A minute. An hour. A day.
There was no distinction to mark the slow leak of time forgotten in the gloom. Maybe if she counted it in breaths, in heartbeats, in the nervous jolts inflicted by tricks played by her mind, Chiyo would have some notion as to just how long they'd spent huddled in a capsule of obscurity and immobility.
Like in the aftermath of an explosion, the greatest effort was expended not as debris flew through the air, but on recovery and damage control once the dust had settled and the screams ceased.
Now, only a sluggish draw of air met her ear. The thrum in his chest reduced to an approximate, appropriate range. Yet the limbs that'd yet to release Chiyo still trembled beneath the skin as anxiety was replaced with sheer exhaustion. He clutched her close to him, held not as a suitor or confidante, but as if she were his only hope to stay afloat. Solas had stopped talking altogether at some point, his speech slowed to nothing as the stress diluted, leaving him empty and unresponsive to her gentle questions.
She'd never witnessed a catatonic state, the prior panic more attune to her own understanding, but she found the vacancy of self more perturbing than the onset.
Chiyo stroked the dry back of Solas' head and neck, wishing he'd speak, if not for his sake than her own sanity. Hushed whispers, footsteps on the tile, a shrill tune, all too faint, and none she could prove to exist outside of her own head. Being down here too long really would make one crazy, but she'd been in a clear state of mind when that… spook, spirit, image, whatever it was, crossed their path.
They'd come for evidence alright, but they'd never discussed what they'd do if they found it.
Or rather, if it found them.
Not even a Genitivi Award was worth this much misery, fear or risk she'd placed on another. And being stuck down here wasn't getting her any closer to finishing that damned draft. The ghosts certainly wouldn't commiserate her for a riveting article or well-placed pun.
All she needed was a little light. Too bad she'd skipped on the faddy trend of smoking.
Unabashed, Chiyo patted the pockets of his shirt and pants within her reach for the box of matches Solas had used to start the lantern. Her pursuit came up empty, and he wouldn't move enough to allow a more thorough search.
He'd have to snap out of this if they had any chance of getting back to the surface. Solas was too big to carry or even drag, and there was nothing so cruel in her that would make Chiyo leave him behind. Fondness or not, the lanky photographer wouldn't be in this state if it weren't for her choices.
"Hey," She shook him with hopes held on reserve for a response. "Do you need to eat something? I think I have some water left…"
Chiyo rummaged blindly through her bag, recognizing the items by feel alone. Between the batteries were sachets of dried chickpeas, dehydrated pumpkin slivers, sesame crackers, but nothing sweet and sugary. Chocolate, honey, caramel, all detestable but in the smallest doses, and they were just what she needed now. She kept digging, there had to be something.
Her knuckles knocked against a canister as her deprived eyes shot up in reflex.
That was a light, she would have sworn it.
Bright white, it panned again, joined this time by a spine-chilling whistle, long and low.
Gods, what was coming for them now?
Chiyo's finger wrapped around the trigger of her only defense, her thumb cocked inside the twisted wire safety ring. She pointed the cylinder in the direction of the fluorescent flash and waited, breath held captive inside her lungs. Phantom or freak, she'd not be a complacent victim.
The light returned again, its energy focused directly into the narrow niche.
"Get back!" It was her only warning. As the glare drew near she took aim and—a feeble hiss leaked from the nozzle and imbibed the air with a weak, peppery whiff.
Expiration dates, what a miserable cause of death.
Mace was a terrible idea anyways, like it would have any effect on phantoms.
She shut her eyes tight and waited for the end to come.
"There you little rascals are! Pull up those trousers, this is no place for canoodling!" Dorian dropped his brass-bodied torch and peeked from between the coy fingers over his eyes. "Well, there was that one time while I was away for college… But we're all young once. Mmm. That kinky fiend."
"You have a light-stick?!" The disbelief the came with her next blustered breath ricocheted through the freshly spiced chamber.
"Yes?" He dropped his free hand to rest upon his lean hip. "Have you not seen the tariffs on oil these days? I know what you're thinking. The crystals are worth twice their weight in gold, but I will not support a Qun-based economy by becoming dependent on their exports."
"You know…" Chiyo wasn't entirely sure if her next move would be to kiss or kill the obnoxious rescuer from their plight. "That would've been really, really useful to have before we got stuck down here."
Dorian stroked the polished barrel down to the bulbous eye on the end. "I bought this new toy, shouldn't I get to play with it first? I can have my fancy gadgets too."
Kill, definitely kill. She glowered when he pointed the intense tip in her face.
"Now, tell me what you've done to my dearest friend and maybe I'll let you touch it." The Tevinter man laughed and lifted the hand-cranked instrument before she could swat the light away. "I've been left in a stupor before, but you can't possibly be that good."
"There was an incident and some panic, the rest doesn't matter." Chiyo spoke through gritted teeth, in no mood for further ridicule. "Just help us. Please."
