A/N: This is a holiday companion fic to my larger Solas/Trevelyan fic, The Unwritten End.

.x.

"— and I think we should send scouts further into the Wastes."

To emphasize my suggestion, I used my finger to indicate where I wanted said scouts. The map blurred in my vision momentarily; blinking, I shook my head in an attempt to dispel the fog of exhaustion that had been dogging me insistently for days.

The reply to what I'd said was not what I expected. "No."

No? I lifted my head to look at Cassandra, brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't—"

"There's no need for scouts in the Wastes at this moment, Inquisitor." Cassandra glanced to her left, where Leliana stood with her arms crossed, and then to her right where a solemn Cullen stood. All three looked at me simultaneously. Cassandra continued, her words a little halting this time. "We've discussed it among ourselves … we think a recess from all of this," she gestured to the war table and the massive map that occupied it, to the game pieces and the miniature pennants dotting the parchment landscape, "is necessary."

"You are exhausted, Inquisitor." Cullen's voice was kind. "You haven't stopped to take a breath since returning from Therinfal Redoubt."

Ah. That's what this was about, then. My decision to ally with the Templars instead of the mages had created a schism not only between my companions, but my advisors as well. What had transpired at Therinfal Redoubt — our battle with the envy demon determined to supplant me — was well known. Gossip traveled fast, especially in a cloistered area such as Skyhold.

"There are no immediate emergencies," Cassandra said. "At least, nothing that cannot be handled with dispatches and envoys. We believe everyone could benefit from a brief rest."

"Everyone? Or just me?"

Cassandra held my gaze unflinching, but it was Josephine who spoke. The ambassador, standing to my left, quickly picked up the thread of the discussion. "It is, as you know, nearly First Day. We thought it might be nice to have something in the way of a celebration in order to let people relax and enjoy themselves."

"We?" I asked.

"Varric and Dorian." Cassandra clarified with mild disgust.

"It is not a bad idea," Leliana said. "There is a definite lull in crises for us to deal with. I say we take advantage of it."

Cullen agreed. "Indeed. There's no harm in a brief respite."

My gaze moved between the four of them. I'd been more than a year in the role of Inquisitor — the role I did not want and would have given up in a heartbeat, if only — I had never known any of them to suggest we step back from the duties of the Inquisition. Every day held the possibility of disaster; every time we left Skyhold on a mission there was serious potential of capture, injury, or death. And despite that, every day we continued on as we had before, never pausing, never stopping. I knew the real reason they were proposing this. It was out of concern for me and I felt a sudden, crushing sense of guilt, replaced almost immediately by an irrational sense of anger. I had given all I could to the Inquisition despite my fervent desire to be somewhere else, to be anyone else. I was not perfect. I would fail eventually — what else could they possibly expect? I was, after all, only mortal, only human.

I was aware of their combined scrutiny as I wrestled with my emotions. I realized then that they were right — I needed to rest. Whatever sleep I had managed to secure in the wake of the events at Therinfal Redoubt had been broken and restless. With a sigh of resignation I rubbed at my tired eyes, my ire subdued by reluctant logic.

"Very well," I said. "We rest."

"And the celebration?" Josephine tentatively probed.

I gave her a weary smile. "I look forward to it."

.x.

So dismissed from my duties, I slept one entire night and most of the next day. When finally I left my chamber, refreshed and energized, it was to find Skyhold under siege from a determined army of holiday decorators. The main hall had been festooned with all the trappings traditional of First Day: large, evergreen garlands graced the lintel of every doorway, vivid swaths of draped red, green and gold cloth adorned the walls, and every table was festooned with colored candles and wreaths made from cedar boughs. The hall was fairly buzzing with activity and I watched, both astonished and amused, as various members of the Inquisition attempted to wrestle a massive fir tree through the main entrance.

"Inquisitor!"

Josephine, tablet ever in hand, waved to me from across the hall where she'd been overseeing the hanging of a garland. Moments later she was by my side. "You look rested," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Much better," I said truthfully.

"And what do you think of all of this?" She indicated the contents of the hall with a flourish of the large quill she carried always.

"Consider me impressed, Josephine. You've all managed to do a great deal in a short span of time."

"I will admit to having done some research. I spoke with some of the Free Marchers within our ranks in order to get a better idea of what First Day was like where you grew up. Obviously it will not be perfect, but I hope at least we've managed to capture the spirit of the season somewhat?"

Unexpectedly, I felt my throat tighten against a knot of emotion. That she'd gone out of her way to try and make this holiday feel familiar to me was touching, especially considering the plethora of dilemmas she dealt with on a daily basis. "It looks perfect," I told her. She arched a skeptical eyebrow at me and I nodded for emphasis. "Truly. These are much the same as the decorations we would use back home. However did you manage to assemble all of this?"

Her grin was impish. "Oh, I have my ways. In all honesty, the news of a celebration spread fast. Volunteers began presenting themselves more quickly than I could count. It seems everyone is ready for a little festivity."

