The three of you have dinner there at the inn. You entertain the girl with stories of your adventures in the Denerim orphanage, but her fascination rests solidly with Solas and his magic. She peppers him with questions, and he actually answers most of them. Perhaps you’re not the only one with a weakness for children. After ensuring she has a full belly, you slip her a few extra coins from the Inquisition’s purse. Sending her off with royals wouldn’t do her a bit of good; she’d be dead for them within the day. You can’t give her one of your little throwing daggers to use as a knife either–—aren’t allowed to carry weapons in the alienage. It’s a hopeless position. But you see her back inside the alienage walls and give her enough coin to last her through the week, at least.
Perhaps there’s something more you can do… Once you get back to your inn room and your ravens.
It’s almost underwhelming, after all that, to spend the rest of your evening trudging around, chasing down your contacts and your contacts’ contacts in order to ensure your precious lists get into the right hands. The hardest part is coordination; you’re getting “shipments” from four different sellers. Not to mention that half of the books you’re getting from your contacts are banned by the Chantry or, at the very least, frowned upon. Not all of them, mind… but enough that this has definitely crossed the line into smuggling.
The wagon will be there overnight on the 25th. The horses will arrive early on the 26th. That will be your saving grace. You arrange with each of the sellers to arrive in shifts—you don’t need a turf spat happening while you’re trying to arrange a delivery—and load their books into the bottom of the wagon. The less… legitimate books… will be covered by a layer of the legal but difficult-to-locate books that you’re getting from each seller. And you personally arrange for an overnight guard to ensure nothing untoward happens and there aren’t any little kerfluffles between, say, your Carta contact and her direct competitor, both of whom you’re buying from.
It’s pricey, of course, but the Inquisition had filled your—Baptiste’s—coin purse rather dramatically. Baptiste had been planning on obtaining some of these tomes from legitimate sources… Which would have cost four times as much for buttering palms and sealing mouths alone. At the very least, at the end of this, you’ll be able to say you saved the Inquisition money. Besides, Baptiste would never have been able to find some of these books legitimately. You can add “smuggler” to your list of Inquisition-related services, you suppose.
And to think, you once wanted to keep your head down and dig latrines.
It’s dark by the time you make your way back to the inn. You’re exhausted down to your very bones—and Solas looks tired as well. But your day is a long way from over. As you expected, there’s a package and a raven waiting for you on your bed when you enter. You have to go through with your plan tonight if you’re going to at all… But first, you need to ensure Solas hadn’t simply been joking about his desire to see the White Spire.
“Solas,” you begin as he sinks down onto the couch. You can tell he’s tired; he may not wish to do it at all. “You mentioned a few days ago that you wanted to see the White Spire.”
“Mm, yes,” Solas says distractedly, running a hand over his face where the mask had been sitting. “Why? Have you arranged for a tour?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Arrangement, yes, tour, no,” you say. You take a deep breath and sit down on the couch next to him. He seems to notice your serious tone and sobers quickly. “Tell me, Solas, how do you feel about breaking and entering?”
Solas’s eyebrows both rise, and he seems to carefully consider his next words. “You’re quite serious, aren’t you?”
“I am. I… told you, about the sort of thing I used to get up to in Val Royeaux,” you say with a delicate cough.
“You were a bard,” he says matter-of-factly.
“…Yes. Tactfully put,” you say sourly. “After you expressed interest in the White Spire, out of curiosity, I put out some feelers. My suspicions were correct… the tower is nearly abandoned. I’ve obtained details on a way to get in. We won’t be able to go far, and likely shouldn’t, but I can get you to a safe location where you can…” You wave your hand vaguely in the air. “Do whatever magey things you were hoping to do. But there is danger. There are no Templars here at the moment, but there are mages. We could be in serious trouble, were we caught.”
“Do you believe that likely?”
“No, or I wouldn’t even suggest this,” you reply seriously. “My contact is good. If he says it’s safe, I believe him. Normally I would never consider sneaking into a place like the White Spire… But I believe this may be something akin to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Solas considers your words, and then nods, seemingly to himself. “Tell me your plan, first.”
