Another dreamless night, the third in a row, had been claimed by her roving thoughts. Leaving the Inquisitor to brood over them into the late hours till sheer exhaustion finally stole her away. It was early now; the unhindered sun had just begun to pierce through the tall, patterned glass windows of her elevated bedroom. If she hurried, though it meant leaving the agreeableness of her piled quilts and fur throws, there would plenty of time to sneak a quick, light breakfast of the cook's freshly made porridge. Then she might steal a few moments to tend to the herbs in the newly finished garden before the other members of Skyhold's society could disrupt the quiet harmony, leaving her to prune in peace.
"I should have kissed him." Chiyo decided, finally rolling out of the thickly blanketed comforts of her barely used bed. Even though spring had arrived to the Frostbacks the enlivening change in season did not take all of the chill out of the highly nestled keep. Not even the dense rug her toes curled in protest against could remove all of the icy bite from the stone and wood below.
Rubbing at her groggy, sleep-deprived eyes didn't make them feel any less sore. To call the slumber she'd been chasing evasive was too generous. Her query had become exceptionally rare as of late.
The smitten Inquisitor couldn't help but replay the tender ending to their chaotic evening in Orlais, over and over, hoping to find a better resolution. If only their brief interlude had concluded more amorously than an unfortunate disruption from Commander Cullen, stumbling out onto the secluded balcony in a vain attempt to evade unrequited Orlesian hospitalities. He was not in the mood for romance himself. At least it seemed, not from a triplicate of identically dressed ladies seeking his unreceptive affections. His timing couldn't have been worse however.
She'd been so close, leaning in when the dance had slowed to a contented sway. Solas hadn't immediately withdrawn from her touch, and that had been encouragement enough. Even though she'd been overjoyed by the warm hands that had sought her first and the pleasant smiles given, there was still a nibbling guilt that reprimanded her for wanting more from the habitually modest apostate. And for that, Chiyo would continue reserving her feelings as best she could. It would be horribly unkind of her to push Solas further than he felt comfortable, but the wait for his response was near torment.
The moment they had shared in the Fade seemed like it had happened ages ago. It was only the incredible heat behind his actions, scorched forever to her memory, which kept her from considering it a mere fantasy that he'd amusingly allowed her to believe real. Dreams did not pull you off balance and take your breath away. Nor did they did have pulses that pounded alongside your own or earnest bodies to collide against. He'd practically braced Chiyo to his thigh, pulling her off of her feet, denying her the right to run away from the first fleeting kiss she stole from him so unfairly. No one had ever grabbed her like that, pressing with such need and ardor, hungrily consuming everything within his grasp during the short-lived lapse in detachment.
Dreams did not right you in bed and leave you shaking, the sensations still clinging to your skin as you woke, making you question the concept of reality to what transpired in the Fade.
What would a real kiss be like in comparison, one that he couldn't wake her up from?
Chiyo stripped out of the long, heavy tunic she'd worn to bed and exchanged it for a favorable wooly-knit pullover, her preferred ward of the chilly mountain mornings. All of her prior possessions had been lost in the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and buying a few clothes had been the first thing on her list when she came into some coin. She did not want to remain in the disguise she'd worn to the Conclave and been imprisoned in. Though comfortable and suitable to her needs, the new garments did not compare to what she'd worn living in the wild. The array of colors and availability of fabrics was mind-boggling. Silks made to look like gold. Velvets crushed softer than fennec ears. At least the wools were reasonable, although she stayed far from the glaring brightness of the unsuitable oranges and pinks that seemed to be the most prized by humans.
Even if they had been custom made, the items did not have the same familiarity, lacking the appeal held by clothes crafted by the same hands that fed and protected the rest of the unified group. Every role in the clan worked in tandem with the others, all inseparable. The women who spun the yarn for knits also taught songs to the children. The youths in turn hummed the charming tunes as they played and helped whittle scrap bone or horn for buttons provided by the hunters. The men who tanned the leather and prepared the furs were furthermore stewards to the new halla calves, whose mothers provided milk for cheese and carried the aravels into new lands.