I found myself heartened by this news. It was difficult to sense the pulse of the Inquisition's ranks because I was so often away, but I worried for those that followed us, worried that we would fail them, worried that what they would find with us would be worse than the lives they'd had to leave behind. Knowing that this celebration could lighten the hearts of so many gave me comfort.

But still, I had concerns. "How long will we be idle?"

"Eight days."

"Can afford to take that time?"

"I believe we can." Her voice was firm. "Leliana has recalled all currently deployed scouts and patrollers so that they will be here for the last days of celebration. The soldiers on leave now will depart in two days to replace them. This way everyone in the Inquisition will be able to partake."

"It sounds like it's all well in hand, then. Do you require my assistance anywhere?"

"No, oh no. I've got more help than I know what to do with! Just go and enjoy the fact that you have absolutely nothing pressing to do."

I smiled gratefully at her. She seemed to be without her constant air of suppressed worry, at ease, having actual fun directing the decorators. Squeezing her shoulder in silent thanks, I left her to head down the hall, hearing her call out suggestions to the workers as I did so. At the entrance, the process of fitting the tree through the door had come to a halt. Though I couldn't see the wielder, I heard the definitive sound of an axe chopping wood from somewhere outside. I caught sight of Solas and Varric standing near the door that led to the rotunda and altered my course to approach them.

"Inquisitor," Solas greeted. "You look much refreshed. I trust you rested well?"

I made a face at him. Had I really looked that bad before? I caught the flicker of his smile before he managed to hide it and fought the childish urge to stick out my tongue. "I did, thank you."

Varric gave me a quick appraising glance before returning his gaze to the tree and those that struggled with it. "And what do you think about the place? Ruffles sure knows how to prepare for a party on short notice."

"She does," I agreed. "I'm a little in awe at how quickly she's managed to do all this."

"I will admit to being confused," Solas said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "Just what exactly does all of this have to do with First Day?"

Varric and I stared at him. He returned our gazes, unperturbed. "Are you absolutely sure you didn't live your entire life in a cave?" Varric finally asked.

"Of course not."

"Then how the hell don't you know anything about First Day?"

"I haven't had much inclination to study every facet of human custom," Solas replied a trifle coolly.

"Some elves celebrate First Day," I offered a little hesitantly. Solas had made his opinion on the topic of "some elves" very well known. Speaking of elves and elven culture in his company was like poking a sleeping bear with a stick. Sometimes your prodding went unnoticed; other times, the bear decided to roar.

"I get the feeling that Chuckles frowns upon such frivolous pastimes." Varric gave Solas a speculative side eye, which Solas predictably returned with a frown.

"First Day is typically a time to reflect upon the year past and celebrate whatever fortune may have come your way." I explained.

Solas considered this. "And what if fortune was in short supply?"

I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it too: what exactly did we have to be grateful for now, with the world as it was? Unwilling to let the conversation to take a negative turn, I came up with a serviceable answer. "Then it is a time to reflect upon what you do have to be thankful for."

"It's also a time to drown yourself in drink. And eat," Varric supplied helpfully. "At least it is in Kirkwall."

"In Ostwick as well. It was perhaps more about drinking and eating than it was anything else," I said dryly.

"And gifts." Varric turned to face me. His expression was suddenly shrewd. "Gifts are a traditional part of First Day."

"Gifts," I said, letting a heavy note of warning creep into my voice, "are not necessary for this celebration."

Varric chuckled. "Oh, Scribbles," he said, patting me on the arm, "it's cute that you think that."

"I mean it, Varric!" I called after him as he left us and began heading in the direction of the kitchens.

Left alone then with Solas, I found myself at a loss of what to say. Not so long ago I'd done something impetuous in a shared dream, and that one act had damaged our fledgling friendship to the point where I feared it was irreparable. Before that dream I'd been able to talk to him about almost anything. We'd had long conversations that had both enthralled and fascinated me. The time I'd spent in his company and the way I'd come to know him during our lengthy discourses had led to something I had not foreseen, could never have predicted: I became attracted to him. Those feelings, so new and strange and difficult to control, had prompted me to kiss him when we had dreamed of Haven. It was not the kiss I hated thinking about, though I wished so much that I would never have done it. No, the most humiliating, painful part of the entire thing was that after the kiss, he had determinedly —albeit gently —pushed me away.

As a result, I could really only manage to communicate with Solas now when others were present. If ever the two of us were alone, I grew increasingly uncomfortable because the thoughts foremost in my mind were unfailingly of the kiss and his subsequent rejection. It was no different now, standing next to him in Skyhold's grand hall, watching as the efforts to push the fir tree inside resumed in earnest. I wanted dearly to talk to Solas and couldn't manage to think of a single damn pertinent thing to say.

Unwilling to stand around and pretend that I didn't feel unbearably awkward, I flashed him an artificially bright smile. "I should see if I can help with that tree," I said, backing away.

He pushed away from the wall. "Inquisitor?"

I halted my retreat, feeling my pulse speed up a little. "Yes?"

