Chapter Text
Solas was sleeping again. Cassandra spotted him under the trees in the courtyard of Skyhold, perfectly at ease amid the bustle of a bright, cloudless early afternoon. He was using his travel pack as a pillow, propped forward by the gnarled roots. His outstretched ankles were crossed. One hand covered his stomach. The other laid atop an open book on his chest, splayed facedown to the page he had not yet finished reading.
His eyes did not open when the Seeker approached. She settled in beside him against its trunk, drew a breath, and sighed away the day’s stresses in the shade.
It was an old-looking text, with a soft, flexible leather cover and elvish letters. She frowned up at the bright blue sky through the swaying branches and waited for him to wake. He was not long in doing so.
“Seeker. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Solas.”
The apostate gathered his book, sat up, and gave a subtle stretch, pulling both shoulders back to expand his chest. Cassandra gestured at the pages while he threaded a tattered ribbon between them as a bookmark.
“Is it wise to bring such ancient books outside?” the Seeker asked. “Surely they should be better protected from the elements?”
Solas smiled and gestured at the clearest sky yet seen since the Inquisition had taken the old castle. Even the scar of the distant Breach seemed outshined by the bright valley sunlight, today.
“The elements, Seeker? A few hours of gentle breezes will not dramatically alter the state of a single book.”
“Well, no,” she agreed flatly, “but is it really worth the risk? Clearly the Maker intends no rain today, but any number of birds might decide to roost overhead.”
The apostate's gaze rose, drawing the Seeker’s along with it. Birdsong trilled brightly through the air from the rest of the trees lining the courtyard, but nothing moved or twitched in the branches above.
“A gentle plea to the Fade is more than capable of discouraging disruptive company,” he revealed, smoothing thoughtful fingers across the book’s lettering. His gaze met Cassandra’s. Curiosity twinkled in his pale eyes. “I did not expect such concern for Elvhen works.”
Didn't he?
“The future of Thedas could be contained in any one of those tomes, could it not?” the Seeker asked. She gestured at it when Solas’ interest sharpened. “I do not pretend to completely understand your area of expertise, but I assume you are studying ancient literature related to the Veil and the Fade. At any moment, something in one of those books may help us in our fight.”
The elf’s light-hearted smile seemed out-of-place for the gravity of her accusations.
“Seeker, we agree on every point. Including that this is in fact ancient literature relating, at times, to the Veil and the Fade. However, while many other of my books may assist our endeavors, I would be greatly surprised should the key to defeating Corypheus and his armies be found in a collection of Elvhen love poetry.”
Those last three words flushed Cassandra with realization.
“Love poetry?”
Solas thumbed the pages fondly, fanning through strings of letters the Seeker recognized as structured like poems, even if she couldn't read them.
“Something of a gift, from Ambassador Montilyet,” he confessed, toying with its soft edges. “The book had been included in a list of requests, with the explanation that it was not, under any circumstances, important. And yet her impressive network of contacts successfully procured a copy for me.”
“...You are interested in love poems?” Cassandra asked, still trying to wrap her head around that one.
“A wide variety of topics interests me,” Solas told her, still smiling. “Poetry makes for a restful exercise of the mind. I happened to stumble upon a memory of the assembly of this particular anthology in the Fade some time ago, and had always hoped to find it in person. A somewhat frivolous use of the Inquisition’s resources, one admits…”
“Are…they good poems?” the Seeker couldn't stop herself from asking.
Solas thumbed through the first few pages, and stopped on something that resembled a list. He traced it with a gentle fingertip as though searching for something, and then followed that particular line across the ancient parchment.
“Poetry is, of course, subjective, as is all art,” the apostate explained as though lecturing a student. “What makes a work ‘good’ or ‘bad’ depends largely upon the experience of the audience.” There was something coy in his smile as he flipped the pages to a particular work, and scanned the lines with pensive eyes. “One might consider the works of Master Tethras, for instance…”
Cassandra’s face flushed scarlet, and she scoffed immediately.
“Must we ‘consider’ him?”
She had done enough considering the last time she’d been caught with one of his works. That Solas also read them was hardly a consolation—
“Pools of endless crystal, her sparkling eyes. And I, aching for immersion. Ten thousand…maze-like facets, a trap in every glance. And I, yearning to be ensnared.” His head tilted. His smile turned apologetic. “A small measure of form and structure are lost in the translation, of course. Classical Elvhen often contains words more profound in meaning than modern Trade.”
Classical Elvhen poetry…
“With time and thought, I might produce better versions for you, if you would like,” he offered, raising his eyes to meet the Seeker’s gaze.
“You would translate poetry for me?” she clarified.
“I would be happy to,” Solas told her with a nod.
Cassandra frowned at the book. “Is that not…a lot of work?”
“The effort would be meditative.” Solas thumbed through to another work. His eyes followed the letters on the page. “To consider more than simply information…to consider also meaning and intent? These are appealing challenges. Perhaps one might even attempt to replicate form and structure.” He looked up, something soft and warm in his smile. She did not see him so often this relaxed. “It would not replace my studies for the Inquisition, of course. But in the moments between those efforts, before sleep or just after waking, to rouse or settle the mind, such considerations might be of use.”
A translated book of elven love poetry. This had not at all been the kind of conversation Cassandra expected when she came to visit Solas.
“Well, I certainly will not stop you,” the Seeker decided. “And if you do…complete a translation, I…suppose I would enjoy reading it.”Confessing that made her very uncomfortable, but Solas’ eyes held no sharp judgement. “But speaking of sleep and waking, truthfully, that is what I came to ask about,” she admitted, drawing his interest again.
“Are you finding Skyhold unsettling?” he asked.
“No, not me.” She shook her head. “I meant for you. I see you napping often during the day, Solas. Are you struggling to sleep at night?”
More unexpected warmth softened his eyes and smile.
“Your concerns are for my books and for me. A thoughtful gesture, Seeker, thank you. I have no trouble sleeping at night, I assure you. If truth must be told, I often visit the Fade when time can be spared, and had been before you approached.” He gestured at the bustle of soldiers, merchants, and other members of the Inquisition going about their lives around the courtyard. “Activity in the waking world is often reflected in the world of dreams. I sensed the interest of a particularly warmhearted spirit as I read, and slept to meet it.”
“...Oh. You’re saying I interrupted you,” Cassandra realized quietly. “I apologize, then.”
“There is no need to,” the apostate quickly assured her, shaking his head. “But it is kind of you to value the attention of a spirit.”
His lips parted as if to speak again, and the Seeker waited for whatever else he was going to say, but Solas seemed to change his mind and fell quiet. Cassandra gathered herself to stand.
“Well, I will bear it in mind then, not to worry when I see you asleep,” she told him, managing a smile of her own. “Mostly I wanted to know that you felt safe here, Solas. I know the presence of Templars can make even Circle mages uncomfortable…"
The elf continued toying with the edges of his book. Something strange clouded his gaze.
“What have I to fear, Seeker? You have defended me from the suspicious, accept my unusual beliefs and behaviors without critique, and raise gentle concerns for my health. The Templars, too, look to you as a force for stability and strength. Your presence is greatly calming to many.”
Why…did she feel warm to hear that? Cassandra pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her trousers.
“I’m very glad to hear that, then,” she tried not to mutter. “Please enjoy your…love poems.”
“Thank you. I will consider which might appeal most to you, and focus my efforts on translating those, first.”
You…you do that, Solas.