This, you can do. You lay out the drawn map your contact sent you, explain how you’ll be getting close, how you’ll be getting in, how he’ll need to disable runes and wards as you go. As you suspected, Solas confirms that he’s capable of such a thing. You explain that your contact has indicated where each ward will be, so that you run no risk of tripping a hidden one on accident. You show on the map the room where Solas can have some security, an old, forgotten attic.
When you’re done explaining as much of the plan as you feel you can, Solas nods. “And you wish to do this tonight?”
“We’ll need to, if we do it all,” you say firmly. “Preparations are in place, but they’re good for tonight only.”
“Very well then,” Solas says, rising from the couch. “Let’s prepare.”
Part of you seriously can’t believe you’re doing this, or that he’s going along with it. As a general rule, you don’t work with amateurs… or with anyone, if you can help it. Your ‘magical friend’ is one of the few people you’re comfortable sharing work with, and you know he’s experienced—very experienced. Solas is many things, but a sneakthief? However, if what he showed you yesterday is any indication, he has the basics down and knows how and when to follow instructions. You would have preferred a lower-stakes task first, but you weren’t lying when you said this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It’s only a matter of time before the Circles are reinstated and the Templars are back in place.
You tuck the map back in the pack, and pull out a few other things. “We’ll be leaving here in our formal cloaks, but we’ll change into these on the way,” you say, showing him what you have. “Circle mage cloaks. Borrowed, unfortunately; I’ll have to return them when we’re done. And these.”
“Masks?” Solas says with a sigh. “The ones we already have won’t serve?”
You roll your eyes exaggeratedly, but manage to avoid throwing something at the man’s head. Honestly. “These,” you say, holding up your silver and opal mask. “Are our faces, Solas. These are how we are recognized within Val Royeaux. Why would we wear our faces to a break-in? These ones actually serve to cover our faces completely. You’ll get used them more quickly than you imagine, although they do limit the peripheral vision somewhat.”
This is why you don’t work with amateurs. But Solas, for his part, agrees, though he doesn’t look very pleased about it. “You even commit crimes in an Orlesian fashion.”
“Well, you know what they say… When in Minrathous… Or do they only say that in Tevinter?” you muse to yourself briefly. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, we have a few hours before we need to leave. Honestly, I recommend you sleep.”
“I would recommend the same to you,” Solas says, a little sourly.
“I’ll lay down,” you say, and you mean it. You’re exhausted. You need to at least physically rest your body if you’re going to not only get through this, but also keep Solas from making any tragic mistakes.
“Would you like to borrow the blanket?” Solas asks… and you consider it, honestly. But in the end, you shake your head.
“No… Now’s not the time for us to be experimenting on how sleeping magic affects me,” you say with a sigh. It’s as good an excuse as any. You still haven’t quite decided what you’re going to do about Solas and his increasing desire to “fix” your insomnia. The closer the two of you get, the less you like lying to him, and the less you like saying no.
Close…
You glance over him. He’s dragging his shirt off to flop into bed, without a hint of self-consciousness. You take him to places you don’t take anyone else. You tell him things you shouldn’t. You’re about to break into a Circle tower, the Circle tower, trusting him not to blow it and get you both in serious trouble.
You can count on one hand the number of people who you’ve been this close with. It’s even easier to count the number of them that are still alive.
You push that thought from your mind as you go to your own room to try to rest for a few hours. Your mind needs to be clear for this.
You and Solas are quiet as you prepare, leave the inn, and make your way towards the White Spire. You have no idea what Solas is thinking, but your mind is busy going over every little detail of the plan time and time again. You have alibis in place for yourself and Solas for when Madame de Fer inevitably looks into it. You know the way in, you know the location of each ward—although you intend to be on the lookout for ones your contact missed. You know the room, its doors, its location… You know the time, you know the place. You tear the plan apart and rebuild it a dozen times before you reach your destination—it has to be foolproof, because you may well be bringing a fool. Only time will tell… But if your life is any evidence, being a criminal is infinitely easier than being an apostate on the run, and Solas has lived that reality far longer and with far more success than you.
“Alright,” you say, gazing at the collection of walled buildings that is the White Spire—although technically, most people just think of the big tower in the middle. “Now the fun part.”
“How are we meant to get to the tower?” Solas inquires quietly, staring up at the large, walled complex of buildings before him.