But he said nothing immediately, and I watched as vexation emphasized the fine lines between his brows. He was struggling in that moment, I was sure, between saying what he wanted and finding something else to say completely. "I am glad you are feeling better." he said finally.

I was disappointed, for what was it that he had truly wanted to say? It seemed I would never know. "Thank you," I said politely. "I am too. I'm going to see what I can do to help around here. I'll speak with you soon, Solas."

But I knew that was a lie; we wouldn't speak soon. We wouldn't speak at all, not unless we were in the company of others. Such was the state of our friendship, if it could even be called that anymore. Solas merely nodded as I made my exit, but I could feel the weight of his gaze at my back as I made my way toward the main entrance. I forced my exasperation and dissatisfaction aside and instead tried to focus on the positive things that awaited me: it was nearly First Day, and we were going to celebrate.

.x.

That evening, after a day spent decorating and fulfilling the very many tasks that come with preparing for a massive holiday celebration, I took some time in the evening to record the day's surprising events. My penchant for scribing the day to day confused some and amused others, but it was the one thing guaranteed to give me a modicum of peace — something I had found in short supply during my past year as Inquisitor.

I had chosen to sit in the main hall to do my writing, at the table closest to the door that led to my chambers. Though the festivities weren't due to begin until the next morning (the Eve of First Day) the spirit of the season had already spread throughout the population of Skyhold. While the hall wasn't full, more tables than not were occupied. Hot cider and a number of different imported brews — courtesy, somehow, of Varric — had been dispensed. A quartet of musicians with a mix of string and wood instruments had taken up position near the entrance to the hall, opposite the festooned, now-upright fir tree in the other corner. The sound of merry music filled the hall, accompanying the soft hum of conversation. The usual lanterns that lit the main hall had been replaced by festive colored candles and subsequently the hall was illuminated by the warm, intermittent glow of candlelight.

With one such candle positioned to the left of the small, leatherbound book that was my journal, I passed the early evening writing. I was, for the first time in a long time, completely at ease. Taking a break every now and then to gaze about and enjoy the sight of the hall decorated for the holiday while idly sipping on spiced cider, it was all too easy to forget all the other, substantial problems that awaited me once the celebration was over. My advisors had been right. This break from operations was exactly what I — and the rest of the Inquisition — had needed.

"Inquisitor."

My title, spoken from behind me, startling me out of my writing reverie. Craning my head around, I found Solas standing there, his small smile both pleasant and amused.

"Solas," I greeted, beckoning him to take a seat opposite me with the wave of a hand. "Have you nothing better to do than roam around scaring people?"

"Yes," he replied as he sat, "but I find my duties far less entertaining."

His dry candor prompted a chuckle from me. "I imagine so. What brings you out with the crowd tonight? I thought the significance of First Day revelry of escaped you?"

"It does," he admitted, shifting in his seat to look around. "But I also find it to be … interesting."

"You haven't partaken much in holiday revelry before, have you?"

"No," he said, turning back to face me. "At least, not for a very long time. I'd forgotten that it could be so… "

He trailed off. I crooked a brow, genuinely curious as to what he'd say.

"Comforting," he said after a long moment. "The sense of the inclusion encompasses everyone. Even after everything that has transpired, despite all that we have yet to face, people do not hesitate to come together to make something like this happen, to celebrate unity and acknowledge all we've accomplished together. I find it heartening."

I took a drink as I considered his response. My reasons for enjoying the holiday were very much the same as his, though I'd never have been able to explain it as well as he just had. It was unusual to hear something from a man who was typically guarded, but it was not unwelcome. In fact, learning something like this about him was something I prized. That realization led immediately to another one: I wasn't nearly as unsettled in his presence as I usually was, and I suspected it had something to do with being so at ease for the last few hours. Here, unexpectedly, was an opportunity to repair our relationship, such as it was — I couldn't erase the events of that cursed dream, but perhaps it was time to learn to move past it.

"I thought you were ordered to relax," he remarked then, reaching out to tap the cover of my journal with one finger.

"Writing is relaxing. To me, at least."

"And what do you write of tonight? Our latest excursion in the Graves? Varric's latest literary triumph? Dorian's lamenting the lack of Orlesian brocade with which to tailor new robes?"

I shook my head. "None of those, I'm afraid. Something far more mundane. I was just reliving a First Day memory from my youth."

"Ah." Solas leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his stomach, settling in. "A good memory, I hope?"

"Yes and no." He raised his brows, prompting me to elaborate. "It involves a sequence of events, not all of them pleasant. Regardless, it's a memory I cherish."

"Would I be too forward in asking you to share it?"

I considered him for a long moment, taking another drink. His tone was earnest; so to was his expression. Perhaps engaging me this way was his method of repairing our friendship. It gladdened me to think so. I had very much missed the way things used to be.

"Not at all," I said finally, setting my cup down. "I was writing it down from the start. I was thirteen." I paused, suddenly feeling awkward. Despite the fact that Solas and I had conversed about a great many topics previously, none of those topics had included either of our pasts. It felt … odd. I added, as an attempt to demur, "It's not very interesting."

