Every morning, no matter which country's border she'd crossed or time zone entered, Chiyo had gone through much the same routine without exception.
Roll out of a bed or a cot within an hour of sunrise. Spend upwards of a solid minute doing nothing more than stare blankly in any given direction. Push the untamed demon that was waved white hair off her face. Threaten to crop it off entirely, stylish trends be damned. Find the nearest sink to wash. Wrangle her appearance into being just presentable enough to forage for an easy breakfast. And it always had to have that one special, rejuvenating cup of tea. Only then would she be transformed from surly beast to polite person, as cruel a curse as any to befall a young lady.
For this daily juncture, she was at all times alone, unsuited to be in the presence of more civilized folk. Not even her family would come within speaking range, a lesson learned from a series of endless abrasive dawns.
This morning, however, was much different from the standard she'd kept the last several years.
Her mouth opened first with a yawn, dry tongue trapped behind her teeth pried free from the sticky, sour residue left by liquor and a lack of pre-sleep dental hygiene. The initial shift of her stiff legs sent a large book toppling from her lap to thud against the carpet, another motion, and a heavy bottle dropped to roll across the floor. The noise awoke a terrible pounding in her head, a mallet's echo within her skull. Before Chiyo could even open her eyes she began to suffer the pains of her strange evening.
Somewhere in the dissipating fog around her memory, she recalled a second—or maybe it was a third— sequence of drinks passed about to soothe the exhaustive efforts of extended speech that came with the recounting of elaborate tales. There'd been the wine of course… and something cold, with ginger? The half-dressed host himself had gone for ice, yammering about never having it chipped just the way he liked.
Chiyo shaded her face from the encroaching sunlight as she tried to sit up straight, having spent the night crammed into the high-backed and angular corner of the sofa. Uncomfortable weight had her all but pinned to the spot. Snuggly nestled with a warmth that came from nearby flesh, actualized dread forced her sore eyes to part and peer upon the encumbrance leaning into her side.
Snoring softly, his sleepy breath ruffled a few stray hairs from the form of his mustache, Dorian didn't so much as flinch when the woman beside him clapped her hand over her mouth to stop an indecorous screech.
With the timidity and care of unseating a dragon's egg from its fire-flanked nest, Chiyo inched her way out of the human-shaped trap. Floppy arms had to be lifted and set aside, pillows wedged in, his head cradled just so. With a cautious twist, the last of her came loose. Dorian slumped to fill in the opened space and continued his uninterrupted slumber atop the outer-coat she'd sloughed off in the night.
On tiptoe, she slunk out of the bedroom, stepping delicately around abandoned glasses tinted with their former contents. Books lay open on their spines and in precarious stacks. Maps fanned out, crisscrossed with pictures and documents. But the room was void of one other occupant with no telling as to when he'd forsaken her to such a distressing fate.
The door was left ajar less than a handbreadth. She grimaced as the brassy hinges threatened to squeak ever so slightly, any noise deemed to be an alarm to her escape. After an eternity it was just wide enough to slip through. Hair-trigger tensed reflexes managed to pull the door shut again without a sound, only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.
But the drop in defenses only made her nervous once more.
With a snap, she spun around and inspected the hall. No sarcasm laced comments awaited. No Solas poised to scare her this time. That spook of a man had already created a rather flustering habit for himself. However, this morning, he was nowhere to be seen.
Now, to locate her shoes and retrieve the recorder. Then she could get out of here before anything in addition happened. Maybe it wasn't too late to go back and teach Common if this was the direction her career was taking. Grading papers would certainly have fewer surprises. Probably paid better too.
In her quick crawl through the manor, her luck seemed to change for the better. She found a lavatory that was almost too nice to use. Black marble on every surface and mercury glass throughout, a claw-footed tub big with room plenty for a quartet of bathers. The toilette alone looked to be worth more than her miserable salary, bonuses included.
Her hair, teeth, and attire might be unsalvageable, but at least she wasn't going to piddle on an imported rug or the trolley stop.
A prim maid on the first floor refused to answer in any language or play pantomime as Chiyo pointed to her bare feet. The woman's march continued, nose nearly turned up at the sight of a small elf in her less-than-immaculate night clothes, a loaded laundry basket more important than the lost vagrant. Were staff members always this rude, or was she truly so out of place to deserve scorn?
There had to be someone here who would talk to her. She picked the direction the maid had come from. Where was that butler now when she needed him, he'd stashed her belongings after all. Down the side hall she went in a stomp, her mind focused with determination no matter how peculiarly unbefitting she seemed. Empty room after empty room, the ache in her head only mounted with her frustration.
