The Wrong Side of the Bed
The air inside Solas's cabin was acrid with the scent of burnt linens. What had been a peaceful afternoon foray into the fade had quickly turned into a fiery panic as one outstretched arm knocked the staff by his bedside over, causing an unfortunate domino effect upon a nearby chair, flinging his tunic just a little too close to the fireplace. The clatter had awoken him, and it was in a half-awake daze that he watched the backside of his tunic catch on fire, his mind processing the stream of information a few seconds after it actually occurred. So it was with a tangle of tired limbs and bedsheets that he fell from his bed once the concepts of fire and not in fireplace made their way through his sleep-addled mind. He managed to put out the almost insignificant blaze, but the damage had been done and he was left with a four inch hole burnt into the lower back of his only spare shirt, and the pungent smell of burnt wool to boot.
Grumbling and scowling, he opened the shutters over his window, perhaps a bit too forcefully, for when they swung inwards they deposited fresh piles of snow onto his feet. He let out an exasperated curse just as a brilliant flash of white drew his attention outside, and he looked up to see the Dalish woman -Lira, he reminded himself- staring at him from the small courtyard. Her hood had fallen back from the crown of her head to reveal a finger's width of hair so dazzlingly white it rivaled the snow accumulated upon the eaves of the building behind her. Solas realized two things simultaneously: that he had never actually seen her hair before, and that her eyes were trailing languidly down his chest to his stomach.
And then down further.
Her eyes snapped up towards his and she had the audacity to blush, as though she hadn't just been unabashedly leering at his…well…
The shutters banged against the window frame as he hastily threw them shut, all of the cold sensation from the snow at his feet eclipsed by the sudden warmth pooling in his loins. It has been a very long time indeed, he mused, adjusting the slight tightening in his leggings and mentally willing his focus back to the matter at hand. The tunic was ruined but he decided to hold onto it anyways, the unburnt cloth could be repurposed. He opened the shutters on the rear window, carefully this time, in an attempt to rid the small room of smoke and the smell of burnt wool.
The Dalish woman was a mystery. Who was she, really? He had no idea why she had been at the Conclave to begin with. She claimed not to know, but was that the truth? He could still see her in his mind's eye, a dark silhouette against the exploding radiance of the rift at the Temple. His body had thrummed with the energy surging from the mark on her hand, greedy for the power that it had once possessed. This world was dull, and he was made dull with it. His steps felt heavier, the air thicker. To see her struggle to wield the immense power that was once his, to have it so close and yet so inaccessible…
It made him want to scream.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. There was nothing to be done for it at the moment. All he could do now was wait, and try to find a way to take back what was rightfully his. Donning his one remaining tunic, he sat upon the bed and counted the small amount of coin he had left available to him. Enough for a new tunic, though he would probably just buy some cloth and make his own to save money. He was reluctant to spend any more money than was absolutely necessary. One never knew when he might need to make a swift exit, and the more coin he had if the time came, the better. Remembering that the healer, Adar, had offered coin in exchange for elfroot, he opened his satchel of herbs and began to take inventory.
"Aye, I'll take any elfroot you can find," Adar had told him, not looking up from the potion recipe he was studying. "Embrium, too. Hell, bring me anything you find and I'll see what I can make work. Requisitions officer gave me some money to replenish the potion stores but it'll be at least a week before the scouts return from the Hinterlands with fresh supplies. I'm sure she'd pay you for any meat you can come up with, if you're looking to make some coin. Lots of hungry mouths and most people that know how to hunt were injured fighting those demons."
The only meat he had was from his own dwindling stock of provisions, thin strips of ram jerky he had cured himself before coming to Haven. But he had enough elfroot to buy some cloth, he thought. Then, considering the scarcity of supplies after the conclave, reluctantly added his remaining stores of crystal grace and royal elfroot to the pile. It would have to do.
Stepping out from the dim interior of his cabin, his eyes were momentarily blinded by the glare of the noonday sun on the snowdrifts piled against the buildings around him. He tried hard not to think of the color white...and eyes whose color he still could not put a name to.