"It has been required of me, on occasion," He replies, neatly folding his own clothing, as he does. It was not armor, his had been too well-crafted, woven through with enchantment and runic reinforcement, as had the leather jerkin underneath— both had been taken, when he had arrived. Even the quilted padding he had worn under it had been taken, leaving him in a simple tunic and trews, footwraps on bare feet in place of the armored, enchanted boots. It was finely made and woven, cut to flatter, but it was no protection at all against assault.

It is cold here, as he strips off his shirt, and Solas resolves privately not to shiver, if he can avoid it; a small, stubborn sop to his pride. He wants to look strong, for her.

"There are many drowned ruins and lost artifacts therin that I have had need of. I visited one in Rivain, in a flooded cave; the stone had grown over the original entrance, built up by minerals deposited with every tide. When I passed through the eluvian, it was the only light there, and I was forced to continuously return to the crossroads for air. It took many tries to navigate, in the dark."

He finishes the neat pile of his things and turns to her, dressed fit to swim in— not wholly bare, but one brief pair of leggings from it. He blinks to find her ready and wait and then has to look away, out over the water to find a sense of self-control: she is beautiful. Even with the scars, and unpleasant abbreviation of her left arm, the crude replacement... Or, perhaps, because of them?

"...My apologies, Vhenan," he says, "It seems you still inspire in me a penchant for storytelling."

She is so very, very beautiful.