Finally, at the end of the corridor, the very last set of swinging double doors appeared to have some kind of life contained behind them with the gentle clink of dishes and a shadow's crossing of the light that leaked out onto the polished floor. Chest puffed, hand extended, she approached the entrance and gave it a swift push.
"I want my shoes!" Chiyo demanded of the unknown occupant, but the moment the words left her lips she wished them pulled back in.
"…Good morning to you too." Solas turned to look over his shoulder from his placid lean against the counter, a rare gap amid the myriad of copper pots and tableware in a cookery that likely dwarfed her entire rented living space. Golden marmalade dripped from the piece of dark bread that hadn't quite made it to his mouth. "Quarter till eleven if you hadn't noticed. Certainly a late start. There won't be much daylight left by the time we get there."
Her brow slowly pulled together in confusion, she glanced to either side of herself before drawing together a doubtful response. He wasn't speaking to anyone else by mistake unless they were invisible.
"When we get where?"
"The lakes near Carastes. The inspection of the gravesites," Solas picked up a small plate from a tidy stack and added to it another slice of the grainy loaf he'd just begun to tuck into. With precision, he set the simple offering just out of her reach. "You wanted to examine the tombs where humans have been historically buried over native elves. Does none of this sound familiar?"
More allured by the warming kettle than the soft bread, Chiyo sidled a few steps forward, tempted also by the bowl of bright butter. He could keep the sweet jam, her stomach turned at the thought of introducing anything so sugary. "To me, yes, but I don't remember inviting… anyone else… along..."
And then it dawned just as she took to sit on a simple stool. Her backup plan, in case the lead in Qarinus proved wrong. She'd divulged the rest of her trip to two anomalous men in the middle of the night. The maps, the books, they'd decided the local the next treasure trove of encounters with the spectral and arcane.
"I'm never going to drink ever again." Chiyo groaned, head in her hands. A little porcelain teacup came to rest beside her untouched plate. Steamy water followed suit, and a tiny metal ball packed with dried leaves clinked as it was dropped in. Her magic brew waited, but she wasn't quite ready to become a person just yet.
"You fared better than most that come to his parties." Solas turned back to his modest breakfast, licking the citrus preserve from his fingers as he went. "I've witnessed more than one person ride upon the stuffed wyvern he keeps in the salon after a few of cocktails. Last night was the celebration of discovery, much less a humiliating matter. Call it a communal melding of likened minds believed to be on the brink of changing history."
"You know," Chiyo cradled the piping hot cup and blew it gently before taking her first sip. "The more you talk the less I seem to like you. Everything sounds to be an insult just waiting to be tripped over."
"Oh?" There was that little chuckle of his, reserved and reined in, it only served to infuriate Chiyo more as his tone changed with a subtly that left her skin tingling.
"I didn't realize you liked me at all. Curious indeed, for a writer you aren't particularly careful with words, are you?"
It didn't start in her cheeks, but a flush from chest to forehead rivaled the temperature of the aromatic tea.
"Let me collect your things then, if you desire so to be on your way." Her head turned only soon enough to catch a flickered smirk as he left the kitchen.
Mythal guide her, if she blushed one more time trying to get this interview completed she'd go back to Orlesian tabloids, no, even worse. Back to correcting commas in business adverts.
It's not too late, you know. This is an adventure, running away now will lead to regrets later. They could be murderers, this could be a ploy. No, you've been reading too many crime serials on the road. You've never teamed up with anyone before; they'll affect your interpretation of the facts. This is different. This is dangerous!
The self-talk wasn't helping, yet there she was, hoisting her rucksack high above her head and shoving it into the small cubby above the narrow booth of musty seats. Counsel and rebuttal, but this time her logic wasn't winning over what instinct insisted.
A whistle blew, warning all the passengers of the old train that their departure was imminent and that the engine was primed. While in motion, the massive reactors were safe, cooled continuously by the rush of air. The latest lines were equipped with more efficient coolants, emissions completely contained inside the hull. But in older models like the rachitic relics serving the Tevinter coast and other declined areas, the pent up exhaust posed hazard to any unfortunate enough to be near one of the many vents. Any moment now, they'd have to leave, no passenger too important to risk a cracked container or full-blown eruption.
Yet even late as she was, having spent most of the afternoon debating and spurning herself, packing and unpacking in a vicious cycle of doubt, Chiyo's erroneously invited companions still hadn't shown. The note slipped into her coat pocket had been clear. This train, at such and such time, and that there'd be a ticket paid in her name ready if she were serious about the investigation.
Second whistle, pertinently shrill and joined by the call of a crewman. Maybe they'd changed their minds, believing her to be the Dalish savage from the south. Ready to exact revenge for generations of exploitation and domination, she'd sacrifice them both to appease her wrathful gods. That one made her snort aloud, earning a sharp side-eye from a wrinkled passenger across the aisle.