"A glimpse into the past of the Inquisitor cannot be anything but interesting."

"I fear you may be disappointed," I said in another half-hearted attempt to dissuade him.

"Consider me warned."

"Well," I began a bit hesitantly, "I think you know that I was raised in the Free Marches. Ostwick. My father is a Bann, and I grew up on his estate in the foothills of the Vimmark. I am the youngest of three children. My eldest brother is eight years older than I, but my other brother Kenric is only two years older. He and I were close as children. Playmates, confidantes, troublemakers — we ran the gamut."

The memories of our adventures as children could have filled a book all on their own. I could not help but smile fondly as I spoke and knew my voice was filled with wistfulness for a past long gone. "Both Kenric and I developed a love of horses in our adolescent years. Our father kept a stable of horses, mostly the destriers of his men-at-arms, his own courser, and a few rounceys. We loved to ride and would seek any opportunity we could to sneak an unattended horse from a stall and escape the estate with it. While our father did not exactly approve of our methods, he did encourage us to become experienced riders. To that end, on my thirteenth First Day, he gifted Kenric and I a mount of our very own."

"It was a mare," I continued, closing my eyes to envision her in order to better describe her. "A palfrey. A very fine, very expensive mount. She was silver dappled black, a color I'd never seen before. That my father had taken great pains with this gift was obvious. Kenric and I were ecstatic, beyond grateful. The gift came with a stipulation, however — we were to share her evenly, without fighting. I know now our father meant to teach us compromise and cooperation with this gift, but at the time I didn't. Of course, we vowed we would behave."

"As I'm sure you can guess, that vow didn't last long. It took only three days before Kenric and I were at odds over the horse. She hadn't come with a name and we were unable to agree on one. Our father refused to mediate, instead telling us to figure it out on our own. Kenric insisted as he was older the honor should be his, and I insisted that he was stupid for thinking so."

Solas, sitting now with his arms folded on the table, gave an amused snort. I grinned before continuing. "With complete disregard to our father's wishes, we allowed our disagreement to escalate to the point of violence. In the end, Kenric had a blackened eye and I a swollen lip. Father was furious. Despite our pleas, he resolved to sell her the very next day."

"I, of course, could not let that happen. I loved that mare. She was beautiful and gaited and mine. Angry and desperate, I slipped out of the house that night, down to the stables, saddled her and rode away. My plan was not a good one; I'd only thought far enough ahead to leaving my family's estate. I had filled a pack with enough food to last me maybe two days. Beyond that, I hadn't a clue what I was going to do. I had also assumed I would make my escape unnoticed. I was wrong. I was spotted by the guards at the east gate. My father was roused in short order, and pursuit followed."

"I'd only been gone perhaps an hour when I spotted the riders on my tail. I knew it was my father, and knew that if he caught me I'd be punished beyond anything I'd ever known. In a panic I whipped the mare to a flat-out gallop. I was a fool. It was the dead of night with no moon to speak of, and I traveled an uneven road. The mare eventually stumbled and I was thrown, and that's the last memory I have of that night."

"When I awoke it was a full day later and every part of my body pained me, particularly this arm." I flexed my left arm, the hand of which now bore the Anchor. "I'd broken it. My father was seated at my bedside when I awoke, and was more concerned for me than angry, though anger was there. My first question was to ask about the mare. He reassured me she was fine; she hadn't hurt anything when she'd stumbled. I began to cry and pleaded with him not to sell her, told him I was sorry, that I would share her with Kenric without complaint. My father sternly told me that because of what I'd done, she was to become Kenric's horse only. I had lost my riding privileges and would not regain them until my father saw fit. As young and foolish as I was, his words broke my heart, but at least he would not get rid of the mare. I didn't argue with my punishment and to his credit, Kenric didn't gloat. It was hard to watch him with the horse every day, but I was determined to suffer through my punishment with at least a modicum of grace in an effort to impress my father. So, I suppose I learned something after all."

"And that," I concluded, "is the story of my favorite First Day gift, which also turned out to be the one I regret most. I like to believe I am better for it."

"I believe you are, too. Your father sounds a wise man," Solas said.

"He can be. He is also stubborn and opinionated and too often quarrelsome. Though I think you'd agree I've inherited some of those traits."

Solas did his best to maintain a blank face, but I caught way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He asked, "And your brother? What name did he choose for the horse after all of that?"

"A rather unconventional one, at least by my father's standards. He named her Boone."

Solas considered this. "Simple, but not inelegant."

"It was a good name for a good horse," I said, picking up my cup and eyeing its empty depths. More cider was in order, and I was about to say as much when Solas spoke again.

"Where is your younger brother now?"

I set my cup back down, feeling a frown pull at my mouth. "I don't know, but I expect in Kirkwall. He … he left on bad terms with my father. And, I suppose, the rest of us."

