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Back when she was surrounded by her clan, Marlah Lavellan would give herself the duty of bathing others who required assistance – children who wouldn’t clean themselves properly, and elderly and disabled who couldn’t. There was something therapeutic about cleaning someone else, though she couldn’t describe how. Perhaps it was just because it was a simple act of kindness for her, knowing she helped make someone's day easier for them.
She never received anything back but gratitude, and she neither expected nor wanted anything more. When it came to bathing herself, however, she would use a mixture of soaps and oils she put together herself, often involving a concoction of plants, milk, spices, even fats! But it did wonders for her hair and body, even if it was a long process. Bathing was her time to unwind and soothe the soul – a reward to herself.
That felt like a lifetime ago – or for her clan, it was.
She has not had the time to give herself such a luxury since she last saw her clan and became the Inquisitor almost a year ago now, only to receive word just two weeks ago informing her they had all been killed in an attack she was trying to prevent. And in that same week, she had to judge her lover for crimes he had hidden from her. Her world fell apart that week, but it was her duty to stop the real world from falling apart as well. They were just baths, but even they had to wait.
...That is until a scout delivers a package found on a clan members body addressed to her. She was terrified to open it at first, worried it might have been some sort of plea for help, or something that was intended to remind her of home – she wasn’t exactly prepared to join the Inquisition, after all. But when she catches a whiff of the package, she almost collapses to the ground with overwhelming emotion. Opening the package as fast as her trembling hands can, the revelation of the contents confirmed her prediction – it's a collection of soaps and oils, one from every member of her clan. She starts bawling.
Without questioning her unusual reaction to hygiene products – at least not out loud – the scout leaves her to her... emotions.
Part of her doesn’t want to use them and instead keep them as sentimental pieces, knowing it’s all she has left of her clan. The other part, however, wants to embrace it while she can... but maybe not on herself.
Her relationship – if she should call it that - with Thom has involved constant work with him trying to push her away and to then deal with why. When she was left to judge him, she couldn’t truly give him an answer on what was to become of them. She’d just lost her family, she couldn’t make such a decision yet. At first, it felt right to keep him alive; it was punishment enough to live with the guilt, but letting him die was an easy way out – for anyone. She doesn’t think she could have chosen that option, anyhow. Is that why she can’t make up her mind about them? Because she felt guilty for not letting him die, as he seemed to have wanted? Because she couldn’t let him go?
She doesn’t think he’s suffered more since the incident than he has in the last two weeks – he returned to Skyhold as a prisoner and discovered her clan was killed just a day after he surrendered himself to Orlais and he wasn’t there for her, the Inquisitions men only have derogative comments to spit at him if anything at all, and he’s had to watch her pay for it all. No wonder he’d rather just die.
There conversations since have been... awkward, unsure of what to bring up and what to never talk about again. She can accept that he’s mad at her, he has a right to be – he finally went to do what he thought was right, and she took it away. Just as she has a right to be mad, but she can’t be, not when there’s enough things to be mad at in the world. That doesn’t mean she can just be with him again and pretend it will be fine, nor does it mean she has to coddle him.
Yet despite everything, she believes in him, believes there is hope and purpose for him besides merely aiding the Inquisition. He was to atone, and she would see that he does. He needs to start fresh, by his own means.
Calling the scout back before they can get too far, she requests someone bring up hot water for a bath... and to send Thom up to her quarters.
- - - - - - -
Thom wasn’t the type to preen himself… in any sort of way. Maybe he was in his younger days before the whole Blackwall situation, but it’s clear he takes no care in himself anymore. She decided she wants to help with that. She’s not trying to make him change, just feel better about himself in some way in order to atone. She believes he’s deserving of that, no matter what the people say, no matter what he says.
She's placed scented candles all around the tub and the sun is hanging low over the mountains, giving the room a warm golden glow, replicating a similar atmosphere she use to have while bathing… It looks too romantic, that’s not her intention. Her intention was to create a calm and relaxing atmosphere, not proposition him, despite her complicated feelings towards him.
She starts to blow out the candles when she turns around and nearly bumps into him.
“Oh!” She gasps, realising he’s watched this undoubtedly confusing scene unfold. Off to a good start. “You came. Great. Okay. I’m not trying to imply anything,” And she really wasn’t, but she’s heard people comment enough on his hygiene habits that this might be taken thr wrong way, “…but I want you to get in.”
Thom eyes the variety of soaps and bowls of liquid laid out on the table beside the tub. Dorian’s work, surely. He was anxious coming up here after receiving the sudden invitation to her quarters, especially considering it wasn’t done personally, but now he’s just grumpy.
