Solas glided through the deserted halls of Skyhold, seeking out the quiet calmness that could only be found in the rotunda in the early hours before dawn. Though he loathed to wake so early and squander precious moments out of the fade and away from Wisdom's counsel, he needed to be able to discreetly see to his duties as Fen'Harel within the waking realm-and sunrise was the most secluded hour he could work without interruption.
The fortress itself was still asleep at this time, there were no scouts bustling through the rookery, no curious minds perusing the texts found on the second floor of the library—no lurking Dorian hovering twenty feet above his head, tossing witty insults with books over the railing at him to attempt and instigate some of debate. Even the ravens perched at the highest level were at peace while their dreaming minds wandered elsewhere.
A small, frail beam of light drifted down from the east window on the third floor, illuminating a small section on Solas' desk as he crossed to it, highlighting a new addition left for him by one of his agents. Tucked inside the cover of an unassuming tome was a missive- intercepted before it reached the hands of Leliana, or so he thought. Solas skimmed the script found on the parchment and realized it did not belong to the Inquisition. Not when the script was written in Qunlat.
Qunlat meant the Qunari finally had established themselves within the Inquisition, aside from The Iron Bull of course. It was only a matter of time. Solas wondered if Bull was aware, or if he had any part in setting up the spies within Skyhold-a matter to resolve later on his own. But at this moment, this revelation was not surprising but it was mildly concerning. Solas made a mental note to have his agents root out his competition and infiltrate their ranks as well. He couldn't have Qunari spies stealing missives from him—or intercepting his own. And keeping the Qunari in the dark for as long as possible would ultimately be more beneficial for his end game, as well as the Inquisition's.
He opened the drawers in his desk and withdrew of set phoenix quills and container of ink. Dipping the tip of one of them into the glass jar, he began to translate the missive in Elvhen with an elegant scrawl that stood out beneath the harsh marks of the Qunlat.
His handwriting faltered as he jumped at the sound of the rotunda door clashing violently against stone, the sound ricocheting in an endless wave against the circular walls of the keep.
"Solas!" Dorian's voice cried out, "Solas, oh thank the Maker you're up!"
Solas immediately slammed the tome shut, hiding his half translated note between the pages of Brother Genitivi's research on the Fourth Blight-wet ink and all. He whipped around hastily to glare at Dorian, but his anger softened at the sight of his companion.
Dorian looked like he had been dragged through the pits of the void and spat out again. He was a disheveled mess from the tips of bed ridden hair down to his wrinkled night clothes he was still dressed in, not the mention the absolutely horrified look on his blanching face.
Solas immediately straightened and stood, taking a few steps towards Dorian and away from the contraband on his desk.
"I need your help, it is a matter of life and death! Oh don't look at me like that." Dorian exclaimed brushing limp strands of hair out of his tired eyes.
Solas continued his pointed stare.
"This is serious!"
"Allow to me guess. The Inquisitor has requested your presence on a trip to the Fallow Mire and you do not want to risk Vivienne's ire by waking her this early to ask her to take your place."
"Ha, no! As if Vivienne would go even if requested. I would have just asked Trevelyan to take you instead if that were the case. But that is beside the point!"
Solas rolled his eyes and made to turn away from Dorian but Dorian caught his elbow, pulling him back around.
"I'm being serious." His tone dropped low. "One of my dear friends in grave danger. She's fleeing Tevinter."
Solas scoffed.
"And why should I take an interest in this acquaintance of yours? Would you not ask someone who has more connections and political power to procure her safety, such as the Inquisitor? The two of you have become close, I can hardly imagine him denying you a favor."
Solas couldn't think of a logical reason as to why Dorian would turn to him, of all people. From an outsider's perspective, he was a humble (yet arrogant depending on who you asked) nomadic apostate with a penchant for knowledge. His interests were limited, and helping a Tevinter Noble run from her homeland was not among them.
Dorian ran his hands through his mussed hair, exasperatedly.
"He's leaving for Val Royeaux to settle some Templar related dispute this morning with his advisors and subsequent entourage. He wished for me to accompany him but I told him this was more important than impressing Orlesians."
"Ah. How commendable of you. But still, why seek out my assistance? Why should the affairs of this Tevinter woman concern me?"
"For starters, this woman is an elven slave-"
Solas stilled.
"-And an extremely valuable one at that. The Magister to which she belongs…belonged to will stop at nothing to bring her back to the Imperium. He sending a small army of slavers to catch her, and there is only so much running she can do alone against a force that size. She is afraid, in a foreign land, with no personal affects, no allies."
Solas felt a long forgotten flame ignite something within him, an ancient anger he had thought to have buried by guilt. It began to uncoil, small tendrils reaching every nerve ending in his spine with each word Dorian spoke.
This struggle was one he all too familiar with, and needless to say Dorian had his full attention.
"What makes her so valuable that a Magister would expend this many resources on one woman?" Solas inquired.
"She's a mage…"
Dorian paused, locking eyes with Solas whose widened in shock.
"And not just any mage…she's a somniari."