Wearing apparel made by the tight weave of your band and aiding in the fashioning of articles for your kin was an enormous honor. To give clothes was, essentially, to give life and acceptance. Without your clan, you were as good as naked in the woods. But now nothing of the Lavellan's remained on her person, besides the silvered rings that had been set into her ears and the red lines permanently drawn onto her cheeks. Those tiny vestiges did not leave the homesick elf feeling as secure as she hoped amongst her new peers.
The warning words of the hahren remained with Chiyo still. They'd been ingrained into all children since birth: a lone elf was a dead elf. Separation was certain death. You were safer with numbers on your side. Always travel in at least a pair, though three was better. The clan was there to shield and sustain its members; no one else would be that generous, not even other Dalish.
Keep your clan, keep your life. It was simple enough.
To go very far alone was foolish and would only be done by those who wished to become the Dread Wolf's next meal, and lost da'len were his favorite snack…
Drawing her drifting hand away from the tiny tooth of a totem about her neck, Chiyo shivered at the thought of the nonsensical stories that had spooked her as a child. She was much too old to concern herself with fanciful tales designed to keep willful youngsters out of trouble and to build their inner compasses. Not that she'd paid them any heed when she'd bolted into the thickets, away from the watch of her rascally cousins. Though considering the trouble the harrowing incident had brought her, perhaps she should have listened to her elders all those years ago. One ill-fortuned trip through the woods began the series of events that had led her to spying on the Conclave for the Lavellans. Maybe it would have been better if she'd simply ended up in the maws of a monster instead. Then someone else could have worried themselves with closing holes in the sky and stopping a madman from becoming a god.
At least something good might come of it all. There was another lone elf teetering at her side, if only she could convince him to stay.
Chiyo fetched her abandoned breeches from the foot of her bed. She slid them high over her hips, tying the laces as she ambled forward, eyeing the now infamous, borrowed coat that had granted her decency in Halamshiral. It had remained folded on her desk for days, a pleasant memento to an evening that hadn't gone quite as planned. She had half-hoped that Solas might have come for it eventually, but it seemed she would have to do the returning. The Inquisitor refused to wait endlessly, to hang on every creak on the stair with baited breath in expectation of a fancied whim being granted. No one had come up to Chiyo's room since she'd returned from the Winter Palace, and she suspected that company would not be inviting themselves anytime soon.
The Inquisitor enjoyed the location of her quarters for the reprieve it gave when the world seemed too weighty and fragmented. But the rare peace was paid for with loneliness. Few dared make the trip up the broken stairs and through the dusty scaffolding to visit her besides the tender spirit, Cole. She had discovered him a few times wandering about the generous space, tracing his fingers over the lead latticed windows or rearranging her desk of trinkets. Often remarking in his cryptic speech on why she had kept the useless clutter collected over her exciting journeys around the Southern half of Thedas. Those visits were entirely unpredictable, yet each came with a strange curiosity entailed. The hour never mattered, when Cole came to her room, he always had something unsettling to say.
Once, after finding him perched on the flat back of her lounging sofa, she had shuddered with his soul-seeing exactitude when he had gently slipped a tarnished silver bracelet onto her wrist. His idle musings reflected long dead wishes from her past.
"Just one, but there are so many. I would have kept it safe for her, but… I cannot find them anywhere. Their eyes go empty when I ask; the face is almost gone now too."
Chiyo had told him that she didn't dwell on such memories anymore, that she no longer yearned after her mother's lost jewelry as she had during her rootless childhood. In her wistful youth, she may have found comfort in having anything that belonged to her absent parent, but she had grown beyond the notion now. A bangle would not erase the pain of neglect, the value of its metals would not have soothed the sting of relinquishment, and it could not supplant the rearing that had to be performed by a host of others in her place. She did not need anything from the woman who didn't want her, whose absence had forced her away from the remainder of her blood-kin.
She would find a new family eventually, with enough time and effort. If anyone would have her long enough. The Lavellans had almost been enough, but...
Laying the formal black coat over her arm, Chiyo fiddled with a few delightful items on her bureau. She debated for a moment on the matter of appropriateness before settling on a glossy red feather she'd acquired while exploring the wet coastlands to the North. She brushed the smooth edge across her lip, enjoying the tactile pleasure before slipping it into a pocket of the dark garment. A small gift. A tiny wish. A mere sliver of affection. Certainly her fondness hadn't gone unnoticed or been ill-received, it was impossible not to note the flickers of happiness he permitted himself when she tried again and again to reach out. However, seeing very far behind the careful mask Solas always wore was anything but easy. He was protecting himself, unquestionably. Yet she would not give up until he understood that he could be at ease and feel as safe as she did in his company.