“We’re not,” you reply. “Our goal is that window… there. Two buildings back. The main tower is where the mages slept… it has much higher security. That’s the thing about Circles; always more concerned with keeping people in than out,” you say, a little smugly.
You both take the moment to switch masks and cloaks. Solas looks eerie in the starched white Circle cloak and solid black mask. It covers his entire face, and when you pull his hood up, there’s no recognizing him as an elf, let alone as Solas. The only hint is the piercing blue eyes that stare out at you through the holes in the mask. You pull your own hood up and hope it disguises you as well as it does him.
You dislike full-face masks and suspect Solas feels much the same. Despite the hole for breathing, it tends to get heated quickly, and you never like feeling that your vision is limited. But if you get spotted, you need to be sure your actions can’t be traced back to you—or the Inquisition, you suppose, but mostly you.
“We’ll need to go up side by side,” you inform Solas quietly as you both slip your shoes off. It had gone unspoken, but neither of you wish to climb something so difficult while crippled by footwear. What surprises you, however, is when Solas hands you a small bundle of cloth… foot wraps, you realize. Elven style ones, like he wears. You stare at them momentarily before sitting to wrap both your feet, leaving your toes and the ball of your foot bare for gripping. It’s a strange feeling; you’ve never worn elven foot wraps before. You find they add stability without worsening your grip.
The two of you begin the climb silently. You pause near the first set of windows. “The first of the wards are here,” you inform Solas softly. You can feel them through your skin even without touching them. He climbs up beside you and you watch curiously as he disarms them. He does so faster than you would have been able to, you note sourly. Must he be better than you at everything? But you suppose that in this case, you should just be grateful.
The two of you make your way up slowly, temporarily disarming wards as you go. Your contact hadn’t missed a one. You hadn’t really expected he would. The final wards, and most difficult to get around, are on the window you need to climb in. They’ve been damaged, however, probably by mages sneaking out. A well-kept secret, and one that allows Solas to worm his magic through them and disarm them. Meanwhile, you hang from the windowsill by one arm to give him space to work. Thank the Maker for your training with Iron Bull, as well as your lithe frame. This had been easier back when you were more fit.
Solas scrambles through the window and you swiftly follow him, your arm aching from the prolonged hang, even though it had only taken perhaps thirty seconds for him to work his magic. You let your hands and bare feet rest flat on the floor for a moment, feeling as best you can through your skin for magic. No doubt Solas will be much better at sensing anything amiss; his aura is out, free, and curious, gently gliding over everything nearby—including you. You’re glad to know he’s on the lookout, at least.
You stand and take visual stock of where you are. It’s dark, dusty, and dank. It had clearly been out of use even before the mages fled the Circle. “Alright… that room,” you say, pointing towards the second door down. “According to my friend, they used to do Harrowings there. It’s seen a lot of death and a lot of fear… I imagine the Veil is thinner than rice paper there.”
“Wonderful,” Solas breathes. “The Veil here is not merely thin, but worn. This site must have been used for powerful magic over the course of centuries.”
You’re a little cheered at how pleased he seems, but you force your mind to remain on the task at hand. “There’s only one door, this one. I’ll stand guard outside of it, but—”
“I’ll place wards,” Solas says absent-mindedly. You can feel his aura whipping about, feeling at things you can scarcely imagine.
“You have an hour,” you remind him. “I know it’s not much, but…”
“It is enough.” He turns to you then, and you wish to all gods that may have ever been that you could see his expression behind the black mask. “Thank you, lethallin.” His words are heartfelt; his voice carries miles of meaning despite the fact you cannot see his face.
You swallow, hard. At least your expression is hidden as well, thank the Maker. “I… Well, don’t waste time, then,” you say brusquely, shooing him towards the room. “Go do… whatever it is you do.”
“I will explain it later, if you are interested,” he volunteers as he heads into the room. You shut the doors behind him and only then to you manage to breathe.
Yeah.
Worth it.
