"How do you not know to brush your hair?" demanded the Seeker, comb in hand. She yanked at the worst of the knots.

Tir'alas winced as Cassandra pulled at her scalp. She spat back, "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because I've never had hair long enough to tangle before? Ow!"

"Don't whine. It's unbecoming of a young lady," said Madame de Fer, who lounged nearby. Her furs rustled in the frigid mountain air.

Solas watched with amusement from the other side of the campfire.

The Inquisitor bared her teeth. "I don't have to be a young lady out here. I doubt there's a single lace doily in all of Emprise du Lion. And red templars won't care whether or not I pour the tea in the saucer to cool."

"Ugh, my dear. That is by far one of your worst habits. It's just so … common."

"I don't have time to wait for it to decide to be the right temperature!" Tir'alas snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. Solas fought a mad twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Cassandra tutted, breath steaming, as she pulled another handful of loose hair from the comb. "Hold still. I've just about finished this side."

The Inquisitor steamed in resentment as Vivienne kept up the stream of criticism. "Darling, I don't know how you manage it. Not a single unfrozen puddle larger than your foot, yet there is mud all up the back of your coat—"

"It will brush off."

Not a minute later. "And did I hear Dorian correctly? Breaking and entering? Hardly an image to foster faith in our endeavor. I suppose we're lucky you didn't let yourself be seen—"

"That's what it was ... Luck."

And again. "So why, oh why can you not find the time to study etiquette if you can find space in your busy schedule to write that silly boo—"

Solas stirred, ire roused. Now that is going too far—

"Enough!" said Cassandra, with a sharp glare for the circle mage.

A good thing, too, for Solas had just stopped himself from setting the woman on fire. With that last rant, he'd watched Tir'alas shrink into herself, eyes like twin discs of smoldering, molten metal. Something, a lethal counter-strike, coiled just under the surface there. Something so ugly that even she balked at voicing it.

He tried to catch her gaze and failed. She'd gone somewhere inside, detached.

The Seeker set the comb aside and ran her fingers through the Inquisitor's hair. "All done."

Tir'alas stood in one smooth motion, her sleek hair gliding around shoulders like a curtain of starless night. She said, stiff, "Thank you, Cassandra."

The Seeker smiled and said, "Come to me in the morning and I will braid it for you, if you want. It's so soft and beautiful. I would not see the snow make it brittle."

With a tight smile, the Inquisitor nodded. She spun on a heel and walked away from the camp into the dusk-lit wood.

Solas hissed out a breath between clenched teeth. "For all your talk of civility, Vivienne, you do not indulge in it much yourself."

The circle mage cast an indifferent stare his way. "She needs a thick skin. I am preparing her for Halamshiral. You have no idea what vipers lurk there, and they will do it with far more subtlety. They will seek to take her apart with scorn."

"You think her soft? Easily hurt?" He shook his head. "You are a fool. Worry for your own skin, for hidden blades came near to kissing it just now. You are more vulnerable than you realize."

Then he stood, ignoring the touch of confusion and anger on Vivienne's dark face. Solas tracked Tir'alas by her footprints in the snow. Behind him, he heard Cassandra also berating the circle mage.

Good.

Tir'alas deserved stalwart defenders. He remembered the pride that lit her face when they'd completed the last page of that 'silly' book. The thought tickled him now as it had then that it may be the only thing she's ever been proud of.

He found her at the edge of the frozen lake, sitting with feet dangling over the bank. Her right thumb massaged over the Anchor in her left palm. Sitting at her side, Solas gave her a warm smile. She watched him warily for a moment, then relaxed, swinging her feet so sole smacked on frosted embankment.

"You were not cruel," he commented.

She let out a plume of frosted breath. "No, I was not. I was tempted, though. Sorely tempted."

"I saw. As was I," he said, then laughed at her surprised expression. "What? Am I not allowed to be petty?"

"I'd prefer not. Enough of us are already," said she, looking at him askance. "And I like you just as you are. Above all that."

His heart thudded. But his mouth still clung to some wit, "Perhaps I merely thought Madame de Fer looked cold and setting her fine robes alight might remedy that."

She chuckled. "Oh, well, if you just thought to help. That's alright then."

With a sigh, she laid back, her black hair making an even fan on the snow. Biting his lip, he tried not to imagine just rising over the top of her, fitting the curves of their bodies together like he knew they would so well. The muscles over his stomach clenched at the idea.