"Maybe he wanted to kiss me too… It was such a lovely dance." She mused before descending the long, twisting stair, finally ready to greet the day head on. The Inquisitor crossed the practically empty hall, void of all but the earliest risers and stopped at the door that would open up the ground floor of the rotunda. Pausing, she fiddled with the intended delivery, smoothing the unfolded collar and lapels. Perhaps she would discover him absent, or even in the rare occurrence of finding him asleep on the wide sofa, lost in the Fade. It had only happened once before, but Chiyo treasured the memory of the pleasing gentleness that had taken over his customarily reticent demeanor. More at home with spirits and distant histories than he was with the living beings that surrounded him, Solas was most comfortable where many were at least wary if not completely terrified. Her silent feet had spared her the embarrassment of waking him that time, allowing Chiyo to step near enough as she dared. However, she'd never considered herself terribly lucky and knew that in all likelihood she would never be granted such an opportunity again.
Chiyo began to reach for the round handle, braced and ready for whatever she may happen to find.
"Inquisitor?"
Startled, heart jumping high in her throat, she spun on her heels to find a tired looking apostate holding a steaming cup on a small plate.
"Did you need something?" Solas inquired, observing her curiously over the dark bags that hung below his searching eyes. Flicking to the garment in her hands, his attentions wavered as he stifled a lethargic yawn.
"And I thought I was quiet." She exhaled the short panic, trading it for bashfulness as she remembered her intended purpose. Chiyo lifted the formal coat that had brought her to his door. "I just wanted to drop this by before Vivienne gets her hands on it to deconstruct. She kept asking me about the assembly of the seams yesterday. I guess several young ladies are requesting new designs from her, they think the costume change was intended… Perhaps we will be seeing an uprising of women in coats and trousers at the next ball."
"Madame de Fer must be exceptionally proud." Solas opened the door for her, balancing his tea on its saucer with great care. "But since you are present, would you talk with me a moment?"
Chiyo followed him into the rotunda, looking to the walls as she entered. She could smell the fresh paint and plaster. It appeared that he had found sudden inspiration during the evening as the makings of his latest installment now occupied another space. He'd chosen a lovely shade of blue to fill in the extended figure of Empress Celene. It was by far the brightest looking image, with the others mostly referring to moments of destruction or violent change, but there was still a good deal of room for expansion on the massive fresco. Room enough for more pleasant events were any to follow.
She placed the coat on the back of the chair at his desk, still staring at the unfinished outlines and swathes of colors in quiet awe. "Looks like you spent as much time sleeping last night as I did."
Solas glanced at the new painting as he attempted to sip the potent tea he'd made. It was a good start, but still too rough in places. The detailing alone would take a full week, yet the hours spent would be a worthy investment for the final image he had in mind. Too many years had passed since the last time he had an ample enough canvas to work on. He'd done little more than to refresh and preserve the ancient works of the artists now long dead that were scattered around Thedas. This fresco in the round would be one of his most grand works yet, in this age at least.
The Inquisitor turned from her absorbed viewing in time to see him wrinkle his nose with a sour grimace, earning him a prompt teasing. "What's this, a change of heart? Can it be that my ingredient suggestions still don't meet your palate? A little ginger or rose hip would do you good, Solas."
"I need it effects; normally I do not enjoy how it keeps me awake. But this morning I need to shake the dreams from my mind." He set the partially empty cup aside, the idea that anything could alter the bitter taste and the sharp tang of the steeped leaves that curdled on the back of his tongue was beyond him. There was more to discuss this morning however than the art of brewing tea. "I may also need a favor."
"You only have to ask." Chiyo did not hesitate and the playfulness that customarily colored her speech evaporated; the worried solemnity in his voice alone had her immediately on edge.
