It's always desperately quiet in the evening, and Solas has learned that it's one of the few times that he might enjoy some kind of peace.
Everyone is returning to their chambers as the daylight hours dwindle away to dusk and he is set to finish up his own reading, putting book to one side and adjusting the shards and other magical items that litter his desk. No one else visits the rotunda, not really, but he'd rather not run the risk of a stranger stumbling in and accidentally upsetting something, not when magical artefacts are rare and dangerous enough on their own. He will not be sleeping in the cot nearby and while there would be few that would notice his absence it's better to be safe with things that nosy folk might harm themselves with.
Once done, he manages to turn himself away, making his way out and through towards the stairs. It surprises him a little that, even here, with an elf at the head of the Inquisition, the supposed Herald of Andraste, that he might walk around unnoticed. Perhaps it's his drab clothes - Dorian has commented often enough, much to his frustration - or his quiet nature, but he is very rarely stopped or spoken to. Most would know him as a friend and confidant of the Inquisitor if he were caught in his movements, but it's such a rare occurrence that he's decided he ought to enjoy it.
The stairs are familiar and he makes his way up with ease, fingers brushing over the fine stonework as he goes. He can recall the Skyhold of ages gone by, the history of the walls in disrepair enough to make his heart hurt somewhat; it feels achingly familiar and somehow desperately changed in the space of time he was gone, and with no one to lead the keep nor care for it... Well, it had simply fallen apart. All Solas can do is watch as the Inquisition put it back together again, basking in the fact that his home was loved once more; that bringing them all here in the wake of Haven's loss had not been a mistake. He had been right to put his faith in them, and he would continue to do so.
It wasn't that he trusted all of the group he had found himself tangled up in, of course, that was remarkably untrue. He had put his faith in some of their hands, and those were the ones that had earned it. Others he treated with the same disdain that they gave him, and there was no point trying to hide it. It was why he was pushing open the door to Lasulahn's chamber, making his way over to the bed before he sits on the edge of it, reaching over to brush fingers over the other man's cheek gently, capturing his attention - his silent approach might have made it difficult for him to be noticed until now.
"I thought you were planning to rest more, lethallin."
Not that Solas was here to aid with that, but the rest of the council hardly needed to be aware of his true intentions here.
no subject
Everyone is returning to their chambers as the daylight hours dwindle away to dusk and he is set to finish up his own reading, putting book to one side and adjusting the shards and other magical items that litter his desk. No one else visits the rotunda, not really, but he'd rather not run the risk of a stranger stumbling in and accidentally upsetting something, not when magical artefacts are rare and dangerous enough on their own. He will not be sleeping in the cot nearby and while there would be few that would notice his absence it's better to be safe with things that nosy folk might harm themselves with.
Once done, he manages to turn himself away, making his way out and through towards the stairs. It surprises him a little that, even here, with an elf at the head of the Inquisition, the supposed Herald of Andraste, that he might walk around unnoticed. Perhaps it's his drab clothes - Dorian has commented often enough, much to his frustration - or his quiet nature, but he is very rarely stopped or spoken to. Most would know him as a friend and confidant of the Inquisitor if he were caught in his movements, but it's such a rare occurrence that he's decided he ought to enjoy it.
The stairs are familiar and he makes his way up with ease, fingers brushing over the fine stonework as he goes. He can recall the Skyhold of ages gone by, the history of the walls in disrepair enough to make his heart hurt somewhat; it feels achingly familiar and somehow desperately changed in the space of time he was gone, and with no one to lead the keep nor care for it... Well, it had simply fallen apart. All Solas can do is watch as the Inquisition put it back together again, basking in the fact that his home was loved once more; that bringing them all here in the wake of Haven's loss had not been a mistake. He had been right to put his faith in them, and he would continue to do so.
It wasn't that he trusted all of the group he had found himself tangled up in, of course, that was remarkably untrue. He had put his faith in some of their hands, and those were the ones that had earned it. Others he treated with the same disdain that they gave him, and there was no point trying to hide it. It was why he was pushing open the door to Lasulahn's chamber, making his way over to the bed before he sits on the edge of it, reaching over to brush fingers over the other man's cheek gently, capturing his attention - his silent approach might have made it difficult for him to be noticed until now.
"I thought you were planning to rest more, lethallin."
Not that Solas was here to aid with that, but the rest of the council hardly needed to be aware of his true intentions here.