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They had been walking the Emerald Graves in silence for several hours when Cassandra spoke up.
“It’s getting dark, and I believe we should be far away enough now; we should find a place to camp.”
Cyril, Cassandra, Sera, and Solas has accidentally run into one giant that day and were in no mood to fight another, so they had been walking the opposite direction for miles but never seemed to escape the all-too-near-but-distant thuds of giant feet on the forest floor.
“I promise you I’m not making it another mile, how ‘bout right here?” said Sera, indicating a small but secluded clearing. A moss-covered statue of Fen’Harel sat overlooking the trees beyond. Cyril wished they could put more distance between themselves and the giants, but her everything was sore and she just wanted to rest. She breathed deeply.
“Yeah, this’ll have to do it for tonight. What do you think Solas?”
Solas —who didn’t seem to have been paying attention— glanced from Cyril to the Fen’Harel statue, gave it an odd look Cyril was unable to interpret, and then looked back to Cyril and nodded. “This should provide adequate shelter for the night.”
“’S long as the ground’s not wet, my arse is still damp from the Storm Coast,” said Sera, lightly patting off her own backside. A little smile stretched Cyril’s tired face.
“Agreed.”
They began to set up camp, Cyril and Cassandra preparing dinner while Sera and Solas unrolled the tents.
“What the hell is this?!” Sera’s voice rang across the clearing, and Cyril looked up to find Sera standing with a swath of cloth pulled taught between her outstretched arms.
“Are these our tents? These are tiny! Where are our regular tents?!”
Cassandra sighed. “Damage from the hail storm at the Storm Coast; they’re being repaired. These were the only spares we had available.” Sera shot Cassandra a dirty look.
“Don’t look at me, this isn’t my fault,” said Cassandra. Sera turned her glare to the Inquisitor. Cyril threw her hands up.
“Look, we couldn’t wait until our proper tents were fixed, we had to get out here as soon as possible! We don’t know what Samson is planning and we couldn’t just sit on it! We’ll have a few nights of cramped sleeping, you can’t say you haven’t had worse, Sera,” Cyril said while trying her best to look innocent. Sera wrinkled her nose.
“Fine, but I’m not sharing a tent with Elfy,” Sera said, jerking her head in Solas’s direction. Solas, in the meanwhile, was entirely engaged in setting up the first tent, and he was almost finished. Cyril rolled her eyes.
“Never said you had to, Sera.” Cyril looked nervously over at Solas, who had not looked up from his tent making. The idea of sharing close quarters with Solas was moderately petrifying but she doubted that Cassandra would be any more willing to share a tent with Solas than Sera was. Cyril hadn’t thought about the tents when they set out to the Emerald Graves. She knew they needed to begin scouting the Graves as soon as possible, and she knew that Solas was highly knowledgeable about the area. She had not considered the inevitable sleeping arrangements. Cyril cleared her throat a little.
“Cassandra?” Cyril said in her most diplomatic tone. “Do you have a preference?”
Cassandra’s eyes darted between Sera and Solas, and Cyril could nearly see the cogs turning in her mind; Cassandra was not a fan of either Sera or Solas and having to pick her poison was clearly not easy.
“Given the size of the tents, I think Solas and myself may be too cramped,” Cassandra finally said. Indeed, Cyril and Sera were both rather slim, while Cassandra’s muscles and Solas’s broad shoulders would likely be far less comfortable together. Cyril gave a tight-lipped smile.
“Oh, uh… okay then.” Cyril swallowed the lump in her throat. “Does that sound alright with you, Solas?” said Cyril. Solas finally looked up, an odd intensity in his eyes.
“I hold no objections to sharing a tent with you, Inquisitor,” Solas said.
“Okay, good,” said Cyril, as heat crept up her ears at Solas’s gaze. She turned back to Cassandra. “Let’s finish up dinner so we can get some sleep.”
* * *
The last of the sunlight was peaking over the horizon as they began disrobing for bed. With their tent acting as divider, Cyril and Solas stood on opposite sides, though Cyril hardly understood the illusion of privacy considering they were about to be uncomfortably close to one another. Cyril peeled off the layers of leather and metal she wore until she was down to leggings and a loose tunic. She created a haphazardly folded pile near the entrance of the tent. She and Solas stood in front of their tent and exchanged glances.
“After you,” Cyril said, pulling the flap of the tent open.
“If you insist,” said Solas with a nod and faint smile.
Cyril crawled into the tent after him, and the tent somehow seemed smaller on the inside.
“Well these tents are definitely... snug,” she said, feeling the warmth in her ears again. A humoured hum sounded in Solas’s throat.
“Indeed, but we are only meant to be sleeping— snug as it may be, I cannot see us needing room for anything more.” Cyril wasn’t sure if the implications of his words was intentional, but she couldn’t help note the smile that tugged at his lips. Could he sense her nerves? Was he teasing her? She laughed nervously as she settled down next to him. She was painfully aware of just how close he was to her. She had never been so close to him before. Solas lay flat onto his back and laced his fingers across his abdomen, his eyes closed. He still had the remnants of a smile, and Cyril noted the small wrinkles that formed around his eyes when he did so. Solas took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Goodnight, Inquisitor.”