You give yourself a few minutes, as much to gather your composure as to give him time to set his wards and—you suspect—go to sleep. Lethallin. The feminine version is lethallan, although you’re well aware that’s something of a modern twist. Odd that he uses the older style. But then, he speaks the language better than you. …Although, that begs a question. If you learned primarily from scripts and scrolls and cannot pronounce it correctly… Where did he learn? Not the Dalish—he’s already established what you suspected, that they have their own modern dialects. If he had learned from books, would he not have the same issues as you with pronunciation? Had he learned it in the Fade? Traded a spirit for the knowledge, perhaps? Such a thing had occurred to you, and you’d oft been sorely tempted. Fear of possession had always stopped you short, however.
Had it stopped him? He’s skilled with spirits, to hear him talk, able to speak with them far better than any mage you’d heard of previously. Did that extend to bartering without risk of losing himself to them?
Or had he already lost himself once?
The idea that Solas might well be an abomination strikes you like a sudden bolt, but you shake it away just as quickly. If not you, someone would have noticed, surely? He was sitting in a nest of Templars! But… Templars can be fooled, as you well know.
Hm.
Well, it’s something to think about later. You can’t allow yourself to become so distracted right now. You can ask him about his knowledge of the language later, though you’ve no reason to believe he’d tell you the truth. You wouldn’t, in his position. For now, you have work to do. Surely Solas is set up and asleep by now. You hadn’t snuck in here just for his sake, after all.
Just as your friend had told you, there were no wards between the old Harrowing chamber and the room just below. Most people had forgotten this attic even existed, and the room below was rarely used. You drop in through a panel in the room’s ceiling, and land on top of a bookshelf. You can’t help smirking to yourself as you let your aura out the tiniest bit, keeping it tight to your flesh like a protective shield. Individual books are warded, as are the doors, but no one had expected you to come in through the ceiling, apparently. You’ve snuck into one of the White Spire’s many libraries. In this particular case, one containing banned books—hence the lack of usage; the storage in a remote corner of the Spire; and the focus on warding specific books and the doors out, but not the exterior of the room. As always, Templars were so focused on keeping their prisoners from obtaining forbidden power, they’d forgotten to consider that other people might want it as well.
You browse the aisles merrily, avoiding the warded books and keeping a very sharp eye out for any magic that you might set off on accident. You take the books on your list and nothing else—no matter how tempting some of them might look. There are books here you’ve been after for years, although many of the ones you grab are for your contact. He does the planning, you do the stealing… just like old times, or close enough. The elven apostate sleeping in the attic is new, though.
You have to disarm wards to retrieve three of the books, and since you’re not nearly as talented as Solas—apparently—it takes you some time. When you’re done, you leave a little present, one more thing to throw Vivienne de Fer and the other Circle Mages—and possibly Templars—off your trail. Between the calling card and the hefty bag of books on your shoulder, you feel like a proper cat burglar as you climb back up onto the bookshelf and through the hole in the ceiling. You have to enjoy the little things in life, really.
You close the panel carefully behind you and then make your way to the window you and Solas climbed through. The door to the Harrowing chamber is closed… Solas is still within, hopefully, and none the wiser that you haven’t been standing guard outside. You scan the window carefully for any stray wards, but it’s still clean from when Solas disengaged them. Then you poke your head out; sure enough, there’s your man. He waves up at you cheerfully; you wish you had the chance to go down and talk to him, but he needs to be out of sight by the time Solas comes out. With a grunt of effort, you lift the bag of books, tie it closed to so it won’t spill. Then you carefully drop it out of the window. It plummets like a bag of… well, books… but about halfway down it slows, caught in a greenish glow of magic. It levitates gently into his arms. He tosses it over his shoulder much the way you had and gives an exaggerated salute. You salute back carelessly with two fingers, a loose grin on your face. It’s a sign of how well you know him that you’re letting him walk off with those books.
You hear a sound behind you and spin around, but it’s just Solas opening the door from the old Harrowing chamber. He glances around and then catches sight of you.
“Good nap?” you ask quietly, a little teasingly.
“I’ve learned much, even in that short period of time. The spirits here are remarkably friendly; they’re used to regular contact with the mages,” Solas says, and you’re thrilled to hear genuine excitement running through his voice. He’s like a dog with a ball. “I only wish I could stay longer… but even this was more than I had hoped.”