Maybe he was just like everyone else she'd met here. Kindness that only reached the level of indifference, civility as culture demanded, but internally wishing she were simply someplace else, being someone else's problem.
Perhaps he'd only set this whole trip up to shake her and her insolent questions…
Wouldn't be the first time someone had purposely gotten rid of her. Or the second, for the matter.
Plopping into the seat by the window, the one without an ugly, dark stain splashed across the worn velvet headrest, Chiyo made one last check of her satchel: various snacks, traveling papers, chewed up, stubby pencils, spare lyrium batteries stored prudently in a case, a bottle of bear repellent her cousin had given her that was getting so shabby-looking that the instructions had become illegible. Thumbing the lid, she wondered its potency against people—in a dire emergency of course—they'd proven more frightening over the years than most animals.
Maybe she was going to Carastes by herself after all. But instead of liberation or happiness, an unaccustomed sense of disappointment began to dampen her mood. Great undertakings were rare and far between, what were they really if experienced alone?
A discontented sigh leaked through her lips as the train gave its first lurch forward, the glass in the window rattled against the elbow she'd propped there. So much for what could have been.
It's for the better. If you say so…
Another piece of luggage slid into place above her head. Great, let it be a woman with a squalling infant or gassy dog, then her misery would be complete. "Room for one more?"
Chiyo pulled back her legs from their sprawl across the gap. "Yeah, sure—"
But registry came second as the sound of a familiar voice stole her gaze from its broody hold on her tote and reaffixed it upon the quiet interrupter.
A lone bald elf stood in the center walkway, bearing an almost identical look of disbelief until a heavy suitcase came close to striking him as it was swung by an undiligent traveler. Good, it wasn't just her then. Pointed ears still must be unfashionable as ever here.
"You're late." She couldn't feign much irritability amid a rush of newly sprung joy.
Solas brushed the near threadbare trousers he wore before sitting down. "I had to pick up a new lens for my camera, but I'm glad to have something to test it on so soon. I must admit, I wasn't certain I'd see you again."
"Not the only one who can manage a surprise, I'd hate to be predictable." Once again Chiyo's tone slipped its leash. Maybe she'd be wiser to use the bear mace on herself before another fool-hearted word reared its head. Shocked by her own response, she quickly altered the course of her conversation. "But where's Dorian? I thought he was more excited about this trip than either of us."
Taking to the space beside her, Solas also avoided the unwelcomely discolored opposite seat. "Ser Pavus does not believe in public transport. It makes him rather ill."
"Of course it does…" It took every ounce of willpower not to roll her eyes but none remained to contain a smug little smirk. "I guess we'll have to travel deprived of his wit and ceaseless charm. However will we fill in the time?"
"You could tell me more about yourself." She shouldn't be watching his mouth, pleasing as it may be, but the quirk in the corner soon matched her own. The charismatic shape was trouble enough, but the words it formed spelled more. "For all the questioning I know practically nothing about my interrogator."
"I'm not that remarkable." For once, bless the heavens, her face remained calm and blotch-less. The professional her in cried for a notebook, from her bag it was selected and flipped to a fresh page, pencil ready. "These, eluvians as you called them, now those sound fascinating."
"I believe I was only compensated for one interview. And last night was your sole pro-bono." Asshole. The lead cracked as she pressed too firm. There he went, turned vexing once more. "You'll have to bargain for another."
"Fine." She rifled for another writing utensil. "What do you want this time? More food?"
"Where are you from?" He was quick with that one. Chiyo wasn't used to being asked much in the way of anything personal. "Your accent is not obviously placed. Not breathy enough for Orlais, not barking like a Fereldener. Antivan is more through the nose than anything else."
"The Free Marches, originally." The truth, it was simple and clean. Harmless information, anyone could learn such details if they tried hard enough. "This year I'm in Redcliffe, Kirkwall last year, Denerim for a stint before that, next is anyone's guess. Lydes keeps offering an 'internship', but they only want to pay in experience."
"Ahh, that explains it." Solas perched his chin into his palm, lazy fingers stretched up the tilted side of his face. "Dalish through and through. Rootlessness, homelessness, or is it just inborn wanderlust?"
"I believe it's my turn to ask a question." Chiyo shook her head in refusal. This was her trip, her article, it would not be so easily misdirected. "If eluvians were real at one point in history, how did they work, and why have I never heard of them before?"
"Continuously after my biggest and most prized secrets. Have it your way, writer."
Dangerous indeed. But if that were true, she'd better learn to stop smiling so much.