"One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept." Solas began with increasing insistence. He shifted on his feet, gripping the edge of the desk that stood between them. The urge to act and move returned. But he had no patience to productively release and focus his flared energies onto his artwork now as he had when he'd first awoken, the new vision still burning in his mind. The dream had been so desperate and jarring, drawing Solas across the Fade in nauseating jumps in order to show him what was happening and how the merciless act was being performed. He had witnessed flagrant cruelty, an appalling binding ritual that went beyond the simple measures of abuse, but he was powerless to aid the gentle being who begged for assistance.
"Your friend," Chiyo's head tilted as she asked, watching him subtly change and grow tense as he stared into the steaming cup he'd set aside. It would take more than tea to settle his nerves; she could nearly feel the knots that had twisted into his bowed neck and shoulders. Solas had never mentioned any of his former companions, there must have been precious few found over the course of his travels. "He… she?"
"It." Solas corrected, continuing without guise or concealment. He released the desk and took to an unhurried pace although his agitation was not so easily soothed. "My friend is a spirit of wisdom who was quite happy to remain in the simplicity of the Fade, unlike most spirits—clamoring to enter this world by the draw of our emotions and magic."
"If your friend didn't wish to come here then how did it get across? You don't mean to tell me…" Her voice faded as the peculiar implications fell into place. Chiyo quickly realized the more sinister dilemma surrounding what the troubled mage was trying to get across. Only in recent months had she been able to study magical theory and various practices essentially unknown to her clan. Keeper Deshanna had been knowledgeable and wise, but there were still limits to what resources the woman had available to teach with. The main one being time; years of catching up had to be managed before more advanced applications could be learned. And the Lavellans newer First was still young, with a decade more of guidance and training ahead before it was expected of her to take over for the aging leader. Chiyo hungrily clamored for every volume she could get her hands on for more than mere personal improvement, but for practicality as well. She would not waste her time in the Inquisition and planned on returning to the clan better than she had left it.
She had also perused multiple texts in relevance to spirits and demons in hopes of gleaning more about them. Considering the vast amount of time she was spending in the presence of both passive creatures like Cole and the more malignant entities that came from the rifts, it had become dire necessity to learn as much as she could about them. The books had been relatively neutral on the matter. But some texts and in speaking with Solas, or the renowned enchanter Vivienne, had given her plenty of warning against attempting a summoning of either kind. Though there were mages who wouldn't think twice about calling a spirit for aid or to do their bidding. She could not imagine the desperation or insanity of those who would attempt such a ritual, especially during the trying times as they already were. There were demons aplenty, what good would materializing more bring?
"It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to regain its freedom and return to the Fade." The Inquisitor could hear the quiet anger swell deeply underneath his words. It was a worryingly rare mood to find him in, not when clean logic and reserve were such staunch positions Solas always fastened himself to. But the mage was not made of the ice and stone he so often pretended to be. He could be pushed, the matter only remained to how far and what ends. "My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting on it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you in a dream, but it had no wish to come here physically."
"Why do the mages want your friend so badly that they would summon it? Is this a very powerful spirit?" To Chiyo, this friend sounded much the kindred soul to the Fade wanderer before her. It was no surprise that Solas would be so stirred and protective over something that shared his deepest passions.
"No, not in the way that you would consider powerful, through might or influence. It is unique however, an exceptionally inquisitive glimmer in the darkness. But all spirits are susceptible to corruption, especially the bright ones. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. There is the possibility that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it until it satisfies that desire." Solas stopped his riled wandering, gathering himself with a long breath through his nose before he turned to face the staring Inquisitor.
"Will you aid me?" He looked to Chiyo, his eyes filled with urgency and awaiting her reaction. He'd already settled upon his resolve and was determined to go to the spirit's rescue. With or without her was all that remained to be decided. Solas could not sit idly by as one of his dearest friends suffered so greatly by careless hands and self-seeking hearts.
"Just tell me what to do. I will support you any way I can." There was no need to make up her mind. The typically self-sufficient mage would not ask for anything whatsoever without utmost necessity, and he'd never requested anything before. And here he was now, as near to being vulnerable and trusting as she'd ever seen him. Chiyo was already choosing to help. A growing firmness took to her features that she hoped would assure Solas that her resolve would not waiver once given.
"Thank you," Relief washed over him as she spoke, melting the strain behind his brow and the worry within his eyes. "I got a sense of my friend's location before I awoke. We must ready ourselves for the Exalted Plains. I'm afraid this is going to be another hard journey through a very troubled land."
