This place is not how he remembers it, but for once it is a welcomed change.

Solas sits on the bank beneath arches of rust colored rocks spanning above that cast the intrinsic ponds in wondrous shade. His back rests against an old tree hidden beneath the Inquisition's camp and for the first time in months it seems they have caught a moment of peace.

It is quiet now. Not long ago, a giant's footfalls echoed like thunder across the walls, but the monster's corpse now lays in the sand beyond as carrion for crows. The Venatori keeping vigil before the temple have been evicted and the ancient stones freed from their prying touch. The canyon now belongs to the Inquisitor, as much as any place such as this can be owned.

He glances up at the picturesque view of the falls. There is enough sunlight left for rainbows of color to appear in quick breaths as the water tumbles faithfully from the precipice above. Green life grows here, strong and vibrant, spreading around below or climbing up in the shadows, and the air smells fresh, soothing, alive. After all the death and destruction witnessed, it is almost difficult to believe beauty like this can still exist.

Such thoughts turn his attention to the sketchpad in hand. The top mirrors the stunning scene beyond, the underbelly of an archway, trees growing thin yet strong, but the waterfall stops and never reaches a destination. Instead, Solas finds something immeasurably more striking to draw.

Keela stretches out before him on her side, one hand trapped between the pages of a book while the other supports her head. She's shed her outer layers and reclines in tan trousers and a loose white top, the ties unwound. The fabric falls down one shoulder and gives him a tantalizing view of her bronze skin and graceful neck.

Her expressive eyes burrow into the pages of her book, her bottom lip caught between teeth as she concentrates on the words. Solas dips his pen back onto the parchment to finish the last branch of vallaslin across her cheek. He does not need to check to know what they look like anymore. Once he found them hard to look upon, a constant reminder of his failings, but now they are familiar, cherished for how they rest upon her skin.

He takes a few more moments to smudge his fingers atop the black of her hair before proclaiming his work completed. It is another to add to his collection, although he would rather have the real thing. If he flips through the pages he can tell when he began to fall for her. Instead of ancient structures, noble creatures and the pieces of new Thedas so strange to him, there is the mischief of her eyes, the wonder of her lips, the steady strength of her hands.

"What are you smiling about, Solas?"

Keela no longer reposes in the same state captured in charcoal and parchment. The book sits closed before her, her head now resting down upon an extended arm. Sleep clings to her features instead of curiosity and she peers at him with one tired eye.

As Solas answers, she lets out a wide yawn. "I have finished my sketch."

Grumbling noises escape her lips as she crawls over to his position and plops down into his side. Her arm drapes across his stomach and gives a gentle squeeze as her gaze takes in the artwork. He can feel a lazy smile blooming into his tunic. "Got distracted, did you? It's beautiful."

"It pales in comparison to the original."

Her laughter rattles through them both. Keela kisses his jaw and campaigns a trail of wet caresses across his face until she reaches his waiting lips. "Have you been speaking to Varric lately?"

"I do not need Master Tethras' assistance in finding inspiration. His style tends to be more…obvious and vulgar, at any rate."

"I wouldn't mind some of that as well."

Solas smiles into her hair as she settles back onto his chest. "I shall bear that in mind."