Chapter Text
Lilya runs a hand through her still-damp hair as she returns to the inn; Water droplets run down her arm, which she flicks away tiredly. Ellana had left the baths earlier, but Lilya opted to soak for a while longer. Her thoughts were caught between something as mundane as how long her hair has gotten, and her serious talk with Ellana when they were alone in the bathhouse.
Ellana had let her know some more details regarding the meeting with the King tomorrow; Leliana, Dorian, and Fiona would be in attendance, with Lilya and Ellana leading the negotiations. Lilya truly did not want to participate, and she especially did not want to be one leading said negotiation; Despite this, she agreed to attend, feeling backed into a corner with no easy way out.
She pinches her brow, feeling an ache coming on. She hoped she’d be able to get back into a good headspace before the negotiations, not to mention everything else she expects to happen soon. Sighing heavily, she swings open the door to the inn.
It’s quiet now – most everyone is asleep at this hour, it seems. Lilya quietly makes her way upstairs to her room, pausing briefly on the first step, worrying her lip. She thought of checking in with the others first – which is what a good person and leader would do after all that happened today – but she decides against it. She wasn’t sure she would be able to hold a conversation with anyone right now. She has had a very, very long day, and she should really get some sleep.
Upstairs, in the dim, candlelit hallway, Lilya can see the silhouette of someone waiting outside her door, strangely enough. It makes her pause mid-stride, but only for a moment; She thinks she recognizes that bald head waiting for her. As she gets closer, she confirms that it is indeed Solas standing there, with a tray in hand.
“Oh, hello.” Lilya says quietly, trying not to disturb any other boarders. She clears her throat, feeling a little awkward. “What brings you here?”
“I brought you a meal, lethallan. It is important to keep your strength up, especially during times such as these.” Solas responds, and her stomach rumbles just loudly enough for both of them to hear, “And... there was something I wished to discuss with you.”
“Thank you, Solas.” Another kind gesture, which stirs another confusing feeling inside her. “There was something I wanted to ask you, as well, if that’s okay.” Solas nods and she moves to open the door.
Lilya invites Solas inside her room, shutting the door quietly behind them. He carefully sets the tray on her bed and stands quietly near the foot of it. The fire is smoldering now, having died down a bit while she was gone, leaving the room a pleasant temperature – which is perfect, because she now was down to just her nightwear – billowy short-pants and a flowy linen top – after having disposed of the remainder of her daywear at the baths.
Lilya takes a seat at the vanity, and takes a look at herself – defeated, dreadful, disgusting. Ignoring the marks she now wore, the exhaustion was plain on her face – and one night of sleep couldn’t fix it. Her clothes were clean, at least, but certainly not anything she’d want to be seen walking around in, much less in front of a major political leader. She didn’t even want to think about what it would look like when she arrives at the negotiations tomorrow in such an outfit, marked up and down with these hideous, veiny things. She has to stop herself from audibly throwing a fit, remembering Solas is here too.
The silence is almost unbearable, so she speaks first, “Um... Is it okay if I keep this cloak for a little while longer? I don’t have anything else to wear, and uh, something tells me that meeting the King in just my nightclothes isn’t going to go over well.” She tries to joke, but the delivery just feels pathetic. Solas doesn’t even say anything, and she doesn’t make eye contact with him; She doesn’t want to see whatever pitying look is painted across his face. She wonders what he’s thinking right now.
Instead, she changes the subject, “So, about what I wanted to ask you.” She starts, glancing at her reflection in the mirror rather than Solas, who is still patiently standing there. She looks dreadful, defeated – but she has an idea.
“Yes, lethallan?” He replies, with a kindness and understanding that almost makes her sick, which in turn makes her feel like a terrible person. She takes a moment to breathe, using this time to think of how to ask something of Solas – something big, something potentially dangerous, even.
In the baths with Ellana, after they’d gotten the Inquisition business out of the way, she carefully steered the conversation to Elven lore – Elgar'nan, Mythal, and, of course, Fen’Harel. There was something about Solas that she couldn’t quite remember, and so she hoped a conversation with Ellana would jog her memory. After all, Elven lore had a lot of half-truths hidden in its stories – some bad, some good. And there was one story in particular that she could potentially benefit from: Fen’Harel the vallaslin thief. After hearing Ellana mention that tale, she finally recalled hearing other-Varric mention it once, when they had found some old Elven art.
Lilya started to think of a way to pose the request to Solas. She would be taking a major risk by asking him this, and there were numerous ways in which this situation could turn sour, but she believed the benefits outweighed the risks. She just needed something to bargain with – but what exactly?