If the Inquisitor could describe the Dales with only a single word it would be—nightmare. Death and turbulence permeated the air, drenched deep into the earth and poisoned the hearts of all who dared dwell there. Cole seemed utterly beside himself, surrounded by ceaseless calls of pain and suffering. Each night that they made camp he would stare out into the desolate land from whatever perch he could find and listen as the waves of pain flowed endlessly about him. His harried whispering flitted from soul to distant soul, broken and disjointed, while tugging at long strands of his pale hair till the wee morning hours when he would grow quiet once more with the console of his new allies.
Dorian had also been struck low. He was no stranger to death and the manipulation of those who had passed on, but the undead hordes laying such waste had exhausted his normally jovial mood. No complaints came from him as they shared their simple meals and camped as sparsely as possible, choosing speed long before comfort. Chiyo would have spared her dearest friends, but their talents could not be overlooked. Their knowledge and individual backgrounds, respectively as spirit and practiced mage, were invaluable to the mission at hand. Though none but Solas had any inkling as to what lay in store and even he could only say little of the trouble ahead.
She wished however that their brief encounter by the river with the traveling band of Dalish they'd crossed paths with several days prior had been more amiable. Though she was now accustomed to being somewhat of a pariah in their eyes thanks to the title given to her, the short dealings with the surly group had been a stark reminder of how far displaced she had become. Not that her standing had always been well faceted and amiably received. Even her entry into the Lavellans had not come without a few cold shoulders and snide remarks. She'd been the strange child who had walked away from a fraught, Keeper-less set that had no use for her untamed magic. Chiyo had spent years as an outsider inside of a clan that most would consider to be highly progressive and socially forward for her kind. It had not been till she had established herself by becoming the next First, after the disastrous loss of Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel's original apprentice, did she truly feel like part of the group. But even that had come with discord; there had been a few who'd adamantly disagreed with the Keeper's choice, asking for one of their own blood to be selected instead of the adopted mage.
She had long believed her presence the catalyst, in part at least, for both her birth clan and the Lavellans' internal unrest and civil disagreement. Life had seemed peaceful enough for both until she arrived with the trouble that was never far behind. Even if she was accepted by most, it did not always mean she was entirely welcome by all.
The Inquisitor had long ago accepted her role in elven society—she didn't naturally have one. Just as the travelers of the Dales they were trying to help kept her at length and observed her with suspicion, so had her mother's small clan after she proved her magical talents. The Lavellan's had at least given her the opportunity to learn and become useful in her own right. Keeper Hawen's skepticism had been expected; she was now the widely proclaimed Herald of a Maker the elves did not believe in. Far from her namesake tribe and surrounded by strange humans, nearly doing work in the name of their oppressively misguided religion. What worse insult and distrust could she tally against herself as far as her own people were concerned. But young, plucky Loranil's freely given offer to recruit himself had taken her by surprise. Telling him no had been out of the question, however convincing his clan to relinquish him would take time they could not currently spare on enlistment.
Solas' earnestness prevented them from lingering too long and his distress had only grown as the spirit's calling to him each night grew faint and fragile. And then stopped altogether. Helplessness did not sit well with the ruminating apostate; it left room for anger to seep in, to augment his rationale and Solas could afford neither decline of his facilities. The fate of such a priceless voice of reason was too precarious to become lost in the wanton emotion that threatened to overtake his mind. It was silently consuming him along with the guilt of being unable to have done something sooner or to have prevented the matter entirely. He'd turned viscously inward on himself and spent much of their travels walking far ahead, beyond the convivial conjecture of Dorian and the probing helpfulness of Cole, seldom speaking unless pressed.
Yet, there was another voice that could beckon him back from his despondency, when she could get near.
Chiyo had just returned from a short jaunt to fetch more wood, but his mind had been too distant to take much notice. It wasn't until she spoke, drawing him from his trance on the dying firelight that the dejected mage realized she'd returned at all. The Inquisitor cocked her head towards his un-stretched bedroll, dismissing him from the assigned task he'd only half-heartedly been performing. "I'll take watch. Go get some rest."
