Hunger [Eufemia Lavellan]

[jaininae]

Title: Hunger

Prompt: Drunk

Player Character: Eufemia Lavellan

Universe: Kianna's canon verse

Characters: Solas, Inquisitor Surana (mentioned), Cole (implied)

Summary: Solas gets drunk and the Herald steps on some broken glass.

Content notes: Dead Dove: Do Not Read. Power imbalance. Problematic use of hahren/da'len. Solas sees Lavellan as a kid. OOC!Solas. Grumpy drunk. Still a work in progress.


He set the wine glass on the table before uncorking the bottle of Ferelden wine. The kitchen staff would think of blaming Dorian first for the missing vintage before suspecting the, what did Dorian call him? Ah, yes, the "apostate hobo." Naturally Solas wasn't implicating Dorian in any way, nor was he feeling particularly keen on hiding the fact that he stole a bottle of wine intended for an Orlesian visitor. As if any Orlesian would appreciate the rustic taste of Ferelden wine.

He took a long pull from the bottle before he remembered the wine glass. Two wine glasses. His eyes passed over the spare, and back to the door from which the Inquisitor had exited from. He frowned ever so slowly, and took a sip from the bottle, his gaze heavy with resentment. With one swift motion he cast the spare glass at the door, which shattered upon impact. This drew the attention of the inhabitants in the above floors, yet no one came to clean the mess up.

Perhaps they assumed it was an accident, that he would clean the mess up himself. Or perhaps they  were more wary of him than he had initially given them credit for. Regardless, he sat himself back into his chair, banging the bottle onto the table with his descent. There was as little moderation as there was restraint as he poured the wine into the remaining glass.

The words of the book on his desk became less legible with each refill, until he was finally engulfed in soft, obliterating darkness.

He stirred as a gentle flutter encompassed him, spreading warmth to his core and lulling him into deep sleep. Too bad the comfort was short lived, for the spell was broken by the sound of a sharp yelp.

He blinked, bleary eyed and groggy, the softness of the candlelight casting shadows on a lithe, blurry form that limped its way towards his couch. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, and first took note of the dark, wet trail the figure had left in its wake.

Blood....

That was when he remembered the shattered wine glass, and that his own needed a refill. The bottle was significantly lighter than he remembered, and what remained didn't even fill the glass halfway. He knocked it back regardless before he finally noticed the Herald, who was carefully tending to her bleeding foot.

Although Solas was still drunk, he was cognitive enough to piece together what had happened. Eufemia, on her way to meet him, failed to notice the shattered wineglass in the doorway, and was now bleeding all over his couch with her rudimentary efforts to heal the wound cleanly.

Though why she was here at such a late hour was another matter entirely. Usually she would appear during the day in between breaks while working on the Fresco. Naturally she also came for her lessons to improve her elvhen - a skill she was eager to improve, despite her struggles with keeping her tense consistent.

The reminder of his people's lost tongue brought to mind the Inquisitor, the elven circle mage who had cut him with a silverite smile as she revealed she could, in fact, speak elvhen. Which was a fact she had, for months, been reluctant to impart, along with her Dalish heritage, and penchant for human suitors.

Solas' stomach flipped, and with it, brought on a wave of nausea that crept quickly up his throat. He scanned the room for a bucket, which he discovered was was behind him, along with a soft woolen blanket that covered his back. The blanket fell away as he hobbled to his feet, the warmth he recalled from his slumber fleeing with the motion. He wasn't two steps away from the desk before he found himself using it for support.

Several moments passed before both his disorientation and nausea passed. Having no need for the bucket, he decided to tend to the Herald, who was still picking away at the shards in her foot.

"Allow me, da'len."

Eufemia gave a start, though whether that was due to the edges in his voice or for the lack of noticing him, Solas couldn't say.

"I'm sorry I woke you, hahren." Ah, so it was the former.

"No matter," Solas replied, wiping away the blood with a stray rag he used for cleaning his hands, and other supplies.

Eufemia winced at his efforts, yet kept her wide-eyed blue gaze tracked on him.

"Are you okay?"

The concern in her voice pulled at him, a soothing balm for raw cuts that he imagined could penetrate even the oldest of scars. For a moment, he thought about telling her the truth. Not the whole truth, of course, but rather the truth of the moment.

But as he went over what he could reveal to her, he was reminded of the Inquisitor.

She knows he wants her, but she can't let him touch her because he reminds her of templars.

The frown returned, chasing away his urge to be honest with her.

"I am alright." Came his clipped reply, "And yourself?"

Although he tried to ignore the disappointment in her young face, he couldn't withhold its affect on him. To think that a child would cause his ears to burn.

"I'm fine," She said lightly, "I mean, aside from stepping on glass, anyway...."

With careful fingers he pulled each sliver of glass from her foot. It was difficult process, for not only Solas was still quite drunk, he was also acutely aware of her attention on him. No doubt she picked up that something was off, although he sensed that there was something more to her attention than she initially let on, for her toes twitched and curled despite the pain that came with each fragment removed from her foot. She was nervous.

"Did you come here for a reason?" He asked finally, looking up from his work to gauge her reaction.

"Well....." She laced her hands together tightly, and flexed, "Not exactly. I came here to check up on you, is all."

Solas raised a brow at this, and soon found himself struggling to keep himself from smirking. Such a small facial movement was enough to embarrass the poor child.

"I-I mean-" She wrung her hands, "I've noticed you sometimes fall asleep at your desk. So I just come by to place a blanket over you."

"I see." Her replied indifferently, which strangely caused her to relax.

"You should take better care of yourself." She said softly, wrapping her arms around her waist, "It gets cold in here at night. You could get sick."

He pulled the final fragment of glass from her foot, and set it on the couch with the other pieces. He then began the process of mending the cuts in her foot, conjuring soft white energy to speed the healing process.

"There we are, good as new," He said upon finishing, covering his mouth as he suppressed an oncoming yawn.

"Are you going to be sick again?"

He couldn't keep himself from looking a bit sheepish at her query, "You noticed?"