Then her fingers caught at the leather thong around his neck and pulled with gentle insistence. His pulse hiked as she drew him near, right down so that her mouth sat just next to his ear. She whispered, "We're being watched."

Startled, he just kept himself from peering around. He said, soft and low, "How do you know?"

She sighed again. "I spotted them awhile back. If I'm not mistaken, they're ours."

Then he remembered. "Leliana fears you may be the target of assassination. She said she'd send more of her people to keep an eye on you."

"Oh? She never brought it up with me." Tir'alas's eye, inches from his own, flickered with something like doubt. "Did she happen to say who? Agents of Corypheus? Maybe Tevinter? Nevarra? All of them?"

He kept his face blank of that suspicion that still nestled in his thoughts. He murmured, "She says the wind whispers the name, Rasdalelan."

She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the flash of something there, some terrible dread that had nothing to do with fear of bodily harm. She sighed back a tired, "Ah. Wouldn't that be … something."

"Our Spymaster recovered certain … artifacts from the Temple of Sacred Ashes she believes belong to this assassin."

"And did you see these 'artifacts?'" she asked, hooded eye cracking open to peer at him.

"I did."

She didn't respond, though the way her vallaslin stood out in sharp relief on her blanched face said much.

Solas, aching deep under his sternum, ran his warm fingers along her cold cheek. "Smile, lethallan. Or else they may suspect we are just pretending to be lovers, and move closer to hear our actual words."

And she did, a soft and sweet smile that dimpled her cheeks. Her gaze slipped over and locked onto his. "Are we? Pretending?"

Without his meaning to, his traitorous hand slid down the long column of her neck, thumb brushing over her pulse. It thrummed there, quickening at his touch. Calling forth a sweet ache from his bones. The tendons flanking her tender throat stood out as she arched into his palm. Licking his lips, Solas said, "I can think of many more pleasant things to speak of, or do, were we not in the middle of a snowy wood under the many watchful eyes of the Left Hand."

"'Do?'" she echoed, a breath that hardly made sound.

He arched a brow. "Do you think me so unaffected by you?"

Tir'alas took in a short breath. "I hadn't imagined you to be affected at all. I'd been … bold, thoughtless. As always. You seemed more … perturbed than anything."

Solas laughed, soft and low. "The word is close, but the connotation is not. Distraught? Discomposed? Flustered? All these and more. You … unsettle me. In a good way. I'd never thought to enjoy imbalance as I do in your compa—"

Her lips crashed into his, heavy and hungry. A moan drew up from his very loins to escape into her mouth. She shivered against him, hands reaching out to grasp at his thick, woolen coat. Similarly, his fingers dove for any piece of her they might reach to tease out into the open. One hand tangled in her impossibly soft hair while the other pushed the edge of her shirt up.

At the first touch of the soft skin of her midriff, he stopped, savoring the heat he found there. Like hot silk, it slid over his fingertips. Then he found the small of her back and wished to remain there forever. It fit so perfectly to his hand. His lips parted further around questing tongue. Hers opened wider to admit it.

Sweet. Scorching. Like a furnace. He explored every inch of her mouth. She, in game fashion, sought to return the favor and they tangled for dominance between two smiles.

She broke away for breath, then licked and kissed her way down his throat. Oh, how sinfully good that felt. His eyes shut on the delicious sensation even as his head fell back to give her better access. Panting clouds of frost into the air from his open mouth, he pressed his aching length to her hip.

Tir'alas gasped against the hollow of his throat, pulling away to look down. Her fingers clenched at his shoulders, and she jerked her head up to look him in the eye. There he read lust, excitement … and fear.

Pulling away took a monumental effort, but he managed, drawing in huge breaths to steady himself. Looking deep into her eyes, he rasped, "Best not give them too much to put in their reports. I would not share any part of you with them."

She gulped and nodded, want and relief warring in her gaze. Words seemed to escape her as she looked over his whole face like she'd never seen it before, lingering on his mouth, his eyes. It made him quake to be studied so, made him feel as though he deserved such unreserved adoration, just for a second.

With a deep sigh bordering on a whimper, he said, "Also, perhaps we … we are not ready." A statement with a curl at the end of it, making it almost a question.

Relief won, and it shone from her eyes along with a touching gladness that he understood.