“You’re not ‘on duty,’ Solas, you don’t have to call me ‘Inquisitor.’ In fact, I’d rather you didn’t,” said Cyril as she also settled onto her back. Her arm was nearly touching Solas’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Solas turn his head to look at her. She tried very hard not to look back at him. She knew if she looked over at him she would begin to blush, and this close, there was no way Solas wouldn’t notice.
“Goodnight then, Cyril.”
If she wasn’t pink before, she certainly was now. Cyril realised she had never heard Solas say her name. It was always “Herald,” and then “Inquisitor,” and sometimes “Lavellan.” But he had never called her Cyril, and there was something in the way the r rolled off his tongue that made her certain that she was blushing up to her hairline. Solas turned his gaze back to the top of the tent and closed his eyes again.
“Goodnight, Solas,” she said, her voiced strained. Cyril spent several minutes trying to get comfortable on her bedroll while not disturbing Solas. She was embarrassingly aware of their proximity, and every time she tried to adjust, she’d brush an arm or a knee against Solas. She finally settled on her side, her back facing him. She could hear his calm, even breathing and she imagined that focused breathing helped to enter the Fade.
“I apologise for whatever I did to offend you, Inquisi— Cyril,” Solas said suddenly. Cyril rolled on to her back again and turned her head to face him.
“What? What are you talking about?” She regretted turning towards him now, as her face was much closer to his than she expected. She hadn’t noticed just how many freckles he had until now. Solas had not moved, still flat on his back with his eyes closed.
“You seemed particularly reluctant to share a tent. I was not surprised that neither Cassandra nor Sera were willing to do so, but I was not aware that I had caused you ire.” Solas’s voice was as level as ever, never betraying what he may be thinking. Cyril raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh! Uhm, I don’t— I mean, you didn’t—“
She shook her head as much as their limited space allowed.
“You didn’t do anything, Solas. I’m just… I’m sorry if I made you think you did something wrong, you absolutely didn’t,” said Cyril. She bit her lip nervously. “I was just worried about Cassandra and Sera; they don’t really get along either and I was worried they’d fight me on any arrangement.”
That sounded believable, right?
“Ah,” said Solas. “I am happy to hear it then.”
Cyril turned her head so that she was now flat on her back. Her arm was touching Solas’s, but he had done nothing to prevent the contact, so neither did she. She lay much stiffer than she normally would, listening to Solas’s steady breathing. Within a few minutes his meditative breaths faded into the deep, even breaths of sleep. Cyril found it difficult to relax, she was so cognisant of Solas’s presence at her side. What alarmed her most was how natural it felt; while she was riddled with nerves, her physical proximity to Solas felt comfortable, intuitive, and normal. She almost wanted to just roll over and curl up under his arm— but no, of course she couldn’t do that, she didn’t even really know Solas that well. So why did she feel so at home with him?
Cyril eventually drifted off, not fully aware that she had been focusing on Solas’s breathing to fall asleep.
When Cyril woke up in the morning, she was a little thrown off, having momentarily forgotten her sleeping arrangements. She was laying on her side, nearly in the fetal position, her hands curled up by her chest, but her head was pressed into Solas’s arm. She blinked the sleep from her eyes a few times and tried not to move as to not disturb Solas. She pulled her head away slowly from his arm and then rolled over onto her back. Her ears were warm and she was very glad that Solas had not woken up before her. Solas remained in the same stony position as the night before, hands still clasped over this middle. She sat up and wriggled her way out of the tent as silently as possible.
Cassandra was already awake and sitting by a small fire she’d made, a pot of water being heated at its center. She looked up when Cyril exited her tent and closed the book she was reading with a small snap.
“Good morning, Lavellan. Sleep well?” Cassandra said in a low voice.
“Well, it was certainly-” Cyril chuckled, “-cramped. But not awful. How about you?”
Cassandra grimaced.
“Sera talks in her sleep. Loudly. And she nearly took down the tent when she tried to roll over.”
Cyril smiled widely and began preparing herself a cup of tea. She heard a rustling behind her and turned to see Solas emerging from the tent, stretching widely.
“Oh, sorry if I woke you up, Solas,” Cyril said with a guilty smile. Cassandra busied herself with her book again.
“Not to worry, the sun finally got to me,” said Solas with a dismissing wave of his hand.
“Okay, good. Sleep alright?”
“Well enough, and yourself? As far as I am aware I do not snore.”
Cyril tried to suppress a giggle and ended up snorting into her tea. “I slept fine, you don’t snore.”
Solas approached the campfire and sat down next to Cyril.
“Then I am glad you were able to find some comfort,” he said, and though he did not look at her, Cyril saw a smile creep onto his lips. Cyril felt her stomach drop. There was something knowing in his tone, and she wondered if Solas has woken during the night and felt her head nuzzled into his arm. But Solas did not pursue the matter further and Cyril was eager to pretend it never happened.
Cyril, Cassandra, and Solas sat in silence around the fire as the sun continued to creep up into the sky. A mortified shriek broke the pleasant calm and the three of them whipped around to the source of the noise— the tent where Sera had still been sleeping. A moment later Sera emerged from the tent, her hair ruffled and a scowl on her face.
“I think I rolled into a nug shite.”