started to accept that perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be.
But when he’d kissed her. A kiss that had perhaps changed the course of her life in a way that she didn’t realize just yet, but knew was significant. And it had been more than worth the wait.
Now, they were alone. Davhal had been safely returned to the pendant around her neck and Cole had disappeared, most likely having returned to Skyhold to help someone else who needed them. For the first time since they left Skyhold, they had no duties or responsibilities. It was just them.
She’d spent a majority of that alone time together making up for the time that she’d wanted to have with him. She’d kissed his lips almost a hundred times, tracing her fingers over his face to memorize his skin.
Despite the chaos that their camp was left in, Solas’ tent completely incinerated, the horses panicked, Elliana felt nothing but giddiness. Nothing could have dampened her spirit in that moment.
Though, there has been more than one time that she’d accidentally grazed her fingers over his burned back when she’d been exploring him during their kisses. Figuring the least she could do was offer him some kind of help with it, she pulled back from their most recent kiss with a smile.
“Vhenan,” Elliana murmured softly, her hands resting against Solas’ chest, “as much as I’d like to kiss you uninterrupted for days, I think we should take a look at your back.” She said, cautiously peeking around him to look at his back and hissing through her teeth at what she saw.
“Come on, I have some supplies in my tent.” Her fingers had never left him since he’d kissed her that first time. They’d been touching his face, his chest, his hands, anywhere she could reach him. Because he’d been right, feeling him in the waking world was so much more physically grounding and intense. She loved every second of it.
“Thank goodness Davhal misses my tent.” She chuckled, though the adrenaline of his fury had finally begun to leave her body. She was left more cold, more drained, but still riding on the high of their confession.
She helped him inside, kneeling by the side she produced a pack of supplies and began to look through it, casting a small smile at him over her shoulder in the shadows.
“You’re the better healer between the two of us, but I will do what I can.” She had a small salve she could use to cover his burns, and moved to sit behind him.
“Will you..will you remove your shirt?”
@solas-enaste
Solas always hissed with pain when she accidentally touched his injury, but he was never cross with her as her kisses made him forget about it soon enough.
He chuckled slightly when Elliana eventually broke off the kiss to tend to him at last. Still, he made sure that his hands never left her body, always touching either her hand, her fingers, her waist, or just the small of her back.
"I do have to see if at least one of my books has survived at some point, but... it is late."
Slipping inside the tent, Solas took one of her spare water bottles to have a drink. Then, he sat down.
Her shy request for him to remove his shirt promptly made him blush like a fool. Solas had conveniently forgotten that it was necessary to let her get a proper look at the wound. Plus, he was pretty sure that some of the wool got burnt right into his skin as well, which needed to be taken care of better sooner than later.
Rather than removing his tunic right away, Solas decided to ramble instead. Or he didn't decide on it, and it just happened.
"You don't have to worry about the healing, my love. I... I am sure you have noticed that I don't heal my own wounds beyond necessity, so I am not going to complain." Solas then took the deepest, most mindful of breaths to brace himself. Slowly, carefully, he pulled up his tunic, hissing slightly as he tried to remove the singed parts from his wound. He ran his hand along the burnt edges of the fabric with another sigh, and put it aside at last. He was slightly more muscular than most elves, even though the muscles were not as defined as Cullen's or Blackwall's. But what would probably catch Elliana's attention first were the scars. Several deep ones were scattered across his torso, but the lack of discoloration indicated that they were very old. One such scar was on his right side and reached all the way from his ribs to his hip. Another was on his left shoulder, and another right underneath his collarbone. There were smaller ones everywhere. Battlescars caused by cuts, burns, and slashes, but nowhere near as deep as the others. A few weeks ago, Solas had gotten wounded by a rebellious templar who stabbed him in the left side with a knife. That wound had healed quite well, although it was still red and sore. It was obvious that Solas could have healed it better, but decided not to. Showing his body was... unnerving. Not only because he showed it to the woman he liked, no, loved, but even more so because of the scars. Still, Solas trusted Elliana beyond measure, and in a way, it felt liberating.