The snow beneath them had all but melted under their heat, both bodily and magical. It soaked through his cloak, making his clothes cling to his body even more than the sweat did. He could only imagine what the back of her tunic and trews looked like.

"We should go back to camp," he said, smiling down into her flushed face.

"A little longer," she said, her own lips curling. "Tell me a story. Do you have any about Suledin Keep?"

He laughed. "I do … have one. It's long, though. Would it not be better shared in a dry tent?"

"Are you offering to share your tent with me again?" How he loved to hear her voice go breathy like that. "It could be unwise, hahren. One of us may end up ravished."

His chuckle rolled out dark and deep. "Rest assured, if that ever happens, neither one of us will be unwilling."

"But if we speak our stories in camp, we'll have to lay very close to each other so Cass and Vivienne or anyone else doesn't hear."

"As much as that will strain my self control, I'm game if you are," he said, feeling his smile starting to turn … predatory.

Her wide eyes took in his lips and she flared a brighter pink under the rising moons. Then she lunged past him to her feet in the blink of an eye. With insolent smirk, she said, "Last one back goes first!"

Then off she sprang, with him hot on her heels. Her hair, wet and flaked with frost, swung to and fro above soaked jerkin and pants. He could almost see through them. The urge to overtake and pounce on her nearly took his wits as they careened past fir and pine.

Solas reached out and just felt the ends of her locks on his fingertips as they ran into camp. The heads of sentries turned to mark their progress, then swung back to watch the perimeter.

At the last, he put on a burst of speed and surpassed the puffing Inquisitor, wheezing laughter as he slid into his tent. He held out his arms as she came barreling through the opening behind him, swinging them both down onto his bedroll and furs in a pile of tangled limbs.

He could not help pressing his lips to hers in one more breathless kiss. She pressed hands to his chest, mumbling oaths against his mouth, and he pulled away with another near soundless laugh.

"Ah, crap. We got snow in the bed," she whispered, twisting to brush it away before it melted.

With a shrug, Solas rolled away to strip off his soggy clothes. Cloak, coat, soiled tunic. Then breeches. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out his spare set.

Wild coughing behind him stole his attention. He half-turned to see Tir'alas had spun so she faced away. Amused, he watched her peek over her shoulder and blush a furious red. She darted toward the tent-flap with a hurried, "I'll, uh, just get my, uh, pack and change behind the tent."

Feigning confusion, he said, "I thought the Dalish had no nudity taboos?"

Sputtering and turning redder if that was possible, she sidled out of eyeline. "We don't-I mean …. It's different when, ah—" Her words ceased their disjointed flow. She stared for a moment, then said, short and plain, "I'll be right back."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Solas considered just rolling into the furs in just his smalls. But … no. He couldn't trust himself. Not with her so near. So he pulled on the dry clothing with a sigh. Then he slid under the bear pelt that served as his blanket, turning onto one hip.

When she rolled in next to him a few minutes later, his breath hitched as he realized she only wore a linen shift. Her bare legs entwined with his clothed ones with heartstopping litheness. How it stretched his discipline to keep his hands clear until she settled, face tucked against his collarbone.

She muttered, "Stretch out your arm. Your elbow is digging into my ribs."

Obliging, he swallowed as she moved even closer, using his bicep as a pillow. He didn't know what to do with his other arm, so he lay it along his thigh, hand shying away as he touched bare leg. Now she laughed as she reached and pulled that arm around her waist. "There. Just relax."

"Are you sure you're not trying to kill me?" he muttered.

Her one hand rested over his chest for a moment before stealing around his waist. "Well, your heart's still beating, so … no."

"Would I be so easy for you to dispatch?" he teased, muscles indeed going lax now that their embrace became less sexual and more … comfortable.

She turned her face up to fix a reproachful eye on him. "No. 'Dispatching' is never easy."

A thing he knew well. But he beat back that ancient sorrow and said, with laughing lilt, "I won. And would claim my prize."

"I need to stop making bad wagers with you. Blackwall warned me." She sighed in his arms and said, voice softening to a breath no one but he could hear, "Fine. This one might take some time. It's not one that I like remembering. Not that any of them are.

"It's about the first time I murdered. And the second."

He shivered at the deathly cold tone of her voice.

A/N: More of these two blushing nerds. I do so love them both. I hope you're still enjoying this tale. It's been so fun to write and share. If you've the urge, shoot me some feedback. I also love reviews. They are like candy. Delicious candy. :D