Your aura is wrapped up tight inside of you, but you still feel like you’re glowing. You feel like you could hop out the window and levitate down yourself. You don’t, for a number of reasons, least of which is that you don’t actually know how to levitate. “I’m glad I could do something for you,” you say, grinning broadly behind your mask.
“I’ll be sure to return the favor,” he says, and without seeing his face, you’ve no way to know how he meant that.
The two of you actually get out of the White Spire and down the street without incident. You’re a little floored. Have you ever had a plan go that well? Well, yes, you have, but you certainly hadn’t expected it now, not with you dragging a rookie along for the ride. But Solas handled himself better than you could have hoped. He could move quietly when he wanted to, and worked his magic with the wards even faster than you could have. The last time you’d seen talent like his, you’d snatched the mage in question up before anyone else could. It’s a shame you’re retired—and a shame Solas isn’t one to be snatched.
A safe distance from the Spire, you and Solas stop to change out of your cloaks and masks. You move to unwrap your feet, but Solas stops you.
“Keep them,” he tells you. “I have plenty.”
You flush slightly, running your fingers along the soft green cloth. These had probably been wrapped around his feet once, carried him across lands you may never see. You pull your shoes on over them before you can make a fool of yourself.
“What do we do with the cloaks and masks?” Solas wants to know.
“You give them to me,” a voice says from behind you. Solas spins to face the man, hand going towards his staff.
“Solas, it’s fine,” you say quickly, standing and turning to face your friend. “This is my contact.”
“Your contact?” the man says with a laugh. “The things you call me.” You eye the familiar shape of his mask—it covers nearly his entire face, but his pointed ears are left brazenly bare. It’s much the same as it was when you wore it. Six dramatic horns, six ruby eyes. You don’t miss everything from your time as a bard, but you miss that damn mask.
“So, this is your man,” the masked man says, stepping gently towards Solas, who regards him stiffly, one hand still on his staff. “Is he as good as me?”
“In some ways, he’s better,” you say with a grin, causing him to turn and face you sharply.
“Don’t be rude,” he says loftily. “No one’s better than me.”
“And who are you, precisely?” Solas says stiffly, somewhere between irritation and caution.
“They call me Banal’ras, lethallin,” he replies with a sweeping bow, his voice just a little mocking.
“Don’t be an ass,” you say, swatting at his ear. He bats your hand away, of course.
“I’m fairly sure you lost the right to corporal punishment a while ago, ma asha.”
“I will never lose the right to smack you, brat,” you reply. “Take your masks and stop harassing my friend.”
“I can see when I’ve been replaced,” he says, his fake hurt sounding mocking. “But aren’t you supposed to replace me with a younger man?”
“Any younger than you and I’d be stuck with a toddler,” you reply smartly. “Stop showing off, Banal’ras.”
The man salutes crookedly, takes a step backwards, and slips through the fade to teleport swiftly away. Cocky and strutting about like a pent-up rooster, as always. Made bold by the mask, as he always had been. So many mistakes you’ve made, and yet you’re not sure any of them could have been avoided. You sigh. “I swear to the Maker…”
“You make interesting friends, Alix Gagnon,” Solas says sourly.
“Ir abelas, Solas,” you say with a scowl as you situate your silver mask on your face. “I was supposed to simply dump them at an agreed upon site, but it seems as though Banal’ras couldn’t resist. He never can. Change back into your mask and cloak, Solas. I want to get off the streets before a Chevalier finds us.”
Solas consents to put his mask and cloak on, but of course he’s not going to let that little exchange with your friend go. You’re going to give that boy such a beating when you see him next. Not that you expect him to appear before you again before you leave Val Royeaux. And after that… you shake the thought from your head. You don’t belong in this town anymore, even if it had been so easy to slip back in.
“Dare I ask how you know him? The two of you seem… very familiar,” Solas comments.
“It’s not like that,” you insist, checking both ways before exiting the alleyway. No trouble yet. “He’s just being a shit.”
“Oh?” says Solas, clearly not believing you.
“Yes,” you say firmly. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can promise you, you’re wrong. He and I have simply been friends for a large part of his life. What you witnessed is him being sour at me for leaving.”
“How long have the two of you been acquainted?”
“Long enough,” you reply shortly.
“This explains your comfort with apostates,” Solas points out, and you sigh.
