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one think i love (but also am sad about) in the MiT AU is the hopelessness solas and lavellan have. i get they've both suffered major trauma, but i would love to see a moment for, just for a second, there's a glimmer of hope for the future. i mean i would love smut too, but just a second of happiness would be lovely.

Solas trips.

Solas trips, and falls in the mud, and curses. In common. The word ‘dammit’ comes flying out of his mouth, as his foot goes down wrong and a flurry of unseen mud curls up from the fronds of the fern he is stepping around. And he has a second to right himself and it seems he forgets, in that second, that he’s an exceedingly powerful mage living in a magic-strewn world who could probably correct the mistake by blinking.

He forgets.

She watches, startled, reflexively reaching for him but he’s standing a few feet away. He goes down.

Lands, just, right on his backside.

And says ‘dammit’.

She stares at him, and the hand she had stretched towards him curls back towards her mouth. Solas is planted in the mud. It makes her think of all those months when they’d been travelling together, with the Inquisition. All those little inconveniences that came. Sunburns and puddles and snow, sneezing through fields of pollen, stepping in horse shit. Swatting at flies and mosquitoes, and trudging through windswept canyons. The Hissing Wastes.

The damn Hissing Wastes.

She snickers.

Solas looks up at her, and his eyebrows lift.

“Are you amused?” he asks, mock offence betrayed by the twitch to his own lips.

“Of course not, vhenan,” she replies, clearing her throat, and reaching over to help him back up.

Her only warning is the gleam in his eye, before he pulls her down into the muck with him. The fern fronds rustling and the mud splattering across them both, Solas chuckling as she lets out a gasp, and then crashes into his lap.

She takes one look at his face, and then gathers up a handful of mud, and smushes it against his cheek.

He sputters.

“Vhenan!” he protests, catching her wrists. “Do not be juvenile! It is hardly my fault that you happened to trip as well.”

“Oh I happened to trip, did I?” she asks, squirming in his lap, and angling a knee rather pointedly towards certain vital areas. He doesn’t wear much in the way of padding these days; no fancy bronze armour now.

He clears his throat.

“I suppose my weight may have contributed to throwing you off-balance,” he allows.

“Taking me down with you?” she suggests.

But the comment, though meant playfully, abruptly sucks the joviality from the air. Solas’ expression shifts, and her own heart sinks, a little. The mud is tacky and the damp forest floor sinks in through the fabric of her pants. She watches his throat bob. And then he sighs, and leans his head against hers for a moment.

“It seems I often am,” he tells her, softly.

She lets out a breath of her own.

And then she gets up, and in earnest, gets him standing.

Maybe she’ll manage to help him find his metaphorical feet again someday, too.

#filled prompt #looking glass au #make it together #Anonymous