tiny stick fluff child, dandelion puff, fluffiest scoop of mint ice cream, here to save the world. [ independent inquisitor lavellan blog ]
multiverse || multiship || sfw ]
All he could do was stare down at the letter in his hands, old paper crackling faintly as his fingers trembled. Ink ran over the page in curls and loops, shaped in the Keeper’s elegant hand; da’len, I would not trouble you normally…
Eremes folded the letter quietly and set it on the table, the newest addition to a heap of past communications from his clan.
He should keep them. It was the only thing left of them, after all. If he didn’t keep them, if he didn’t remember them – who would? Wasn’t it bad enough that the sky cried on their bodies and that wolves gnawed their bones? Was he going to kill what was left, turn it into ashes?
He didn’t even realize he wasn’t alone until a hand gently settled on his shoulder, jerking him violently back into reality; the fire was burning low, night had fallen outside, and he was sitting here in half-gloom with a pile of letters and Mihtriel standing over him looking more concerned than he was comfortable with.
And it was only when she reached out and wiped her fingers across his cheeks that Eremes realized he had been crying.
He wiped at his eyes as she stepped away to stoke the fire back into life, tossing in a couple of logs to feed the flames. A warm flickering glow seeped out of the fireplace once more, lengthening the shadows and deepening the night.
The sofa creaked as the older elf sat down. “Do you want to talk about it?” Mihtriel said quietly after a few moments.
“...not really,” he mumbled. But he let her pull him down to sit next to her, and he let her draw him into a hug. He let her pat his back as he curled up and buried his face in her shoulder.
The door creaked, and then slowly swung open wider.
Moonlight broke on the steps, lighting the way as Eremes made his way down the stairs to the kitchens; several minutes and an adventure with a saucepan later, he stood in front of the rotunda doors with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands.
Sometimes he walked the battlements, said hello to the guards on duty, and sometimes he found an yet-unexplored corner of the castle where he could sit quietly and without judgement. But more often than not he made his way to the rotunda, lit a candle, and let the warm glow and the paintings in progress soothe and calm his nerves – as he had planned on doing today.
What gave him pause was the light that spilled through the bottom of the door.
Would Solas mind if he sat there and watched him paint? Was he even there? Maybe the mage had just left a candle burning. Maybe he should have brought another cup of hot chocolate. Or a snack. It was good to bring something to offer, especially if you were intruding.
Maybe he should walk away.
His grip tightened and the mug trembled, threatening to spill over. It couldn’t hurt, right? As long as he didn’t bother Solas? He’d just sit there quietly, out of the way, like how he was with Weaponsmaster Kavac and watched him work. Hahren Kavac hadn’t complained, and Solas didn’t seem – didn’t seem to mind him, usually, so–
The door creaked, and then slowly swung open wider.
The sound gave Solas pause; he peered down from the scaffolding at the unexpected visitor. “…you are up late, da’len,” the mage said, turning back to his fresco.
Eremes took that as an invitation to shuffle in. “Is it okay if I sit here for a bit?”
“Of course.”
A silence settled between them, comfortable and warm, filled with the flickering candlelight and the soft sounds of paintbrush on fresh plaster. The sofa creaked a little as Eremes settled down, letting the glow of the candles and familiar company wash away the last bits of his nightmare. He wondered if Solas knew why he was here, or if it was just something he wouldn’t question. Maybe Solas would know a way to stave off bad dreams, being the resident Fade expert and all. Maybe he could talk about the Redcliffe he dreamt of, the sickly red glimmer tainting his sleep for months now, a kindly reminder of consequences should he fail.
That, however, would require him to admit that he had nightmares. And that wasn’t something he wanted to confess, not really. He was a capable person, he could handle it.
But it was still nice, sitting here with a warm mug, basking in the candlelight and knowing he wasn’t alone.
♖ comforting after a nightmare
♘ kiss on the forehead
♣ wiping away tears
♝ holding hands
♡ hugging
♦ picking up your character
♤ bathing your character
♠ my muse taking care of your muse when their sick
♛ shoulder rubs
☮ stroking/ruffling hair
▽ patting/rubbing their back
☽ dressing your character
☺ my muse helping your muse fall asleep
❮ my muse comforting your muse as they grieve
♋ my muse fixing your muse something to eat
✍ my muse teaching your muse
∞ my muse reading to your muse
♒ my muse giving yours a message
i was fiddling around with a companion eremes design yesterday so here it is today // i guess it’s also the clothes that he starts out with as inquisitor eremes?
local elf has all the intimidating power of a small puppy; local armourer makes an attempt at making him scarier
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