“It’s a miracle he’s not been caught. Showy idiot…” you grumble. “You can interrogate me about him later, if you wish. For right now, I just want to get back to the inn before the other shoe can drop. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s gone as well as it has.”
“What? Did you think we would be caught?”
“Well… I mean, I didn’t expect it to go so well,” you admit. “Everything went perfectly according to plan, aside from my friend’s little plea for attention.”
“Why did you decide to do it if you thought we would be unsuccessful?”
“Because there aren’t any Templars there, and I know I can run faster than a Circle mage,” you joke.
“Just a Circle mage? Could an apostate catch you?” Solas asks bemusedly.
“You’re the apostate,” you say dryly. “You tell me. Could I outrun you?”
“Hmm. Perhaps one day, we’ll find out.”
His voice chills you to the core, creating a conflicting sensation with the heat the rises between your legs. You stare desperately for some hint of his meaning, but his face betrays nothing.
Once again, you’re left wondering if—in your fear of Iron Bull and Commander Rutherford, Leliana and the Inquisitor—you hadn’t walked right into the den of someone much more dangerous.
To your amazement, you actually do get back to the inn without incident. “Wow, that… really went better than I expected,” you say, running a hand through your hair to untie your mask.
“So you keep saying,” Solas says. He removes his mask and cloak quickly, depositing them on the couch with a careless toss. You frown and pick them both up, hanging the cloak and placing the mask carefully on a table. You hear the bed creak as he sits down on it; you expect he’s eager to get to sleep, given how late it is. As you’re removing your own cloak, however, he calls out to you.
“Emma, come here.”
You glance over at him. He’s sitting on the bed, yes, but fully clothed. What’s he up to now? You approach with some caution.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says with a slight frown. “Have you already forgotten your promise to submit your jaw to more healing?”
You had, actually. Your jaw has been steadily aching since your misadventure that afternoon, but given your near-constant headache and general exhausted pain, it had just faded into the background. You walk closer. Solas pats on the bed, and with a resigned sigh, you sit down next to him. Why must he always do this on a bed?
You’d thought being stripped naked for healing would be the most embarrassing thing you’d suffer at his hands. You were wrong. He catches your face in his hands, one on each side of your jawbone. He stares at you with intense focus as his healing magic begins seeping into your jaw, a slow, steady throbbing. It’s different than when he’d healed your bruises. You’re the one who looks away, but with him directing your face towards him, it’s impossible to get those narrow, focused blue eyes out of your line of vision.
Your ears flush pink, but you manage to keep the blush from spreading to your cheeks through sheer force of will. Solas takes his time with the healing. You must be sitting on the bed, face tucked in his warm hands, for a solid ten minutes. He runs a thumb along your jawline… is that strictly necessary?! As the healing continues, you find your eyes growing heavy. Healing tends to make one tired, and this much concentrated magic focused on your bones is definitely exhausting you, even more than his healing of your bruises had. Perhaps you’ll be able to sleep tonight? You doubt it.
Finally, he seems to finish. The magic fades away, and after a second or two, he releases you. To your credit, you don’t immediately spring off the bed and flee. Actually, with how heavy your body feels, you doubt you’d make it very far. “‘M… sleepy…” you manage to murmur, eyes sinking closed. “I’m just gonna… lay down for a sec…” You move to stumble upwards, but Solas catches your shoulders and pushes you down onto the bed. You should protest, but you don’t. Your eyes fluttered closed one last time, and then darkness takes you.
You don’t dream, which means you probably didn’t properly sleep. But you are disoriented when you awaken. The bed is so large, so impossibly soft and silky, that you feel as if you must be sleeping in a cloud. The room is dark, and it takes you a moment to remember where you are and why. Groggily, you feel around on the bed, but Solas is nowhere. You glance around, your eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. You spot him, an outline in the dark, curled up on the couch with your cloak thrown over him for a blanket. Your heart thuds in your chest; he’d let you have the bed and slept elsewhere for your comfort, despite the fact there was certainly room for two on the giant mattress.
There’s no point in waking him, so you lay your head back down in a hopeless bid for more sleep. It doesn’t come, of course, but you do enjoy simply lying in the silk sheets for a time. Wouldn’t it be nice to own a bed like this? Solas must have been enjoying himself with it these last few nights.
