After the knock, a faint splash preceeded the scuffing noises of bare feet approaching the door. It opened to reveal Constans in brown trousers and a dirty off-white shirt, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Most of the young man was gritty from a day's work around the forge, coated head-to-toe by a thin layer of grey coal dust and ash, but his face and hands looked freshly scrubbed. He regarded Ashya from the center of his doorway, door open wide enough for Ashya to easily see into his simple quarters.
Constans' room was not a large space, but nor were most of the bedchambers in the keep. A bed stood shoved against the right wall with a thin carpet poking out from beneath, a wooden chair set askew against the opposite wall, and facing the door was a simple vanity with no mirror. Upon it sat a candle, a basin and large pitcher for water, and a damp cloth spotted with black grime draped over the side of the bowl.
Against the foot of the bed leaned a very long sword, sheathed in worn leather. The hilt, while a little scuffed and not very elaborate, bore an etching depicting the griffon symbol of the Grey Wardens. The exposed metal glinted in the candlelight, polished to a fine sheen.
"Do you require something, Ashya?" The Tranquil looked mildly down at the young mage, patient expectation the only thing discernable in his expression.