Solas voiced no inquiry but, glancing at his face, I read it in his expression. "Our family — House Trevelyan — is mostly noted for being … pious." I could not help the negative emphasis I put on the word, nor did I want to. "We boast important connections within the Chantry, as well as within the Templar Order. It's been that way for generations. Subsequently, any scion of our House is expected to join the faith, either as a militant or as one of the cloth. Kenric disagreed with this expectation a great deal. So much so, in fact, that he disavowed my father entirely. He left four years ago with only some clothes, his sword, and the mare. I haven't seen him since, though he used to send me the odd letter. I have not received one since …" I trailed off, waving a hand to gesture to all of Skyhold and the Inquisition.

Solas had leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And you? I cannot quite see you becoming a sister of the Chantry."

"No?" I rolled my shoulders in a shrug, shaking my head. "I lacked the courage of my brother. I did not like to disobey the expectations of my parents. I had already been set upon a religious path — that is how I came to be at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I was part of a delegation."

"You would not have followed through, had everything gone as it should have," he said. "Of that much I am certain. You would not have become a member of the Chantry. You are not of that kind."

"No, I'm not." I agreed. "And I hated the expectations. I hated being forced into something I had no interest in doing. Although I suppose I was not forced. I simply lacked the will to stand up for myself as Kenric had."

"And now? What does your family think of you as Inquisitor?"

"I don't know." I shook my head again, looking away. Discussion of my family made me feel on edge, prickling me with guilt and doubt. "I have not spoken with them since that day. I don't want to. Don't ask," I said, waylaying his question. "I don't think I could explain it in any way that would make sense to you. Suffice to say, I am not leading the Inquisition in the manner they would prefer. They would insist on joining me here, on counseling me, when the actual reality would be that they would simply want to use me to instill their ideals — the Chantry's ideals — wherever they deem necessary. They likely see the Inquisition as a tool, and I will not give it to them."

"Have they tried to contact you?"

"Oh yes. Many times. Leliana has given me numerous letters over the past year. I stopped reading them after the first few."

Solas' gaze had become keen, speculative. It almost made me uncomfortable. "And you don't miss them?"

I sighed. "Of course I do. I love them. But the Evelyn Trevelyan of the past is not the one that sits here before you. Everything has changed, including me. I have very little choice in the matter of bearing the Anchor, and because of it, leading the Inquisition. What choices remain to me are those concerning the Inquisition's actions and influence. Anything else is secondary. It hasn't been easy," I admitted, a little surprised at how quickly and easily these words had slipped from my mouth. It had been a very long time since I'd been able to talk to anyone so candidly about thoughts I tended to guard so closely. "I regret a great deal, and it pains me. But I … I do what I think I must."

"And you do it well, Inquisitor." Solas reached across the table to lay his hand upon mine. It was all I could do not to jerk away in astonishment. He went on, "Believe me when I say that. You must tread a path no one else has tread before. Your decisions teeter always on a precipice and regardless of where they fall, people may suffer and die. It is a heavy burden, but it is one you've carried with grace."

I could feel my face flushing and I was unsure of whether it was caused from his words or his touch. The desire to extricate my hand from beneath his was just as strong as my desire to twine my fingers with his own. It was perplexing. I found I could not hold his gaze as recollections of that damned dream began to flood through my mind yet again.

"Thank you," I said earnestly, returning my gaze to his with some difficulty. "Your confidence in me means more than you could ever know."

"I hope you consider me a friend, Evelyn," he said then. My eyes widened; he had never called me by my given name before. It was a moment before I could respond.

"I do, of course I do."

He smiled. "It gladdens me to hear. I hope you will come to me whenever you are plagued with doubts or fears or questions."

My cheeks were most definitely red by this point. Flustered and hating it, I slid my hand free from his with what I hoped was a wry expression. "Given the amount of doubts and fears and questions I tend to have, you may regret saying that."

As he leaned back again, his next words took on a playful, inviting lilt. "Perhaps. I suppose there's only one way to find out."

Oh, Maker. Was he trying to be this charming on purpose? Or was this merely a side of him I'd never seen before — a real possibility, considering the paths all our lives had taken in the past year. While I'd missed our long conversations and the friendship we'd had, my reaction to him now made me realize that I wasn't over what had happened in the dream at all. If anything, my feelings toward him were stronger. In that moment, seated at that table, I was confronted by the truth: it was no longer simple affection or a young girl's fascination. It was something else entirely, it was lo—

No. I would not think of that word. I would not dwell on it. "I need another drink," I said abruptly. "Would you care for some cider?"

"Ah, no." He blinked, confused by the change in conversation. "I tried it once and didn't care for it. Reminds me too much of tea."

"Shame," I said, getting to my feet. I picked up my journal, tucking it into my pocket. My quill and inkwell I left; I'd pick them up later. "Someone was serving drinks earlier, but they seem to have disappeared. Off to the kitchens with me. Have a pleasant evening, Solas. I'll see you about tomorrow?"

"I'll be here. I fear I may be persecuted by certain members of the Inquisition if I should miss the festivities," he responded. I laughed. He stood as well. "Good night, Inquisitor."