"I don't believe I could sleep, it would be a fruitless effort." They were getting close; Solas recognized more and more of the area, but searching in the dark could only yield scarce results. No further guidance came from Wisdom and he fast feared the worst had already come to pass. Dawn would arrive in a few agitated hours, and he hoped it would shed enough light towards the peril they sought. He'd already lost so many. Nearly all those that had known him before the creation of the Veil were long gone. If he were to lose this tender spirit there would be none left who'd borne witness to everything he'd done, none that would recognize his true designation. Solas would be as alone in the Fade as he was in this age. Surrounded by strangers who called him by a name given in a punishment he'd inflicted upon himself, so that each time it was uttered he would be reminded of his failings.
He watched disinterestedly as she added another log to the fire before settling down on the ground, her back to the rocky bluffs and eyes to the silent landscape. All seemed calm for the first time since their arrival. Destroying the hellish pits within the rancorous ramparts had been an exhausting but worthwhile mission. They had seen few abominations rise again after setting the cleansing blaze, but they would still keep an eye open just to be sure.
"Your friend must be very important to you. Have you known them long?" She asked, helping herself to a few shreds of dried, leathery fruit that Solas had declined when Chiyo had wordlessly offered it to him.
"A very long time indeed," Solas absently watched the flames lick their way across the fresh wood, devouring it greedily, but he could barely feel the heat catching him through the crisp night air. "For almost as long as I care to remember. They were one of the first spirits I found in the Fade and the truest of friends. I have received more guidance from this gentle creature than any other."
Chiyo chewed the tough, slightly sweet slivers as she thought of anything she might say to alleviate his troubles, what furtherance she could possibly extend to the apostate that suffered just out of her reach. She wanted very much to keep him talking, to ease his mind as he had done for her on so many occasions, yet the Inquisitor doubted that there were any balms for the hurts he kept well hidden from view. "You don't say much, Solas, about your past. Is it too painful to mention?"
"You might say that. I chose to leave many things behind to pursue my studies. Whether it hurt or continues to hurt is irrelevant now, there is no altering what has already passed." Solas was on the verge of curtness, allowing his old pain to serve as a cheap wall. Yet he was nearly startled and taken aback by a singular, breaking laugh from the mage who had only offered him a kindness he'd been too swift to reject.
"Sounds like my attitude when I entered the apprenticeship. Don't tell me it was your snot-nosed cousins who drove you into the Fade." Chiyo fell into a short hush interrupted only by the soft crackling of wood and the rustling of the wind through the desolated plains. Her thoughts wandered over the discomforts of her past, of her own relatively removed existence from the people she claimed as hers. Elves that weren't as quick to return the sentiment. She'd always managed through, refusing to let the misgivings drive her away or turn sour, but their full acceptance would have gone a long way towards making her feel like one of them instead of being there by mere chance and circumstance. How much deeper were the wounds he would never show to her own, what pains had bought his silence? Perhaps if she could be brave enough to expose the suffering incurred, it would encourage Solas to feel secure and trusted enough to do the same.
"About what was said, during that night in the Hinterlands..."
Solas' blood ran immediately cold. His heart clenched deep within his chest, each strained beat knocking hard against his ribs. It couldn't be that she had solved his little riddle and unraveled his history all on her own. He'd been so careful, so very careful besides the dark evening he'd believed she might not have lived through, let alone remembered by the blessed morning that followed. He began to mutely panic, scrambling for an excuse that would buy him even just a little more time. That he'd made the whole thing up to entertain her with, that it was an old tale told to children in an age long forgotten, or that the poison had addled her mind and he'd told her no such story. What web could he weave to conceal himself once more, and if he could not prevent the revelation… how would he justify running away at the most ominous of times?
"It's bothered me for a while now, but I thought you might help me understand—"
His mind whirled; he could barely hear her words over his own escalating dread. If he could deny it long enough to escape, maybe there was still a chance to disappear again before word reached the Inquisition. From here it would take days even for a swift crow to make its way back to the Keep and any dispatching would take twice as long to reach where they were now. He could be halfway to the Nahashin marshes by then if he wanted a convenient, concealing location to lay low in.
"Something always felt a little off, no matter how I tried to explain it away."
