It was seldom he left his quarters, less so when night came, favoring the quiet to search for deep and hidden places in which to sleep. Skyhold was a marvel he beheld only once before and then it was full to brimming with maddened magisters seeking an end to his people. Still, he searched the memories that lingered, hopeful a spark of something – anything – still remained.
He wore no cloak against the rough winter winds, but it mattered little when the small garden blossomed all around him. Solas looked around, careful and cautious, and finding no mingling residents, he bent to the Crystal Grace in full bloom. It smelled divine, but could be more and he allowed a small whisper of the old magic to touch its petals. It sprung forth renewed, and yet a shadow of what he had seen in centuries past.
Someone cleared their throat behind him and he turned, quick on heel and a touch wild about his eyes. And at first, he did not see her, as she was slight enough a strong wind would take her. She was draped in furs and her face was absent of any expression. But he knew her, even if only in passing.
“Lady Savell,” he bowed at the waist. “I see sleep has yet to find you either. Is there aught I can do for you?”