“This Dorian’s idea of a joke? The bast–”
“No, no. Mine, actually. And it’s not a joke.”
He moves closer to the table with the soaps to examine it further and notices the bowls are filled with different sorts of oils and… milk? He’s heard of Orlesians using such treatments but thought it was just typical snooty Orlesian culture, but that’s the last category he’d put Marlah in, so maybe not. Maker’s Balls, look at it all. It’s like a fancy dinner banquette but with soaps instead of cutlery - how many soaps does a person need? They all get the job done.
“This is a bit…” Don’t mock her. “…lush.”
“That’s the point.” She’s just looking at him now, a small but pleading smile on her face hoping he won’t argue further and make her feel more awkward. She knows he doesn’t mean to, but just once she’d like to be able to do something for him without him objecting. “Just please get in for me?”
He stares for a moment before his expression softens - he remembers. She doesn’t exactly tell everyone what her favourite past time use to be before the Inquisition. Maybe he realised this is the closest she’ll ever get to home again.
"As you wish.”
As he immediately starts undressing himself, never one to care for his own decency, Marlah takes a moment to analyze her own clothing, and realises she’s not dressed accordingly. She didn’t have the largest variety of casualwear to choose from, much less that she could afford to get wet. She quickly darts to her dresser, scrambling to find something adequate to wear and settling on a sleeveless silken night gown. It’ll have to do. Once changed, she waits until he’s in the tub facing the opposite way to return, thus hiding the sudden change of appearance.
…Or at least she was until she sees him grab a soap at random and starts rubbing like he’s itchy.
“No, wait!” She runs over to him, taking the soap from him and setting it aside with the other bars. “Each soap serves it’s own purpose.”
“It’s just soap…?”
“To me, it’s not.”
There’s a sad smile on her face now as she gazes at the soaps. How could you deny her this, of all things? She just wants to watch you bathe, despite the fact that your relationship is unstable at best and you haven’t properly seen each other naked. Where’s the harm in that?
…Or is she trying to say something in the good way?
“Okay, I’m going to need to guide you through this, bear with me on this.”
“I do bathe, you know.” He jokes, trying to lighten the tension.
“I know, and I don’t mean anything by this.”
Oh. Well, that’s good, then. She’s finally realised you’re not worth her love… but why this, then? Why you? Why not someone far more deserving of her presence?
“First, can you dunk your head for me? But just enough so your face isn’t submerged.” She kneels behind him, arranging herself so she can hang over him once he lies down. “And close your eyes and just focus on breathing.”
He hears her, but he doesn’t respond. It’s just making him think about how he shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be wasting her time on him, especially not for something that holds a special place in her heart, which he’s shattered a dozen times. He–
“Do you trust me?”
He looks at her, and the expression on her face is nothing short of tender. She’s genuinely happy to do this, regardless of who or what it’s about. This isn’t a hassle for her, but he’s gone and made it one. But leaving would upset her, and he’s done that enough.
But to ask if he trusts her? The woman that’s the reason for everything good in his life?
“With my life.” He answers honestly.
Her smile grows. “Lie back.” She breathes, keeping her voice low and calm. Once submerged, she leans over and gently runs her hands through his hair, being careful not to pull on any knots, which there was no shortage of. “Is this okay?”
“It’s… different, to be frank.”
“It’s better than ‘no.’“ She laughs, massaging deep into his scalp, making sure she’s gotten through to every lock and knot. "Okay. Up, please.” She soon tells him, grabbing one of the bars of soap.
Thom, still feeling unworthy of being here, tries to convince her of that one last time. “You don’t need to–”
“Thom.” She huffs his name.
She rarely said his own real name around him and would instead use pronouns when necessary. She wouldn’t call him Blackwall anymore, but she knew using Thom was like a mark of shame for him, a painful reminder of who he is - or who he was, rather, but she needed his attention.
She wishes he could see the person he is now, the protective and passionate man she would still trust above anyone else… and love more than anyone else. She doesn’t want to argue anymore about how things should be, and just accept that they are what they are… in any circumstance.
“Just let me take care of you, okay? I want to, despite what you think.” When she reaches for his hand holding onto the tub and clasps it with her free hand, a wave of warmth flows through her body, and it’s not because of the Anchor. Thom, however, has his eyes locked onto their hands, as if it were a warm light in cold darkness.
She doesn’t want to let go, but she forces herself to as she reminds herself what the purpose of having him up here was. No more heavy emotional talking or thinking, just relaxing.
“Now, this might hurt – and please don’t say you deserve it.” She tells him, reaching for his hair with the soap.