With a wave, I rounded the table and headed for the kitchens. Departing the main hall, my thoughts were a swirl of confusion, disappointment, and intrigue. I had wanted to revive my friendship with Solas and tonight had been a step in that direction. Prior to my mistake in kissing him in our shared dream, our conversations had always been easy and free. Tonight, the words we'd exchanged had felt a little strained. I understood why, of course — it had been weeks since the dream, weeks since we'd conversed alone. And then there was the matter of his playful tone toward the end, if that's in fact what it had been. It could just be my own projections, too, a misinterpretation based off the depth of my feelings for him…

With an audible groan, I stopped in my tracks, leaning my head against the stone wall of the corridor I'd just stepped into. Of all the crises I imagined I'd face as Inquisitor, of all the disasters I'd known would rise up before me, the one where I fell in love with a member of my trusted companions had never, ever even crossed my mind. It added complications to an already convoluted situation, created distractions that would likely prove detrimental to my state of mind. I didn't need this, but more than a large part of me wanted it.

"Inquisitor?"

I lifted my head, realizing how odd I must have looked. A woman, having entered the corridor from the direction of the kitchens was staring at me in concern.

"The cider," I said with a weak smile, pushing away from the wall. "Must have gone to my head."

She accepted my explanation with a conspiring laugh and continued on her way. With a sigh, I did the same.

.x.

The next day—the Eve of First Day—marked the first real celebration the Inquisition had ever had. The morning started off with a breakfast feast, impressive enough that more than a few people wondered if the kitchen staff had some manner of magical talent. The main hall was full to bursting, packed with more people than I'd ever seen before. Extra tables, benches, and chairs had been brought in for the occasion but by mid-morning it was still standing room only.

I had my first meal of the day seated at a table with Varric, Vivienne, and Josephine. Once the empty plates had been cleared, I was presented with gifts from the lot of them. From Varric, a signed copy of the first chapter of his latest novel: Inquisitive Inhibitions. I laughingly read the first paragraph (featuring a heroine that bore a disturbing resemblance to me) before I had to close the book, cheeks flaming, and promise a grinning Varric that I'd read it later.

"You understand, my dear, that we did not have the luxury of time when it came to finding you a gift," Vivienne said as I untied a bundle wrapped in fine satin cloth that she and Josephine had given to me. Once it was undone, I parted the wrappings to find another folded length of green cloth. At their urging, I lifted it up to find that it was a gown.

"The fabric — this color is flattering, don't you think? — is from Val Royeaux. Josephine had to call in a favor —"

"Favors," Josephine corrected.

"—in order to be able to purchase the required amount so quickly." Vivienne reached across the table to pluck at a dangling sleeve. "What do you think?"

"It's lovely," I said. And it was. It was a rich, dark green that seemed to ripple when you moved it. The neckline (which was a little less modest than what I was comfortable with), cuffs, and hem were all trimmed with fine gold cording beaded with tiny red stones. The bodice was fitted, the sleeves belled, and it was very apparent that this was a finer piece of clothing than most would wear in their entire lifetime. As it was, it was finer than most things I'd worn growing up in a family of minor nobility.

"You must wear it tonight for the celebration," Vivienne ordered, and the others at the table chined in with their agreements.

"I shall, with pleasure," I responded. "Thank you. It's beautiful. But I—"

"We know you have nothing for us," Josephine interrupted with a smile, "And that doesn't matter one bit. We didn't expect you to."

I know she meant what she said, but I regretted giving little thought to finding gifts for my companions. It had only been two days since the celebration had been announced, leaving me no time to venture beyond to urban areas in either Ferelden or Orlais in order to look for gifts. The fact that Josephine and Vivienne had managed to pull this off was, in a word, impressive.

With my gifts in hand, I departed the main hall shortly thereafter. There were numerous events scheduled throughout the day. There would an impromptu archery tournament in the afternoon, followed by a melee. I'd heard mention of a footrace, as well, and was fairly certain Varric had said something about "wine tasting" in the early evening. The official start to the celebration would be the feast that evening, to mark the Eve of First Day. Music and dancing would follow the meal, carrying all revelers into the new year.

As I climbed the stairs to my chamber, I found myself alight with something I had not felt in quite some time: excitement. I was excited to see what the day would bring, to see how the members of the Inquisition would celebrate. It felt pleasant and comforting as a holiday should truly be and I was as determined as the rest to enjoy it to the utmost.

.x.

The day passed in something of a blur. Faces and laughter and voices blended together into a continuous joyous presence, and I let myself be merrily buffeted along from one event to the next. I returned to my chamber in the late afternoon to prepare for the feast, donning (with some help from Josephine) the gown I'd been gifted. When I was properly attired, she surprised me one more time, presenting me with a wreath made of ivy and evergreen, twined through with twigs bearing red berries.

"A traditional part of a lady's attire for First Day," she said to me as she arranged it over my loose hair. It sat high upon my head, straight across my brow and above my ears. "Or so I've been told by more than one Free Marcher when asked for holiday advice."