In the end, however, you have to come to terms with the fact you just won’t be getting any more sleep. Still, no reason to wake Solas. You slip softly out of bed and to your room, fetching the tome on spirits Solas had gotten you in Redcliffe. You consider staying in your hard cot of a bed, but… Well, the bed is empty. You tiptoe back through the dark room and climb back into the soft bed with a contented sigh. You stack the pillows against the headboard until you can comfortably recline. You can see well in the dark, but not well enough to read, so you light a candle. You only hope it doesn’t disturb Solas’s slumber. You doubt it will, however; he seems a very solid sleeper.
This might as well be the Golden City for how pleased you are. The bed is delightfully soft, the silky sheets so gentle on your skin that you would strip naked were Solas not in the room. As it is, you do take off your tunic and just sit in your undershirt, enjoying the way the silk feels against your bare arms.
You don’t know how long you sit there, reading cheerfully about nightmare demons, before a sound breaks the silence. “Is that book truly better than sleep?” You glance up, startled. Solas is awake… perhaps your candle had disturbed him after all.
“Ir abelas, Solas,” you say, quietly despite the fact you no longer have to worry about waking him. “I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I’m glad you could rest at all, even a little,” Solas says, rising from the couch. He’s fallen asleep in his clothes. “While you’re up, may I look at your jaw again?” You can think of few things you’d like less, but you nod, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. Rather than coming to stand by the side of the bed, however, Solas climbs onto the other side, kneeling on the sheets. Fair enough, he had better access to the left side of your jaw, where you’d been struck, from that angle. Still, it’s a little embarrassing for both of you to be on the bed like this.
Solas examines you more quickly this time, simply running soft fingers along your jawline, probing gently with magic. “It seems to be healing fine,” he says, relieved. “I doubt you’ll need more healing, although you should be careful with it for the next few days.”
“Thank you, Solas. I hate to think the kind of wreck I would be without your healing, by now.”
“I feel much the same,” he says dryly. His eyes flick over to the book, and you see a faint smile on his lips. “Have you not finished it yet?”
“It’s thick reading, and I got sidetracked with the Veilfire tome,” you admit. “I don’t have… context, for most of the things I’m reading, but it’s interesting nonetheless.”
To your surprise, Solas shifts to sit beside you, leaning back against the headrest. “Nightmare demon? An unpleasant subject to read about when you should be sleeping,” he comments.
“The author separates them out from fear demons,” you reply. “I found that interesting.”
“It’s a somewhat blurred line,” Solas agrees. “In fact, one could argue that a nightmare demon is simply a kind of fear spirit. The classification of spirits, even now, is a hazy study, blurred further by the barrier the Veil puts between this world and true understanding.”
“While I have you… This part here, sort of confused me,” you say, flipping back a few pages.
“Ah, yes. The author of this book is perhaps a bit too concerned with the classification of spirits versus demons. He, at least, seems to understand that they’re two sides of the same coin, but…”
Somehow, Solas winds up lying next to you in bed for some time, reading along with you. He provides supplemental information, explains parts you don’t understand, even tells personal anecdotes about his experience with certain spirits. Forget the bed… this is heaven.
He’s quiet for a time as you read, and when you next glance over, you’re startled to find his leaning up against your stack of pillows, sound asleep. Again, you’re struck by just how deeply he sleeps. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d wonder if he were dead. You shift in bed and he rolls over onto his side towards you. An arm drapes over your legs and a blush begins crawling from your ears to your cheekbones. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re in a bed.
Carefully, so as not to wake him again, you slip out from his arm and the blankets both, crawling awkwardly off the bed. You take the candle from the nightstand over to the desk. There’s still no chance of sleep for you, and you certainly aren’t going to spend the night watching him sleep—although you probably could and be perfectly entertained by it. Instead, you do some last minute paperwork. Mostly, you’re figuring out just how much money you’ve spent, and on what, and how much more you can spend before you leave Val Royeaux. You also send out one more raven… probably your last, but one never knows. You work at the desk until your eyes grow heavy again. You rest your head on the desk, just for a few minutes… and sleep takes you yet again.