After much pondering, Lilya eventually settled on dangling the dagger in front of him while asking for this huge favor; But she can’t outright say it either, it needs to be a game – one in which she bares herself to him, at least somewhat, before offering the dagger in exchange for the vallaslin removal. When she thinks up that idea, Lilya thinks it sounds cold and calculating, and she feels like she’s becoming something different, losing herself – It's like she doesn’t know who she is anymore, these days.
No – no more time to dwell on that; It’s time to put the plan in motion. With a deep breath, Lilya stands up suddenly, moving swiftly across the room to where she had hidden the dagger.
“Solas,” She starts, swallowing her nerves as she sits back down at the vanity, dagger in hand. He watches, steeped in anticipation, waiting for her to make the first move. He is also not-so-subtly eyeing the dagger she was now wielding. Her heart races, and she feels a bit faint, but she pushes on.
“Yes, lethallan?” He asks, eyes dragging over the dagger in her hand. He was close enough to take it and run, if he wanted to. But instead, Solas stands there, arms behind his back, patiently waiting for her to say something. If anything, she is more nervous because of that.
The tension in the air is heavy, palpable, and Lilya feels as if she might explode any second if she doesn’t get the question out there now. “I need your help with...” She lets the sentence trail off; her voice trembles ever so slightly. Everything was about to change. “I need...”
“Anything.” Solas replies quickly, taking a step closer. “How can I be of service?”
The words get stuck in her throat. She thought she’d had it all planned out, but now, in the moment, she doesn’t know how to start this. Instead, feeling herself falter under his intense gaze, she starts rambling about Nevarran culture.
“In Nevarra, we have this ritual – a hair-cutting ritual. We do it when someone passes on, usually, as a way to... Well, it’s mostly about grieving, because hair holds memories.” She continues speaking, stumbling over her words, unsure where she’s going with this. Even Solas looks mildly perplexed, but he’s still listening intently, patiently.
“Well, first you braid it, then you cut it. Oh, but, some will choose to keep a single braid strand while cutting the rest of their hair; And different lengths can indicate how deeply a person is mourning – it really depends on what feels right to the mourner.” She pauses briefly, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “That’s beside the point, though... Anyway, this ritual is a way to cherish those memories you had with that person, a way to start anew, or a way to help the deceased pass on to the next plane...”
Lilya pauses for a minute again; She really didn't intend to give Solas a lesson on a subtle and specific aspect of Nevarran culture, but here she was anyway. Now she’s wondering just how she managed to end up completely off topic.
“Um, so, I... I guess I need your help braiding my hair so I can cut it off?” She unintentionally phrases it as a question. It’s not at all what she really wanted to ask; It’s something she was going to do anyway – alone. Braiding someone’s hair is considered an intimate thing, something you do with your family or a partner. Well, that's more the case if you’re old-fashioned, which she wouldn’t consider herself to be. Still, Lilya feels strange asking him to help her with this.
Solas takes another small step towards her, “Who are you mourning, lethallan?” He asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was as if he understood the thoughts she left unspoken.
“Myself? My family? I... I’m not sure, really.” Lilya replies exhaustedly, truth behind her words. “I’m just… I’m ready to let it all go.” Verbalizing it, making herself feel vulnerable in front of him – she felt as if a weight was lifted from her chest. She feels like she wants to cry, but no tears come; Lilya wonders, half-serious, if it was possible to run out of tears.
A profound stillness envelops the room; The soft chirping of crickets serenaded the night air from outside the window, while the embers in the fireplace crackled softly, their dim glow casting flickering shadows across the walls. The only sounds were their steady breaths, filling the space with a palpable tension that felt both intimate and heavy
“I’m sorry. It sounds silly to you, I’m sure.” Lilya breaks the silence, her voice fraught with uncertainty. “I shouldn’t have asked you-”
“No, I would be happy to do this for you, lethallan.” Solas interrupted gently, stepping even closer until he was almost within arm's reach. “I was simply... lost in thought.”
“Oh, um… Thank you.” Lilya replies, her gaze falling from herself in the mirror, to the dagger in her hand. She runs her thumb over the cool lyrium. “Um, do you even know how to braid hair?”
Solas chuckles quietly, “And the reason you are asking this is-”
“Because of your lack of hair?” Lilya finishes his sentence, finally meeting his gaze in the mirror; He was already looking back at her. A smirk appears on both their faces, and she feels as if the mood lightens some. “Yes, and... You just don’t seem like the type.” Though Lilya recalls that Solas had hair once, in those memories she saw it was never braided; He let it flow freely over his shoulders instead.
“It might come as a surprise to you, Lilya,” Solas responds, stepping closer to her as she watches him in the mirror. He doesn’t take his eyes off her, the most delicate expression worn on his face as he looks down at her, cautiously reaching for her hair.
