Dragn

Novashriel

She had managed to remain unnoticed for an upwards of fifteen minutes now, a new record thanks to Sera's advice. But Solas finally looks up from his research long enough to notice her wrapped feet hanging off of his painting lift and she doesn't miss the way he startles.

"Navi— what are you doing up so late?" Solas asks, voice soft as if to emphasize the hour. He looks heavy, darkness circling his eyes.

"I should ask you the same thing," she says instead, hanging herself upside down from the ladder wrings, "if there's one thing you like to do it's sleep."

Solas chuckles softly in response, head hanging low. "I suppose you're right, but this work could not wait until morning I'm afraid."

Curiosity had never been a wise one for her, she reminds herself, but it doesn't stop her from hopping off the ladder to pad over to his desk. It's a contrast of clean and disheveled, while the stacks of papers are neat, the notes and drawings on them are scattered and follow no clear pattern. It looks as though he'd been trying to fix something, to piece something long lost back together. He sighs, tearing her attention away from the papers and back to the creases of his expression.

"I can't sleep," she admits quietly, two fingers tugging at a loose thread in her night shirt. That is enough to gain Solas's attention. "I used to think it was so easy for you, I guess I was wrong."

"Some nights it is," Solas says and closes the book he'd been marking to high hell, "some nights it's as though it runs from me and wants to keep its secrets to itself, some nights I don't dream and feel as though I have gotten no sleep at all." Reaching a hand out lightly Solas hums, caressing the forearm she has leaning on his desk.

The Inquisitor sighs, ducking her head so he can't meet her gaze. It's too much, she realizes with a chill, she'd enjoyed watching but talking is different and entirely too much. So kind it hurts.

"It's just... I mean— I just—" the inquisitor stumbles quietly. It's suddenly very apparent just how quiet Skyhold is at night when she can hear the shifting of her feet against the wood paneled floors. It's a conscious effort to replace the shifting with tugging at her sleeves.

Solas removes his hand and she panics. No she hadn't meant— warmth wraps around her. A hug. She didn't know Solas hugged people. He must not, it's stiff and he doesn't seem to know where to put his hands. The Inquisitor buries her face in his shirt in hopes it will stop him from leaving. The scratch of the leather strap on her cheek is a pleasant distraction from the way her chest tightens.

"My room is so big, so empty, I'm not used to it," Novashriel mutters into his chest.

"I suppose being treated like royalty would be a big change, yes."

They stand like that in silence for a while longer, Solas relaxing enough to pull her in tighter and rest his head on her shoulder. Slowly the tightness dissipates and she lets her arms fall with a deep breath out. Solas holds on for a few seconds longer.

Finally she sniffs, eyes burning with the effort to keep silent, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to come here to disrupt you and make a mess of myself," she excuses, but doesn't move her head from its new place on his shoulder.

When Solas doesn't respond she goes on, "I meant it, it's so lonely up there."

Novashriel isn't expecting her sniffle to be met with a bemused exhale. She pulls back quickly before it registers exactly what she'd just said.

"Andraste that's not what I meant, I— well I didn't mean to imply— I'm so sorry Solas—"

Solas stops her with a gentle hand on her wrist. Always so gentle, how did he do it?

"I did not think you did, it's alright Navi," he chuckles, actually chuckles, and straightens her nightshirt back out. She doesn't miss how he's careful to avoid where the scar is underneath the fabric.

"I suppose we should both head to bed now," Solas says and gestures to the door.

But the Inquisitor can't move.

"Most nights I hardly sleep when I'm alone," Novashriel's voice cracks, barely a whisper. "I wish I could hide in my dreams like you do."

What follows is silence. It does little to distract her from her gaze on the floor as the tightness falls back into her chest. She can't bring herself to look up, what would the man think? It was a painfully insensitive thing for her to say perhaps she should just go.

"Perhaps I can show you."

So terribly gentle.