"It is." I said, reaching up to touch it experimentally. Josephine batted my hand away.

"It looks perfect. Don't muss," she told me before grasping me by the arm and leading me down to the main hall.

The feast was astounding both in its quantity of food and quality. There were so many tables full of people that I wondered how on earth it would be possible to move throughout them. It was possible, to my surprise; whoever had devised the floor plan had been a genius indeed. I was given a place at a table along with all my companions, and it gladdened me to see that they were all present. When the food was served we ate without hesitation, our conversations more lighthearted and lively than I could ever recall them being before. Drink flowed like water, and I was certain that come the morrow more than a few members of the Inquisition would wake bemoaning their aching heads.

Dancing began immediately after the feast. Tables and chairs were shoved to the edges of the hall and a group of musicians — some the same from the previous day, though they'd grown in number — struck up music from front of the hall, near the throne. The happy mood that had been prevalent all day swelled and spilled over into raucous merriment. Dancing became infectious. I, thoroughly awash with festive spirit, soon found myself in the arms of a laughing Free Marcher, who spun me round with such determination that I felt the wreath on my head began to slip.

The passage of time meant nothing that night. I lived for the dancing, for linked arms and clasped hands and fast, twirling steps. In the periods where I rested, sitting in a chair surrounded by others, sipping water or cider or ale, I searched the hall for my companions. They were all of them present — Dorian engaged in deep, oft times heated discussion with the Iron Bull, Varric knocking tankards with a group of burly Fereldens, Vivienne seated at a table with some visiting Orlesian envoys. Lelianna, Cassandra, and Cullen I glimpsed more than once, all of them smiling, all of them seeming to me more relaxed than they'd ever been before. Sera seemed up to some mischief as I spotted her flitting from one corner of the hall to another, but I resolved that for one night at least she was someone else's problem. Cole, unsurprisingly, was more subdued as he sat in alone in a corner, but from time to time I noticed him smiling faintly as he bobbed his head in time with the music.

The companion I looked for most despite myself was Solas, and I was surprised to see he remained. I had fully expected him to attend the feast and disappear as he was wont to do. He spent some time in the company of Dorian and Bull and Cole and some time on the periphery of the action, a quiet observer. I went through the night dancing, resting, and drinking until finally I became resolute to do the one thing I was certain I would never have the courage to do again.

"Solas!" I called as I approached him, riding euphoric urges that were no doubt fueled by my earlier consumption of wine. He quickly turned to face me, halted in the process of raising his cup to his mouth.

"Inquisitor," he greeted warmly, taking in my rosy appearance. "You appear to be enjoying yourself."

I took a deep breath, deciding to be blunt. "Very much. And I would enjoy it even more if you would dance with me."

I had never seen Solas at a loss for words before, and truthfully it was something I savored. Long moments passed before he was able to speak, and when he did I noticed two spots of color had appeared high on his own cheeks.

"I… I'm afraid I rather lack for skill."

"So do I," I said gaily, and it was the truth. Growing up as I did, I of course had been trained in all the things young noble ladies were expected to be skilled at, but I'd never excelled. There was a marked difference between dancing at a ball full of royalty and dancing a reel in a tavern, and tonight was more like the latter in setting. I wasn't proficient, but I was determined, and more importantly, I was having fun. "And it doesn't matter. Look around you! Skill isn't required tonight."

Solas's gaze followed mine, taking in the couples that whirled about the floor, the people that drunkenly shimmied back and forth on the fringes of the hall, the groups of people locking elbows as they spun each other about.

"So?" I prompted.

He turned his attention back to me, setting the cup down on the table at his side as he did so. He reached out with one hand to straighten the wreath in my hair, smiling as he did so. "Very well, Inquisitor. Let us dance."

I was equal parts astounded and overjoyed. I took two bounding steps backward, jostling into another couple as they drifted by. Laughing, I held a hand out to Solas, who took it in his. He bowed over it, lifting his head to look up at me as he brushed his lips over the back of my hand. The sound that left me then was half gasp, half giddy giggle. The current song ended at that precise moment, and there was only a moment's delay before the next one began. Suddenly we were dancing, Solas' arm tight around my waist, his other hand clasping mine. We joined the others wheeling about the hall with swift, dizzying movement. I felt breathless, I felt weightless, I felt alive in a way I had not felt in such a very long time.

Solas danced, as I'd expected, with the same confident yet constrained grace with which he moved through the world normally. Our connection then was effortless, unburdened by unwise kisses given in dreams, by words said or unsaid, by circumstances that existed beyond this point in time. His eyes held mine and in them I saw only a playful gleam, one I'd never seen before and one I wanted to see again. I could not stop smiling, could not stop the breathless laughter that fell from my lips as Solas, foreseeing a collision with another dancing couple, deftly and abruptly steered us to the right. It was then I stumbled, treading on his foot, and the only thing that kept me from tumbling to the floor in an ungainly heap was Solas's firm hold.

