Chapter Text
He knew the contours of her face well-enough by now that he could call them up from memory. The straight slope of her nose. High cheekbones. Green eyes, narrow and angled in such a manner that they gave her relaxed features the appearance of smiling. Her dark skin was perfection, save for the tattoos that marked her as one of the isolationists. Traditionalists clinging to a false idea of their own tradition. A pity.
Still, it was odd to see one of her kind in the city - and she came into his shop nearly every day.
He’d studied her routine. Solas could never predict precisely when she would appear, but the rest of her manner was virtually unchanging. She always entered with a drink from the cafe down the road, steam still slipping through the top of the disposable cup each time she pushed through the door. She never appeared tempted by the various frilly cakes or tarts, displays filled with such color and variety that most would waste far too much of his time hemming and hawing while he waited for them to make a decision. She always ordered the same thing - a simple bradh sweetened with cinnamon and drizzled with honey. She would sit at the small table in the corner of his shop and read as she ate. He’d go about his work, silently watching as she’d brush thick strands of cream-colored hair from her face, pressing small pieces of the pastry distractedly past her lips, carefully suckling her fingertips before turning each page. When she was done, she’d flash him a smile, pleasantly wish him a good day and leave.
He still didn’t know her name.
Today, she’d been interrupted by a phone call. He didn’t hear much of the conversation, though he’d been listening intently. She sounded irritated as she slipped into broken Elvish, addressing the caller as hahren. A person in authority. A parent, possibly, judging by her tone. She was still talking as she gathered her things, awkwardly nudging the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she stood. She still stole a moment to glance over to him, her look of annoyance breaking briefly into a smile before she was gone.
He did not notice the book still sitting on the table until well after she’d left.
He brushed flour from his hands before picking it up, peering at the title.
The People Before the Dales: An Overview of Elvhen Language and Culture by Gisharel and Elindra Ralaferin, Forward by Ferdinand Genetivi.
Ralaferin. Isolationists. Odd for a human publisher to produce a text written from such a source - yet the addition of Genetivi’s name suggested he probably had a hand at lending their historical veracity some credibility. Laughable on both fronts, in his opinion.
Did this mean she was a student? They were not far from the University. It would explain her frequent stops into his shop. Though he found her age somewhat difficult to determine, she appeared too old to be an undergrad and too young to be a professor. A graduate student, perhaps? It would explain the nature of the text. The material was rather dense.
He flipped open the pages curiously. He cared little for what was written there. Instead, he looked for clues. He saw a University stamp along the inside of the front cover. A library book. That confirmed one suspicion. He slipped out the paper she’d been using to mark her place. It was a flyer promoting a lecture series hosted by the library. Topics included archaeological finds in the Anderfels, the melding of cultural and religious ideologies in Rivain, and a debate between First Enchanters Gwenael and Haramund over the practice of necromancy. The paper was folded in half with a note written across the back.
Coffee later? We need to talk. Dorian.
There was familiarity in the note. Not the way someone would propose a first date, suggesting they were on closer terms than that. There was a minor twinge that he quickly dismissed. A friend, he could only assume. Possibly a lover, though unlikely. It was a human name. While the tattoos on her face did not preclude such a pairing, it did make it far less likely. Solas recognized that he should care little about such details, either way.
There was a second note at the bottom, written by a different hand. It was scrawled quickly - likely the page was used as a convenience twice over to jot down the information. A phone number with the initials C. S. R. Not enough to go off of unless he decided to look up the number. Without further context, it told him nothing about her or its significance.
“Enjoying some light reading?”
He glanced up as she poked her head back into his shop, her brow arched as she clutched her drink. He slipped the paper back into place, closing the book as she approached.
“Somewhat informative,” he said simply, handing it over as she held out her hand. “I did not take you for a student.”
Her smile slipped into a playful smirk as she shrugged. “I’m not.”
His eyes narrowed, curious, intrigued and yet she did not elaborate. She carefully placed the book in her bag, readjusting it on her shoulder. “A teacher, perhaps?”
Her lips pursed, apparently amused. “You assume I wasn’t reading it for pleasure?”
“Most people would not choose academic tomes as a source of entertainment.”
“Then maybe I’m not most people.” She brought her drink to her lips, studying him a moment before backing away to the door. “See you around.” He nodded, watching as she turned and left, hair caught in the breeze as she stepped briskly down the sidewalk and disappeared from view.
He still didn’t know her name.