@febuwhump Day 10: Difficulty Breathing
Fandom: Dragon Age
Whumpee: Miriel Lavellan
Summary: Miriel hates stairs. Stairs don't particularly like her, either. Solas thinks life would be a lot easier for Miriel if she just let the Inquisition install a stairlift.
She was stuck. Her skin felt clammy and her forehead was damp with sweat, like the mark on her arm and the pounding in her chest were working in tandem to make her as uncomfortable as possible. The steps to her quarters in Skyhold were growing to become more trouble than they were worth and she found herself regretting once more her decision not to disclose her weakness to the Inner Circle sooner.
Resting as she often did on the floor in front of the fire, she took a deep, shuddering breath — then quickly realised it was the deepest breath she’d taken since reaching her quarters. Her lungs were burning, every breath not quite enough to shake the fading feeling. She couldn’t even bring herself to remove her boots or gloves, merely leaning and panting while the gentle crackle of fire that always seemed to be burning added the the sweaty, heavy feeling.
There were things that could be done. Since her fainting spell a few weeks before, just about every solution was offered: contraptions and aides and magical solutions... But the thought of so much trouble put towards what should have been manageable was disgusting to her.
She was a huntress of Clan Lavellan; a woman of the Dalish. If even one Elf fell short of their duty there would be none to pick up the slack -- everything worked Just So, and the Inquisition was no different. Everyone had a role to play, and Miriel’s role was to lead; to inspire. How would she do that if word spread that she could scarcely climb a flight of stairs?
“Vhenan.” Miriel almost slipped off of the cushion she was leaning on, her heart startled back into overdrive just as it had begun to slow.
“Fenedhis, Solas!” She snapped, glaring up at him through a curtain of red hair that fell about her face, “Announce yourself for once.”
“If I am to continue discovering you this way,” he continued, barely pausing to smirk at her words as he lowered to wrap a surprisingly strong arm around her waist and pull her to her feet, leaning heavily against him, “Shall I begin carrying you to your quarters every night?”
“I would rather lose my legs entirely than be carried like a child whenever I require some privacy, Solas,” she hissed, trying and failing to hide the way she breathed a sigh of relief as he rested her to bed and began removing her heavy formal garments.
“Then perhaps it is time to accept the offer of your people. Harrit, Dagna and Gatsi had drafted plans for a stair-glider, had they not?”
This again. Miriel sighed heavily, shaking her head in a movement barely perceptible. Now she was laying down properly it was like the last of her strength had left her. Gods, it had been a long day. “The work and resources--”
“Would go where they are deserved, Lavellan.” Solas’ hands were nimble and cautious in unlacing her gloves, carefully placing them on the table beside her. “The standards of your people need not apply to the wider world. Admitting the need for aid is a greater strength than the Dalish understand.”
Miriel merely granted him a sharp, devestating glare. She did not have the strength to fight his criticism of her culture today.
“It is merely a caution, vhenan. Your pride could easily become your downfall.”
She didn’t grace that with an answer either, and Solas breathed the lightest of sighs as he so often did, resting a chaste kiss on her clammy forehead. “Consider it, my love. For my sake if not yours.”
"How would it possibly help you?"
"I would be wounded by your angry gaze a little less, I think~"