He’s silent for a moment before finally answering, “As you wish.”
“Close your eyes and focus on your breathing, again.”
She starts rubbing the soap into his hair, gentle where she can be and rough where she needs to be. She didn’t want to be rough and pull at his hair, but it needs it. Although if it’s causing pain, he doesn’t show it. Then again, he was never one to complain about physical pain. At least it’s a deal of pain now so he can feel better in the future.
Then he groans.
She pauses for a moment to let him recover before me mumbles, “Sorry.”
Why is he sorry? She’s the one that hurt him... Unless that noise was about something else - oh. Well, then. She’s hardly offended, and certainly not warmer than she was a minute ago, but he must feel awkward. She needs to say something to ease the tension.
Trying not to glance further down the tub and determine whether or not the lump is a collection of bubbles, she jokes, “At least I know you’re enjoying it in some way.”
Well done, Marlah.
“Lay back.” She instructs immediately, not wanting to draw attention to it any longer for either of their sakes.
Rinsing his hair a second time, she finds it more enjoyable. Not just now when the knots are coming apart with ease, but ever. The feel of his hair getting softer, the way he’s relaxing under her touch, the pleasant looks his face keeps pulling while keeping his mouth shut tight...
Next stage, quickly, before she says something stupid... Shit, she hadn’t used any oils yet. She wipes off the sweat she suddenly finds herself with and repeats the cycle, doing her best to focous on his hair and not anything else going on with his body.
Clearing her throat, she tells him he can sit up. “For this, I’ll let you object.” She grabs the comb off the table. “So, would you object to me trimming some of your hair? I’m not saying it needs to go or anything, just freshen it up. I know the beard is kind of a symbol to you - that’s okay.”
She felt bad for asking, worried she would sound insulting, but again, this is for him.
“Do what you want with it, I trust your judgement.” He tells her.
She nods, trying to hide her excitement. “Okay, now while I do that,” She grabs a sponge and soaks it in one of the bowls before handing it to him. “Take this, and lather your skin with it slowly and gently.”
He was just getting used to having her in control, but at least this way he can focus on his own task and not... other things. He inspects the sponge oozing with Maker-knows-what before he starts scrubbing, going at a pace that would hopefully cleanse his thoughts as well, only to have it taken from seconds later.
“Is that your idea of slow and gentle?” She laughs, leaving the sponge to soak in the bowl. “I’ll do it, just wait until I’m done with this.” She resumes to combing his hair, the comb practically gliding through each strand. With his hair already getting healthier thanks to the soaps and oils, the gray locks of hair shine through, making him look refined. She can’t wait to see how it turns out when it’s dried, and she hasn’t even cut it yet.
Once she does start cutting, she takes off half the length so that it’s short enough that it can grow healthily, but long enough that it can still be swept behind his ears, but only just.
Now to awkwardly clutch and stare at his face so she can do his beard. No sweat... or perhaps lots of sweat. Clearing her throat, she proceeds, “I’m going to need you to turn and face me for this bit.”
He does so and avoids looking back at her by keeping his eyes closed, but she’s grateful. She couldn’t handle looking into his sad puppy eyes right now, not when his face is right there and in her hands. When she finally brings her focus back to his beard, she keeps the shape it’s in, assuming he prefers it that way, and tidies it while taking away some of its length.
“Okay, that’s done.” She sighs quietly, relived to go back to... rubbing a sponge all over him. Fantastic.
Why did she make this so complicated for herself?
Not wanting to cause any more embarrassment, she presses on and grabs the sponge again, but he doesn’t move nor opens his eyes. “Thom, would you--”
He suddenly jolts in his spot, eyes snapping open and water splashing everywhere. Marlah chuckles, realising he must have fallen asleep. He’s definitely relaxed, then.
He goes to apologise but shuts his mouth before any sound comes out. She’s surely tired of hearing him say that. But the aroma from all these soaps is making him drowsy, he could go right to sleep if he wasn’t in the middle of something.
...Or maybe it’s the realisation that, not only has he had trouble sleeping lately, but this is the first time he’s felt relaxed in weeks, and it’s with Marlah. Maybe things weren’t so bad between them now. He doesn’t dare continue with the idea that this is anything more than a generous act of hers - she’s always been a generous person with everybody – but if they can stay like this at least, he’ll be content.
Splashing some water on his face, he forces himself to stay awake and enjoy it while he can. She then starts with his back and tenderly rubs at his course skin at a soothing pace, making sure every inch of his back gets the same amount of care.