He was grinning when I'd finally regained my balance, leaning in close to make his voice heard over the dull roar of the crowd. "You make it look so effortless."

"I'm unaccustomed to such gallant partners!" I quipped, and he laughed.

Too soon, far too soon, the dance was over. The music transitioned into something less lively, something slow, and I knew such a song was not meant for he and I. I felt almost lightheaded as he released me, flushed for reasons not all related to the physical activity and the warmth generated by the crowd. Solas had taken my elbow, guiding me back toward the side of the hall, but I stopped with a shake of my head.

"I'm going outside for a while," I explained. "It's far too warm in here."

"Then I'll come with you," he said, and still guiding me with his hand on my elbow, directed us through the throng. We didn't exit through the main door. Instead, Solas took us through the side corridors until we passed out of the hold and into the garden. I was not surprised to see that it wasn't deserted; the hold was too full of people tonight that it would be. There was a small group having a lively conversation on the side opposite of where we stood, and I spied a young couple seated on a bench near a row of hedges. Solas' hand fell from my arm and he followed me as I moved through pools of torchlight toward the large, ivy entwined trellis near the northern edge of the garden.

It was a beautiful night, even by the exceptional standards set by Skyhold's location. The air was clear, crisp, and cold enough that we could not remain out here too long without becoming uncomfortable. Craning my head back, I looked for the moon and found it, nearly full and luminous, a nocturnal regent amongst its subject stars.

"It's almost easy," I said then, "to forget who we are and what we do. At least, tonight it is. Almost easy for me to forget the Anchor and everything related to it."

I'd spoken the words almost unconsciously, distracted by the sky's vista, by the events of the day. Awareness of just what I'd said washed over me, and I glanced at Solas with a bittersweet smile. "I'm sorry," I said. "I had not meant to ruin what has otherwise been a lovely evening."

"You've ruined nothing," he assured me, before holding out a thin wooden box than he'd procured from one of his robe's inner pockets. At my apparent confusion he said, "A gift for First Day."

"Solas …"

"Take it."

"But I've nothing for you."

"That bothers me not at all. Please, Evelyn. Open it?"

I carefully took the box from him. It was thin and long, the polished wood smooth beneath my fingers. There was a small metal catch on one side which I opened with my thumb. Inside, nestled within a velvet interior, were two pens. Between the nearby torches and the moon, there was enough light to reveal to me that they were made of wood, and as I brought the box closer for better inspection, I realized that they had been carved, exquisitely so, with tiny figures and symbols that joined together in fluidic, seamless symmetry. The nib of the pen was metal, similar to what I'd seen some Orlesians use but also somehow different, unusual in its elongated, graceful shape.

That this was a very fine gift was obvious. The craftsmanship was beyond what you could find in Skyhold, beyond too anything I'd seen in the Black Emporium or even the more extravagant shops in Val Royeaux. I had a suspicion that the pen I held was old, older than myself or Solas, perhaps even centuries so.

More than a little awed, I raised my eyes to his. "How did you …? And where? I've never seen anything like these before."

He shook his head with a small smile. "It matters not. I hope this will be a gift you can and will use. No writer should be without the fine instruments of their craft."

"And very fine these are." I gently replaced the pen and closed the box. "Thank you, Solas. Truly, this is a gift beyond compare." And, caught up in a rush of gratitude and other, deeper emotions, I took two steps forward and hugged him. He didn't stiffen as I half expected him to, instead returning my embrace readily. It was he who slowly withdrew after a moment, but before doing so completely he surprised me by reaching out to straighten, again, the wreathe in my hair.

"You look something of a sprite," he smilingly said, and there was an undercurrent in his voice that I could not decipher, thought it warmed me through and through. "A spirit of First Day, manifested in the flesh for one night only, come to frolic among the mortals."

"Perhaps I am," I said, grinning with delight at his words. "Joy on the First Day, Solas."

He astonished me then by leaning in swiftly and placing a lingering kiss upon my cheek. "Joy on the First Day, Inquisitor," he whispered in my ear before turning to take his leave.

I watched as he departed the way we had come, clutching his gift in my hand and wondering at the feel of his lips upon my skin, wondering at the significance of his gift, wondering how I could possibly extricate myself now from the feelings I had for him — and wondering, too, if I would ever want to.

I turned my face upward. A breeze caressed my face, already too cold for my liking. The murmur of conversation from the others in the garden was audible, though nearly drowned out by the dull roar of voices and music from the main hall that filtered through walls and passageways to reach the garden. I reflected on the events of the day, savoring them, because it was the closest thing I had known to a perfect day in a very long time. These new memories, all of them, deserved to be cherished, because when the First Day celebration was over

No. I would not think of it. I was happy here, happy now, and would be happy for as long as this night lasted. With Solas' gift in hand, I began walking back toward the hold and the main hall, toward the music and the dancing, the frivolity and the carefree atmosphere that was what we all of us needed. I would dance again, drink again, laugh again.

I would live tonight as I never had, as I may never again.

.x.