When she neither flinches nor protests, Solas gently runs his fingers through her hair, his touch unexpectedly soft and delicate. A shiver runs down her spine while her eyes flutter shut involuntarily at the unexpected sensation. Neither could have expected the turn this conversation took, but she won’t complain – and neither would he.
“But I was not born bald.” Solas let’s out a small sigh, voice laced with a sweet, teasing undertone.
Lilya cannot help but giggle at his admission. As Solas begins to separate her hair into neat sections, she leans back to look up at him; Her heart flutters with anticipation. “Really? Do enlighten me, please.” She asks, a playful lilt to her tone.
“Where I am from, we had a similar practice.” Solas actually indulges her, and she is a little surprised, “Cutting one’s hair, shaving one’s head – these acts carried significant weight. We mourned in this manner, yes, but it could also serve as punishment or a sign of remorse.”
“So, you’re saying…” She pauses, letting him decide if he wants to finish her thought while he works on the braid. She isn’t sure if she correctly understands the implications behind his words, and she wonders if she might be overstepping here.
Solas wears a small, tired smile, not meeting her gaze when he replies, “That I can grow hair? Yes, lethallan, I can.” There’s humor to his reply, but he’s also trying to deflect. She can see behind his words, but she won’t prod him. Instead, Lilya huffs a laugh and half-rolls her eyes. This wasn’t quite what she had been implying, but it was amusing, nonetheless – and a revelation to her.
Solas and Lilya sit in companionable silence for a little while, while he intently works on the braid. She cannot tell exactly what style he’s decided to go with, but his hands are so gentle as they weave through her hair.
After some time, Solas speaks again, “We also practiced hair braiding, where I am from. There were countless styles, each with a different meaning. Not all of them were tied to mourning; Some styles held meanings that were deeper.”
“Like what?” Lilya, curiosity piqued, leans back into his gentle touch, eager to learn more.
Solas takes a moment to ponder, searching for the right words, with his brow furrowed in thought. “Hmm... The simpler styles could signify your caste or rank within our society.” He began, voice wistful, nostalgic for a place long gone. “There were mourning styles, of course, and there were styles specific to celebrations; There are too many to name. Though, most styles were meant to show...” Solas hesitates, his fingers deftly winding through her hair, trying to gauge her response to this intimate conversation.
Lilya simply raises her brow, waiting for him to continue, so he surrenders, “It was a bonding activity for my people. The more elaborate the style, the deeper the love and care you held for the wearer. It was an act of devotion, a way to demonstrate just how much you cherished someone.”
“Oh.” Lilya breathed, the weight of his words settling in her mind. She wonders if he’s implying what she thinks he’s implying... Maybe she’s imagining it, maybe he’s simply providing a history of the practice to her and not implying that it could mean something more.
Solas sighs forlornly, shaking his head, “Not to worry, I will not keep you here all night, lethallan.” He added with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. Yet, deep down, he wished he could linger a little longer in this moment, though he wouldn’t readily admit it. Little did he know, Lilya was wishing for the same thing.
Unsure of how to respond, Lilya felt the weight of his words and the intimacy they carried. She refocused her thoughts, not wanting to let on that this was considered just as tender and personal for her as it is for him.
She poses a question, returning to the reason behind his baldness. “Um, so you don’t grow your hair out – why? Because you’re mourning? Or… is it out of remorse?” She fidgets with the dagger in her hands nervously.
“Both.” He says quietly, almost whispering it to her.
“Can I ask why?” Lilya asks just as quietly, as if the words alone could harm him.
He sighed again, a long and heavy breath that seemed to carry the weight of his memories. “I wonder if you might understand…”
“I might, Solas.” She replies earnestly, trying to sound a little more confident and comforting.
“Perhaps…” Solas responds, gaze drifting away from her now, like he’s lost in thought once more.
He was finished with braiding her hair now, and Lilya examines it in the mirror. It was simple, but elegant – two braids on either side of her scalp intertwine and form a larger braid that cascades down her back.
“Thank you, Solas.” Lilya replies, still marveling at his work. “It’s... It’s beautiful. I’m a bit sorry that I’ll be cutting it off.” She turns around in her seat to look up at him, giving him a warm smile, which he surprisingly returns. He felt quite proud of it, after all; He couldn’t help but quietly hope to be able to braid her hair again, if she’d allow him that simple pleasure.
And with that, there’s nothing left to say. Lilya draws the lyrium dagger with one hand and the braid in the other. The blade slices cleanly and quickly through her hair; She swears she sees Solas grimace for just a second, likely not appreciating the misuse of his blade. She can’t help but wonder what he’d think if she told him what else it’s been used for.