Washing his body was nothing like washing someone in her clan, and not because he was human or because of their complicated chemistry. His back alone could tell stories he wouldn’t otherwise speak of; the tension, the tones of muscle, the mixture of soft and rough patches, the scars – particularly one rather long, old looking one that doesn’t seem to have healed properly, as well as four thin diagonal ones scored into either side of his shoulders... Perhaps she shouldn’t linger on the thought and mind her business, despite how much of his business is on display.
As she works her way over his shoulders, she realises just how much she underestimated how intimidating this act would be – the intense aroma of the soaps, the steam causing her to sweat, the water drops paving their way down his strong body, his body being right there under her fingertips... Okay, it wasn’t the steam, she should accept that by now.
Her intentions were pure, but now it’s taking all her strength not to indulge herself when she starts rubbing the soap along his chest. Were she not leaning so close to his face to reach it, she would have missed the way his breath hitched as she dragged passed his nipples; he’s holding himself back just as she is, despite everything. She’s dragged him into this wicked game of temptation and neither of them are winning, and she’s losing her focus on why she started it in the first place – to make him feel better in some way.
She can’t deny she doesn’t love him, and it shouldn’t surprise her that his feelings haven’t changed, either. Why is she still fighting this, then? For pride, when she’s here tantalizing him? For her holy reputation she’s always denied? He lied about his identity, but he’s given no reason not to trust him otherwise. He’s proven to be a loyal, dedicated man… and so much more.
Suddenly, she's all too aware of how tense he’s getting as opposed to relaxed, the opposite of what she wanted. Taking a deep breath to calm her thoughts, she stops, moving back so she can face him, eye contact and all.
“Hey, you’re tensing up. Is something wrong? Have I hurt–”
“It’s not that.” He quickly grumbles, subtly shifting himself deeper into the tub.
“Oh?”
For a moment, she waits for him to say something to encourage her to resume, hoping for something that will actually lead them somewhere before she drives herself mad, when she realizes: she’s embarrassed him.
“Oh.”
It was stupid of her to even ask. Of course he was getting uncomfortable. Teasing him was one thing, but it's another to make the situation uncomfortable. Let it end here, it’s not right to pursue him like this.
“Well, I'm not exactly offended, but I think I might leave it there. You’ve soaked in it long enough. Just…”
This was cruel. You've gotten the both of you hot and flustered with only embarrassment to come of it, the complete opposite result you were aiming for. So much for making either of you feel better.
“Wait here, I’ll get you some towels and clothes, but I’ll let you… do that. Just do it–”
"Slowly and gently.” He answers, a hint of laughter in his voice. For now, that’s good enough for her.
Marlah walks off to grab his towels and clothing, but upon turning back towards him, she had to stop herself from gasping aloud at the sight before her – as the sun was now setting over the mountains, it cast hues of red, orange and yellow through the windows, giving Thom the most magnificent highlights over his body, the drops of water practically making him glow. The image seemed like the cover of a romance novel, but she’s ruined her own ending.
Attempting to press forward, she moves to hand him his towels only to trip on his discarded clothes, falling flat on the ground with a loud thud. To which Thom springs to aid her by leaping out of the tub without a second thought, which he soon realises is a huge mistake after Marlah, already on her hands and knees by the time he can help, suddenly comes face to face with his crotch.
"Uh...!" was the only noise she was capable of making at the sudden presence.
Thom on the other hand is apologizing profusely as he swipes a towel from the ground, covering himself with one hand while still attempting to help her with the other. Reaching down for her hand, he goes to pull her up and instead practically yanks her off of the ground, and in attempt to balance herself, she grabs onto him.
They freeze. Now they’re truly face to face with little fabric between them, and Marlah can’t tell if the dampness between her legs is from the towel or from her, but she can tell he isn’t panting because of the steam radiating from his body. Neither their hands or their eyes have moved as they stare at each other, knowing the slightest movement will end this.
His skin is soft to look at, not to mention touch. And his hair, smooth and swept to the side, a couple strands hanging down the front... Creators, he is a new man, and all it took was soap. Maybe Dorian had a point. It takes all her strength not to lose herself in his eyes, to start roaming her fingers through the hair on his chest, to glance at his lips that look even easier to get to now, to just close her eyes and feel whole again.
“Marl...” He murmurs, his voice hoarse.
“Thom?” She answers wearily, not ready to break from this moment.
“Was this...” His brow furrows and his eyes clench shut, struggling to concentrate. “An act of kindness or... was it...”
His body suddenly tilts towards her, and with a quick jump to the side, Thom lands on the cushiony surface of the couch... and starts snoring.
Well... she got him relaxed?