a blaze of light in every word.

[dirth]

WHO: Solas + open!
WHAT: Lots of research thanks to Solas' keen intellectual interest
WHEN: During Phase One
WHERE: The libraries, mostly
NOTES: Feel free to ping me (aziraphale) if you'd like something specific.

FIRST FEW DAYS

Solas spends the majority of his time in the library, and had done long before the sickness had started to take shape, so he assumes that it will not be particularly suspect that he has begun to spend more time there. There are books laid out over the table in front of him, pages open in a way that seems entirely at random, and folded pieces of parchment marking other areas for further study and interest; there's a notation on herbs in one book and another has a small set of healing spells that might prove useful, even if he's not inclined to go out of his way to heal anyone he meets.

What proves clear, eventually, is just how much time Solas is actually spending in his studies. For a man that enjoys sleeping as much as he does he is not getting much of it - and he has no other symptoms, so this is clearly a personal endeavour rather than anything from his own suffering. The piles of books get larger, higher, and he can often be found scowling at them, as if they should have more answers than they do, as if the hours he had spent uncovering the history of Kirkwall had been entirely pointless.

It had been, in a way, at least in his eyes; he had come no closer to the answers he sought. At least he was taking a break, a few days in, settling in his chair with water in a glass in front of him - no tea for now, he thinks, because the welcome arms of the Fade would be more than enough to soothe his rattled nervous. He is looking for something - someone - to blame, and so far he has found nothing to calm the storm in his own mind.

LATER IN THE WEEK

Once the week has moved forward and the symptoms have begun to get worse, Solas has taken something akin to desperate measures. Anyone who knows him well will recognise his absence from the library - those times he can be found sleeping in his room, a light barrier around him, deep in sleep as he searches for something. One of those times he comes out of his sleep and moves swiftly back to the library, beginning to write a series of notes down on parchment before - somehow - the knowledge slips from his mind. It's clear that he's learned something, but what it is isn't something that he's prepared to be vocal about.

The books on his desk have begun to change from healing tomes and medicinal diaries to scholarly notes on the Fade and the Veil, and the pages have just as many bookmarks as the others. The desk seems lighter, at least, and there's space for someone to come and join him, to settle down and quiz him. He also takes the time out of his studying to visit the nameless Rifter, and comes back just as quiet and solemn as he had been before; clearly, he's been checking on the man and his shard, but nothing has come of it.

More than anything else, Solas seems frustrated, uncertain and bristling with it. He has dipped into the Fade and the spirits there had little information for him, and the books have just as little. For the first time in a very long time he does not know what to do or how to help, and it leaves him remarkably tense.

Comments

[thunderproof]

Charis immediately shakes his head no, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at Solas with undisguised fear on his features. Dragons are not supposed to look afraid, really, so it's a strange expression for him to wear, but his eyes are wide and his brow ridge is drawn up and his mouth is pulled down in a frown. He chitters nervously at Solas, reaching to hold onto his arm. As he talks, his taloned paws rhythmically open and close on Solas' arm, anxiety keeping him from staying still.

Adalia watches this with narrowed eyes, trying to discern what's going on, but she can't quite see.

[dirth]

Ah, he sees. His hand is careful as he reaches out, fingers stroking gently over Charis' head. It's not often that he sees a creature so clearly afraid and uncertain, but the actions of this small dragon betrays just how severe Adalia's condition must have become. She is not sleeping, and a lack of sleep will catch up with any mortal person - he recognises that. Slowly, he strokes his fingers down along the dragon's neck, trying to soothe gently, as best he can.

"I will speak to her, soon." His voice is gentle, low and careful, turning his back so Adalia can't see the shape of his words. "But you must be calm first. It will upset her, to know you are pained."

[thunderproof]

The noise Charis gives this time is a sort of sad, trilling coo, and he leans forward to bump his head against Solas' chest again, just as he had done the first time they met. This is all quite a lot for a little wyrmling to handle, and he's growing fast but he's still young yet. He doesn't know how to care for a sick loved one, or what to do when she won't sleep. She's always been the one taking care of him, and now she's acting strange and he doesn't know why or what to do to fix it. These things weigh on a baby, you know?

After a moment, though, the dragon takes a deep breath and looks up at Solas with a determined set to his features — much more natural for a dragon. He may be frightened, but for mom, he can hold it together.

[dirth]

It's odd, to have a dragon so close, so awkwardly affectionate as he tries to suss out what is happening with it's mother-like figure. It's so small, especially compared to the natives of Thedas that seem to be huge even in their younger years, and he worries for it's future. Will it grow and flourish, or will the time come that it is snuffed out because Thedas isn't prepared for anything like the domesticated nature of the small thing? His fingers keep brushing over scales even as he shakes his head, nodding once, a sharp motion of his head.

"Then let us go." He offers his arm for Charis to settle on, ready to turn to go and speak to Adalia. "We will figure out how to aid her. Together."

[thunderproof]

Soon enough, Charis will not be able to perch on arms anymore — already he's too much for Adalia to carry, even around her shoulders, and although she's not all that strong, it's becoming more of a problem of size than of weight. Still, he's not too big for it yet, and when Solas holds out his arm Charis climbs on, settling himself with his chin rested on Solas' shoulder.

From across the room, Adalia raises her eyebrow.

"Stealing my son, are you?" she calls quietly, soft enough the words don't carry too much farther than Solas and annoy any of the other people in the library.

[dirth]

For now, Solas is content to carry him, and he gives the dragon a little time to make himself comfortable before he nods his head, guiding him forward and making his way back over to Adalia. He tilts his head, watching her for a moment, his expression careful and measured. It's clear, he thinks, that she has the same illness that has befallen some of the others - and that means that he is, at heart, entirely unable to help her. At least it means he can look a little closer at the problem, the symptoms, and try to figure out something that might become a solution, given time.

Finally, he manages a smile, tilting his head.

"I fear that he may be the one who has stolen me."