The cut leaves Lilya's hair cropped just below her jaw, and she felt positively enlivened. It was as if she had shed a layer of her pain, if only for a moment; Like she was herself again. Her fingers ran through the soft strands, getting a feel for this new length; For a fleeting moment, it looked as if Solas had to hold back an urge to do the same. His gaze softens at the sight of her newfound energy.
“Once the hair is cut, what happens to the severed piece?” Solas asks, genuinely curious. She sets the dagger on the vanity and strokes the detached braid with her fingers – good question, she thinks.
“Well, some bury it, some burn it. You can make it into a locket, leave it in their crypt...” Lilya replies. “I think... I think I might burn mine.” She’s unsure – ideally, she would like to return it to Nevarra, which isn’t possible now. Turning it to ash seems like the simplest solution, given the circumstances.
Lilya moves to stand, braid in hand, and walks to the fireplace. She tosses another log into the fire, taking a seat in front of it while she waits for the fire to grow. Normally, she would use her magic to incinerate it, but she feels far too exhausted to conjure anything more than a weak flame.
Solas glances back at the abandoned dagger briefly before moving to stand beside her. “Lethallan, you should eat.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” She replies tiredly, waving his concern off. “I... I’ll try. After I burn this.” She gestures to the braid clutched in her hand.
Solas looks around her room absentmindedly, before asking something else, “Do you truly have nothing else to wear?”
“I know, I know.” Lilya groans, “No, I foolishly decided to pack light this time. And there is no way I would wear those clothes again...”
Solas, once again, looks like he has something on his mind; Though, he doesn’t speak up about whatever it is. Instead, he excuses himself from her room, and Lilya is left wondering if she missed her chance to ask what she originally intended to.
In the meantime, Lilya watches the fire steadily grow, until it’s finally hot enough to burn the braid fairly quickly. She carefully tosses it in, shutting the grate again afterwards, observing the braid as it turns to ash before her eyes. At first, she wasn’t sure whether cutting her hair would truly bring her relief, but now she realizes it has indeed helped ease some of her pain.
Lilya pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her head on them, letting her eyes fall closed while she basks in the warmth of the fire. She may have drifted off for a bit; she isn’t sure. She jolts awake when there’s a knock on her door. “Come in.” She says without getting up, just loud enough for whoever was outside to hear.
Surprisingly, Solas has returned. Again, he’s brought something for her – clothes, this time.
“What are those for?” Lilya asks as he shuts the door behind him once more.
“These might look more presentable for tomorrow than what you are currently wearing,” Solas replies matter-of-factly, laying the clothes on her bed next to the uneaten tray of food.
“Hm...” She lets out a small, tired laugh, “This looks that bad, then?” Lilya jokingly asks, gesturing to her sleepwear. She knows it’s not a good look, but she didn’t think she looked so desperate as to need an extra set if clothes from Solas.
Solas chuckles. “No, no, I would not say it looks bad. It simply is not suitable for a meeting with a noble.” Lilya feels herself blush a little at his comment, feeling a little exposed with his eyes on her bare skin.
She stands and moves to sit on the bed now, while Solas stands at the foot once more. “Are these yours?” Lilya asks, examining the top and bottom.
“They are. I have not worn them yet, so they are clean. I can sleep in my day clothes, I truly do not mind if you borrow those.” Solas replies, “The others were asleep, and I did not wish to wake them. Is that okay?”
Normally, yes, she thinks to herself, examining the articles with little thought. But thinking on it, holding his nightclothes in her hands, she can only overthink it all – the culmination of all their recent interactions, the way he gently braided her hair, the way he looks at her. She cannot help but wonder if it all means more – if she has come to mean as much to him as he means to her.
“They look just like your regular clothes.” She jokes, deflecting from the seriousness of it all with a quip. It brings out a small laugh from him though, and she cannot help but smile at the sound. “Really, you’re too kind, Solas. Thank you. I think I can make these work.”
Solas nods to the uneaten tray of food, “It is nothing, lethallan. Now, please, eat something before you sleep.”
Solas starts to move for the door, and she panics. She won’t waste this opportunity again, “Wait, Solas!” She pleads, standing and taking a few steps towards him. He stops and turns to face her, concern on his face.
“What is it, lethallan?” Solas asks, looking down at her, concern for her written plain on his face.
“There’s something else…” Lilya takes a deep breath. No, she tells herself, this time, be strong. Ask.
Lilya clenches and unclenches her fists, feeling that nervous energy vibrating inside her but remaining steadfast in the face of uncertainty anyway. She takes a deep breath, looking Solas in the eyes, “Solas, I need a favor.”