He might head west, just as he had always planned to do. It would be easier now that they had traveled so far. Though diverting to the south would be harder, it would serve to shake any following pursuit through the wild, uncharted territories. Who would be able to track him through the Deauvin Flats, and into the ancient woods where he could slip into an underground ruin. There he could watch from the safety of the Fade. It would be weeks before anyone could find a trail and Solas knew quite well how to leave few traces if he wasn't overly rushed.
"—I guess I've just been explaining it away for so long. Convinced it wasn't true. It wasn't until you helped me realize that—"
Lie to her, lie to her, lie to her!- Solas quickly cleared his constricted throat, interrupting the woman he'd only half been listening to. "I can explain."
"Explain what? You can tell me why I lied about feeling magic for the first time?" Chiyo looked rather flummoxed, turning her questioning gaze towards the jumpy man who seemed more ready to bolt into the night than share any buried pieces of himself. She'd only just barely finished mentioning how as a small child there had been secreted attempts to cast spells that had resulted in nothing but frustration, how she had felt the natural urge yet was hopelessly numb to her own connection to the Fade.
Her story. Chiyo wasn't discussing his tale at all. He was still safe, for the time being. Solas felt the smoky air return to his lungs as he skillfully transitioned into his own considerations, evasive still, but far easier to manage than his own truth. Though he kept his original suspicions of blood magic to himself, he presented the confused Inquisitor with several just as viable options to consider. Perhaps she had frightened herself with magic at too young an age, mentally blocking future attempts until the need was grave. Or she could have just been a slow bloomer in a clan who had lost too much of its power to provide her with the correct development.
But as Solas spoke in the groomed, assuring tone he often fell back to, he observed as Chiyo closed in around herself. Pulling her knees towards her chest, she hid her crumpled face against a drooping shoulder.
"We weren't always so deficient. My mother was Keeper before... before..." She would not finish the thought. There were no acceptable excuses that could be given for what she had done to not only her child but to her familial clan. "If her apprentice had completed more training, then I might've stayed."
An old wound still tenderly hidden behind the bright smiles. A deep crack dwelled underneath a heart of gold. Solas remembered sharply that he was not the only one isolated to a state of misery remaining from a past that could not be removed or left behind. He had been at fault for failing to see the gracious tie she'd extended to him, trying to pull him up from the self-centered melancholy he negated to leave. His eyes settled on the ash and embers that had formed around the waning fire, but he hoped his paltry attempt would not reach her too chilled. "I'm sorry that she was unable to see the person you grew up to be."
"I should be the one apologizing. Here I am, trying to help you feel better and all I can do is make things about myself." The Inquisitor exhaled tiredly, long and low across her downturned mouth, before rising to excuse herself for bed. "For as many times as I have had to uproot though, I have always found friends. I feel so surrounded by them now, by good friends, great ones even. But when I look at you... I see someone who needs to have that more than I ever did."
"I would not spend an excess of your time on me," Solas tightly pressed his hands between his knees; the urge to reach out to her as she passed by, to stave his need for companionship was immense. Near unbearable. His arms had not forgotten the comforts he'd found when she'd last been in them, but there was no call to excuse the unfounded need to touch her again, not even once. The Inquisitor had already offered more than he dared accept by simply accompanying him through the war torn countryside in search of his last friend. Certainly the weight of his heart would be too much for her to carry atop her own burdens. He would not punish her with it for her freely given affections. Solas remained still, unable to give in even for a moment. "I have grown used to my conditions."
She paused behind him, feeling for the voice she wanted to try across the uncertain tongue that was currently being chewed. One more attempt, and then she would let him be. Her fingers gently impressed upon his stiff shoulder, smoothing over the travel-fatigued muscles beneath the thin coat and lingering near the base of his covered neck.
Solas felt the congenial warmth of her featherlike breath brush his against temple as she leaned in, drawing near enough to be grasped if he would but release his hands. His eyes closed languidly at the bliss that came next. Sending a delightful tingle over the bare, unmark skin of his head, a pair of sympathetic lips singularly pressed just above the tip of his pointed ear and the words that followed swelled every yearning corner of his starved heart with the elation they instilled.
"You will never be a waste to me, Solas. Don't be afraid to leave behind what no longer suits you."
Don't smile. Ask her to stay. Don't think. Tell her everything. Don't move. Just this once. Don't dare!
"Thank you, Inquisitor. I will remember that."