She wasn't above begging if need be, though groveling fell well below that distinctive line.
The light turned away, and she was presented with the bulky handle. "I believe you, and my words are not an aimed jape. We need to get him up and going again. Rudeness has worked before to twist all his cogs and springs back to their normal overbearing tightness. Though it has been a few years since my last crack at this, perhaps I've grown a tad rusty. You know he wouldn't even enter my basement when we first met?"
"Come on old boy, up you go. Quit squashing the lady." Dorian puckered his lips as he lifted an arm off the smaller elf with deftness. "Or would you like me to lift your curse, sleeping beauty."
The sour grimace Dorian was rewarded with was good enough. With aid on either side, Solas was returned to his feet. He staggered several steps, too hollow to put forth much effort yet, but after a few wobbly paces they were free of the miserable cavity and moving forward.
"One after the other, just like taking a drunk for a stroll." Dorian pointed with his pinky, his other fingers clasped tight around his comrade's wrist. "Right, dear, about three clicks forward, then second left."
With one arm clasped around Solas' waist, Chiyo guided them with the light, but her feet knew direction little more past the broken lantern on the floor. "How long have you been down here looking for us?"
"Hmm," Dorian pondered, counting with snaps behind his teeth. "Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty? But I'd been on the property an hour or so prior to finding this lovely place."
Chiyo was beginning to pant under the lethargic load of a full-grown man, her own body taxed and tired. She shouldn't have anything left to express surprise, but her brow rose nearly an inch higher on her face. "And you already have the way out memorized?"
"What? Like it's that difficult," His tittering was more playful than it was insulting, but that didn't exactly keep the tongue out of his cheek. "Half a mile of tunnel and no more than two dozen adjustments in direction. And that's our most direct route. I've had more challenging puzzles over brunch. The Maker wouldn't have gifted me with such a perfect face if he hadn't found a worthy enough brain to use it, would he?"
"Seems like cleverness is the only thing you two have in common." Solas seemed downright humble in comparison, egoless when standing side-by-side the portentous Pavus. Part of her wondered exactly how much of what he said was over-inflated, but as they walked he called their motions long before he could even see the landmarks. His only awkwardness lay in the momentum of hoisting around a lanky elf; labor not his obvious strong suit. "Did you meet in an academy?"
"If you think baldy here is smart then you'd be downright baffled by the wonders held beneath all this gorgeous hair…" He shook a dampened black strand away from his face. "Top of the class is a severe understatement. I was leagues ahead of those schoolboys, even the older ones. But,... it is shameful to admit, there weren't any elves, among even the worst of them. Some colleges can still be considered a bit too exclusive, though I doubt you need that explained."
At long last they'd reentered the main galley, though instead of seeing an unchosen symbol straight across the way, there lay the chosen silver snakes above the adjacent door. Chiyo stared at it in awe, unable to imagine just how they'd gotten so turned around.
Dorian heaved, reinforcing the grip he kept on his stupefied friend. "But great minds work best together. Regardless of how they find one another. Say, he hasn't told you about our—"
"Shut. Up." Solas' voice cracked free from its maintained silence, hoarse and rueful.
"He speaks! It's a miracle! Andraste herself has returned you from the dead." Dorian issued a rousing pat to his back that thumped hard enough to make even Chiyo wince.
It wasn't until they made it halfway to the final stair that Chiyo realized the torch in her hand was no longer needed. The orange glow of newborn sunlight poured through the opening and spilled down the first few steps in a welcoming cascade.
"Impossible… it couldn't have been that long…" Her tired jaw slackened as they climbed up and into the open air. She was nearly pulled with him when Solas all but dropped to his knees as he was blinded once more, overwhelmed it seemed by their return to the dewy, yawning world above.
"Can you not wait to do this until we get to the bloody coach!" Dorian pulled him up sharply again.
They'd been in dark abyss an entire night and emerged out of the halls built for the dead, dazed and roughened about the edges. And with more questions than answers than when they'd first descended.
She reached one last time for Solas' hand, finding that she too needed some stability herself has her head swam through the confusion and disbelief. There was a half-hearted squeeze exchanged, and then the clasped fingers fell away, returned to their prospective, uncertain parties.
"How about we discuss what happened down there over some breakfast, yes?" Dorian suggested as he glanced over the dazed pair, having finally deemed Solas fit to stand without his help. "My treat."
Chiyo's legs had barely carried her to the nearest table before all her joints collapsed into a heap on the first seat. To watch the other two remain on their dusty feet was confounding. Listening to the spat drained the last few drops from her reserve.
"No thank you."
Dorian shunted a folded set of clothes into Solas' hands. "Take this and consider throwing those old rags away. You'll feel better in something clean."
"I am not an invalid in need of coddling," The tall elf was peeved, but at least he sounded more like himself as he declined the parcel. Life had returned to him, but with it came the same bruises and soreness left over from the evening trials as her own. Only, Solas wore them mentally and not speckled along his arms. "Leave me be."
