1.

It was… late. Solas wasn't sure of the exact time, but he rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. They were itchy and watery from reading for the past few hours and, as he stirred at his table, his muscles ached. He was reminded, again, that he certainly wasn't the elf he used to be. He stretched, standing, and picked up a few books from the table, intending to return them. His body needed to loosen from sitting from so long, and he was actually interested to see if anyone else was awake. With all of the research going on recently in the wake of the discovery of the Elder One's identity, it was entirely likely.

His feet made soft noises as he padded up the stone stairs, but he made no attempt to silence them further. He wouldn't wake anyone, and that was just about all he cared about at the moment. When he finally reached the top of the tower, he began the short walk around the way to the shelves where he kept the books for his research. He placed the books back in their place, one at a time, ears perked to any sort of noise from anyone else still awake.

It was a moment, but then he heard a page turn. Someone was awake, then, he mused to himself, and, despite himself, he was curious. He went to peer into the next alcove, and found Dorian almost in shadow of the stack of books on the table beside him, not to mention the ones on the floor. The other mage didn't even look up, or seem to notice that Solas was there at all, so Solas watched him for a moment or two, and then stepped in, picking up the top book from the stack.

Dorian visibly jumped, free hand gripping the arm of his chair and taking in a deep breath. "Andraste's ass, Solas," he cursed quietly, forcing himself to relax. "You can't just do that to a man."

"Apologies. You seemed to be enthralled and I didn't wish to disturb you," he replied in a quiet voice, looking down at the book in his hands, some history book on Denerim, before his eyes rose back to Dorian. "I didn't expect anyone else to be awake at this hour."

"I don't think anyone else is," Dorian replied, standing and snapping close the book he had been reading. "This library is terribly underwhelming. I can't find anything of use."

"What is it you are researching?" Solas wondered, turning to follow Dorian as he placed the book back a bit angrily onto the shelf.

"I was trying to find something, anything really, on Corypheus, or the magisters that supposedly went into the Black City so long ago. So far, I have recovered almost nothing, or rather, nothing I didn't already know." He sighed, turning and leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed but eyes on Solas. "I did read Varric's take on the whole matter with Corypheus in his book. He seemed to think he was dead. Done deal."

"Hearing the tale, its hard to believe that anyone would survive that," Solas agreed easily, his feet shifting a little, attempting to get comfortable. "But if he is truly a darkspawn—"

"He could transfer himself like an archdemon," Dorian finished, and Solas nodded an agreement. "Any of the wardens present could have been suspectible, including that mage that Hawke had brought along."

"Anders. It would explain his actions at the Chantry," Solas said, and Dorian waved his hand, as if to get the thought away from him.

"I doubt it, though. He would be too close to everyone, and considering his relationship with the Champion… its doubtful that she wouldn't notice a change." He smirked through a shiver. "Could you imagine? I… don't want to think about a darkspawn sharing a bed with the Champion of Kirkwall."

Solas laughed lightly, an easy smile over his lips. "Indeed. And seeing as he survived, I am sure he was smarter than to go that route. He certainly seems like it."

The Tevinter mage smiled softly, eyes on the elf. "I'm sure you didn't come here to talk about all of our worst nightmares," he said in a light tone. "Actually, I'm surprised you aren't sleeping."

"Like you, I was up doing research downstairs," he said in response, leaning against the bookshelf across from Dorian. "With the Inquisition's resources, I can finally read other's research without feeling like a thief. Maybe I'll finally write some of my own. Maybe."

"Do you intend to write of our adventures? I know I probably will, no matter how it ends," Dorian replied, arms uncrossing and falling, hands intertwined. "Well, obviously not if I die, but you get my point there, yes? I'm desperately trying not to."

Solas couldn't help a light laugh. "If something does happen, I'll visit you in the Fade, and I will write your story for you," he said, his voice light but sincere.

"A noble offer," Dorian said with one of his light and short laughs. "Hopefully I'll never have to take you up on it." He shifted a little, and silence fell over them, but it was far from uncomfortable. Their eyes met, and he cleared his throat a little, but didn't speak.

Slowly, Solas's ears began to turn pink at the tips, and he had to look away. His eyes fell to the stack of books on Dorian's table, and he returned to them. He was determined to not break the silence, but not make it any more awkward, either. He had a strong feeling that he was failing. His fingers fell along the spines of the books, pausing on a halfway destroyed copy of a history of Halamshiral. He was surprised to see it, actually, so he tugged it out, blowing the dust off of the cover.

"I asked Leliana about that one," Dorian said, moving from his place at the bookshelf to come closer, up on Solas's left side, head tilted as he looked at it. "She said that it was here before they started to assemble the library. I haven't had much chance to try to decipher it. You actually might have more of an aptitude for that than I."

"Possibly," the elf replied quietly, opening up the ripped cover with very gentle fingers. He could feel the history seeping out of the pages, and Dorian's eyes on him, half in eagerness to know what it contained, and half, it seemed, in an eagerness to be close to him. "I can work with it, maybe write a translation for your benefit?"

"I would appreciate that, actually. There might be something in there that could be useful, if nothing more than to confirm and validate other histories of the time," he said, and his fingers crept out softly, pressing the book closed again. Dorian was bold, but with Solas, he was careful, as always. Their skin barely touched. "Tomorrow, though, or rather, later today. I've never seen you look more exhausted."

Solas couldn't deny this, or how that touch only made him become redder. "Thank you," he said, in an absence of anything else to say, and as he looked up at Dorian, he saw that he was smirking, like he wanted to say something witty about the elf's clumsiness. Solas attempted to think of anything else to say. "In truth, I haven't been sleeping much, or very well lately, since we got here to Skyhold."

"Wasn't this place your idea?"

"True, and I have come here before, but it was different then. Empty of all but the spirits that I talked to in the Fade and saw in the memories. Now, its so loud. There are so many people, and their problems pile up, clouding the serenity and charging the air with their passion."

"Their… passion hmm?"

Solas clutched the book harder in his hand. "Passion… in many different forms," he confirmed.

"Its good to have passion, Solas," Dorian said, messing with a leather buckle at his shoulder. It seemed to be cutting into his skin. "But… I know what you mean. The world gone to shit and sleeping soundly never seem to go well together." He paused, eyes back up from his leather and onto Solas once again. "If you ever wish for company… perhaps it would help. I know it would help me."

Solas stared at him for a long few seconds, and finally blinked a few times. "I see. It is certainly something to consider." Dorian visibly deflated, and as he moved to take a step away and offer an apology, Solas spoke again. "I never thought about having a fellow mage, even one such as yourself, by my side as I slept. Would it help?"

"I doubt it would hurt," he replied, taking a slight step closer. "Unless, of course, you're into that sort of thing."

Solas chuckled warmly, shoulders swaying slightly as he looked up at him. "That depends; are you?"

A surprised laugh caused the elf to grin. "For you? I might just be," Dorian said, tugging softly at one of the elf's ears. "I think… we are delirious from lack of sleep. You can warm my bed tonight; saves me the trouble of finding someone for a hot water bottle."

"Is that the reason," came the amused response, "Dorian?"

"It certainly is a factor," he replied, hand on his cheek as he took a step back, towards the door, and then let it drop. Solas followed, still clutching at his book.