the holy dove was moving too

[dirth]

WHO: Solas and you
WHAT: Open post
WHEN: Throughout the entire month
WHERE: All around Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A

LIBRARY.

Solas spends much of his time in the library as he always does. There are books open in front of him. They're written in Common, in Elven, one or two with scraps of Qunlat littered around the margins (this is Kirkwall, after all). He is devouring what he can, still studying and investigating everything that he can, making notes and putting pieces of parchment to one side, putting things to one side, closing books but not getting up to put them away.

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.

He sits in a corner keeping to himself, waiting, frowning, reading and reading. He makes himself comfortable eventually, pouring himself a cup of something to drink - not tea - before he gives himself a moment to shut his eyes and relax.

KIRKWALL.

When not in the library, Solas can be found wandering Kirkwall, investigating things he might have otherwise missed. He doesn't linger much in taverns or bars - they're hardly the kind of place he'd waste his time, even if it means he might be able to discover more of what the 'common' people might be interested in - but he does travel to Darktown at times, does look into the depths of what it is like for the elves here, offering what he can to aid them as little as it might be. He is a familiar face to some of them: they are absent from the Dalish and so the two of them get along far better than he might with anyone of the clans.

Eventually, he makes his way back to the Inquisition proper and spends a little time wandering around the gardens, arms crossed behind his back and his attention focussed on the herbs, on the plants, on the things that interest him. He does not seem to mind being interrupted, if anyone has the desire, and he seems in a pleasant enough mood before he makes himself comfortable on a bench, drawing a book from somewhere and beginning to read, flicking the pages absently.

WILDCARD.

( Find him in the Gallows, near his room, hanging near Galadriel and anywhere else your heart desires! )

Comments

[dirth]

There is no point in Solas speaking to her of Thranduil - she must be aware of the tension in their relationship now, in the shift of things between them, and she must know why. Gwenaëlle is no fool and that is what frustrates Solas more, the fact that Thranduil had given her the crumbs and she will follow the trail no matter how careful he tries to be with his own. He has been forced into a corner and he will not hesitate nor pause. He will lash out and it will be at Thranduil's feet should something unforgivable happen.

Solas does not shoulder any blame in this. He does not think there is any point in pretending otherwise. Thranduil is the one that Solas is upset with and the one that he broke the trust that had been so deep and sure between them. It is not something he can ignore easily nor something he can choose to act as though had not happened. It is impossible for him. Not with all the weights he carries and the dangers that lay at his feet.

What he does not expect is her politeness, the way she acts with him, the shape and the movement of her. She does not seem to treat him entirely differently from the way she had before, which makes him feel a touch on edge, a touch unsure. Nothing has changed in the treatment despite what she knows, and it makes Solas aware of her more than he has been before despite the easiness of their friendship and the calmness of their camaraderie before now.

The embrace has him stiffening for a moment.

The only people who have ever dared embrace her are Thranduil and Galadriel, two people that he finds closer than others. For a moment his hands hang uselessly at his side before he lifts them up and slowly wraps them around her in return, careful and as appropriate as he can manage, ignoring the tension he feels and acting relaxed. He is a master at that.

"... Of course. There is no need to thank me for anything, Gwenaëlle."

What else would he do? He is gentle with her because there is no reason to punish her. Not yet.

[elegiaque]

Gwenaëlle is already disentangling when his arms come up—he stiffens and she's letting go, of course, slipping out from between his fingers like so much smoke. A regrettable lapse, inappropriate and judging by his reaction not particularly welcome and the voice sounds like her mother, not Guenievre but Anne, who would have known what to do with all of this. Who would have followed those crumbs, probably, but with her—ah, what he's afraid of will never happen. It never occurs to her to assure him of that; it had seemed so obviously irrelevant and pointless when Thranduil had been speaking, it will never enter her head what, precisely, Solas might think she'll do.

It has seemed so much more bitter to lose a friend for nothing.

“There is,” she says, and it's almost light except that she means it, matter of fact.

She hesitates, a moment longer, and then—

“Well, I'll leave you to it.”

Her face falls, a little. She can't help it.