"Were my words too big or are there rocks in your ears?" And Dorian, it seemed, was unfamiliar with such blatant rejection. "Shirt. Pants. You'll replace them in the powder room or one of us will."
A single hazel glance snapped Chiyo's attentions off from the arguing men and back to the floral design woven into the fabric on the bistro table before her. She couldn't even conceive of undressing the poor soul who'd spent the night in a fugue state.
Liar… A writer deprived of an imagination is worse than one without purpose.
"Now." Before he could be shoved, Solas slipped through the curtained divider at the back of the café, gone from her sight. But not her mind.
Her fingers plucked the tablecloth's beaded edge, any distraction to keep them from pantomiming how easily they could undo those hard little buttons on his worn-out shirt. The heaviness lifting from his eyes when he gazed in silence upon her, an incarnation of mercy, while she cleaned the grime from about his face. The moist towel slips, space between them dwindles as—Scratch that.
And the hack writer of the year award goes to...
That wasn't imagination, it was copyright. Blush-worthy brain fodder plagiarized from a smuggled novelette she'd skimmed through, and hated, lured more by the text's legality than its lurid contents. Too fanciful for her tastes and made even more obscene by poor timing. There wasn't a soap strong enough to scrub her mind clean again of such filth. No wonder the Chantry had banned it.
Bathroom sinks weren't built to withstand such idealistic… force.
Her head drooped down to rest on the table, too tired to block the teasing trickle of thoughts in all of their infernal torment. Hadn't she pushed all degrees in formality enough for one lifetime?
"Ungrateful wretch. It doesn't matter if they match his taste, so long as they're clean." Dorian dropped into the booth and pressed his back to the cushions with an exasperated sigh. He tucked a receipt into his breast pocket with a neat, precise shove, but his mood remained prickled. "No excuses, even if they won't be a perfect fit. Men's clothes are so much simpler, I'm sorry to have nothing to replace yours with."
"You wouldn't know my size anyways." Chiyo squinted in the bright of day streaming through the glass. She'd considered adjusting the wood-slat blinds, but any thought of darkness left her stomach trying to teach itself new knots.
He snorted as a fresh pot of coffee was placed squarely on the table by a bleary-eyed server who'd barely just put on their apron when the trio had lugged themselves in. Dorian took the carafe himself for the first pour. He filled the other mugs to the rim as his soft gaze made a measured appraisal. "Six and a half, narrow. Thirty on the inseam, petite, and most articles off the rack are what, two, three inches too long down the sleeve?"
"How did…?" Her hand grasped at nothing, missing the steaming cup nestled in its saucer entirely.
"I took several years of mathematics before I dropped that degree to study the arts. It's all proportions and geometry." He sipped the hot brew, but the brief bristle of his mustache marked a note of displeasure. A heavy dose of cream soon had him on the mend. "If your shoe is such a percentage as long as a floor tile, if your hip is so high by a doorknob, etcetera, etcetera. The rest is simple deduction and a few trade secrets learned by having the same tailor my whole life."
"If only we were all so fortunate." Warm ceramic finally found her lips, but not before a dribble marred the clean cup down the side. Coffee wasn't going to smooth her rough edges today. Her favorite blend of tea might not have been enough either, not after surviving such an atrocious night.
His cup was replaced on its plate with an abrupt clink. "Are we here to discuss my privilege or how you ended up in the arms of a stranger whom you've sworn only a professional interest in?"
Chiyo's sore spine straightened and her chest puffed as he dashed verbal salt on her wounds. "Would you have rather I documented his distress in detail for your personal pleasure? What happened down there was in no way his fault or by my intent."
"Your interests seem misaligned." Dorian licked his thumb and smoothed the hairs above the lip that curled into a shrewd smile. "Are you lying about how long you've known him, or are you just that naive? A writer would have asked why the man cracked; a lover stands in ready defense."
"I do not lie. And I don't need you to tell me anything." Chiyo took another long drink, allowing the heat to burn away a few of the harsher remarks waiting on her tongue. "It was clear enough that he's been through something... awful."
Their conversation became crimped with an interruption of service and food.
"Ah, splendid." Dorian wafted the delicious scents from the tray being delivered to their table. Twists of bread and cinnamon glazed with fresh-butter, hot fruit browned in its own juices, clotted cream, spinach pie. He waved the yawning server off once the rapture left his senses. "Please, have a plate."
Chiyo reached for a dish, but her entire hand was gripped before she could even lay a finger on the stack of pretty-patterned china. Into sharpened eyes she looked and was held there immobile. The smile beneath a groomed mustache no longer as candid.
Suddenly, she didn't feel quite as hungry any more. Perhaps this was how a bird felt, entranced by the gaze of a viper, wings held captive with fright long before the coil of scales ever had them ensnared.
But first that venomous strike.
"You and I really must have a talk."
A man of Tevinter still wielded power, but anyone with money had a knack for making a problem disappear.