This section of plaster was set, it would need to dry overnight before he could add another color. Solas rocked back on his heels and smoothed a corner with his spade. It was arduous work, long since abandoned by the people for a reason: it took too damned long and made your fingers ache to the bone. But the effect was so perfectly realized; like a tapestry woven from stone instead of cloth. When it was finished, this room would gleam brighter than any jewel on her throne, any colored window glass in her great hall. This was his gift to the Inquisition: frozen frames of memory and conquest. One day, when their travels and travails had ended, he would tell her the meaning.

He looked forward to that day more than he liked to admit. The day when he could untie the mask each of them wore and let them meet as equals; bare-faced and without shame.

Scraping noises of wood on stone sounded in the space. From his vantage point on the scaffolding, he watched the Inquisitor enter the rotunda. She paused in the center of the room, seemingly bewitched by the fresco on the wall, head tilting to one side as she examined, her hands loose beside her. He descended the ladder, inadvertently startling her.

"Hello. I thought the Ambassador would keep you busy with the Duke."

"I met the Duke. I think we were equally unimpressed."

He chuckled. "Do not let your associates hear you say so. You are the golden savior after all. Meets and greets with the local nobility should be your primary concern."

"Your sarcasm wounds me."

"Very little wounds you. It is among the reasons I find you so intriguing."

"'Intriguing' is a strong word."

"Not in the slightest," Solas stepped off the ladder to stand near her. "Simply an apt one." He followed her gaze, examining the panel he'd finished just two nights prior. "This room has long held such works, it is a place of storytelling, the walls are well suited for it, after all. It is always the same story, the story of Skyhold; although the characters and events change. This is your story." He threw her a sideways glance. "You should not look surprised. Skyhold is your fortress, why would it not contain your story?"

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I don't know how you found the time."

Picking up a piece of oilcloth from the table near the wall, he wiped the plaster dust from his hands. "It's a slow-going process. Admittedly, I prefer to work in paint. But the stone in here is perfectly suited for this. It would be disrespectful to the wall to cover it with paint that would only flake and fade." Something in her eyes flickered when he mentioned the paint. "Oh," he continued. "I hope you do not mind the mural in your chamber. The loft seemed too empty to leave unadorned. I thought some reminder of victory and purpose would best serve as the guardian of your dreams. If you would prefer another scene, I could easily accomplish that when you next venture out."

He cleared his throat. He was talking too much, filling the space between them with words because he feared the heaviness of the silence that lingered when they stood too near, alone, as they were now.

"I wondered if that was you. It was surprising. Lovely... but surprising." She cocked her head. "Don't you sleep?" Then she gave a slight smile, downturned eyes, hint of blush as she realizes what a ridiculous question this is. Of course he sleeps.

"I do," he said wryly. He glanced at the overstuffed sofa beside them, piled high with books. "Despite all evidence to the contrary."

"You didn't ask for a bed."

"I'm accustomed to hard surfaces. The ground suits me just fine."

She pushed a small stack of tomes over to one side, perching herself on the edge of the cushion. Fingers folded, elegant in spite of the cuticles being rough and torn. She has been chewing at the nails again.

"But how have you been sleeping, Inquisitor? What is that saying? 'Heavy is the head that wears the crown?'"

"Is it a crown?" she smirked. "Feels more like a noose. I think preferred the stocks."

"Then I will ask that a set be installed presently. I know just where it will fit with your decor."

"I suppose you would, seeing how much time you spend in there while I'm away."

He raised his hands, "I am sorry for intruding. It was simply an attempt to make your accommodations more... accommodating."

"I didn't say I minded," she laughed. "But if you want to visit, you should simply ask when I'm here."

Another heavy silence hung between them. "This fortress is smaller than you imagine, Inquisitor. I wouldn't want any unsavory rumors."

She laughed again, "Sweet Andraste, Solas. I'm not asking you to sneak up in the middle of the night. I didn't think you'd have such a problem with an invitation to study in my study. Josephine mentioned she interrupted you..."

"Yes," he breathed, "I was trying to bring you star charts last week. She informed me you had business early in the morning, so I decided against it."

"And instead you painted Skyhold in glory in my loft while I attended to matters of state." Evelyn pushed herself up from the couch. "You are welcome to visit with star charts, or perhaps other lessons, whenever you'd like, Solas. There is nothing untoward about sharing knowledge."

"Other lessons?" he asked evenly.

"I've been meaning to learn a bit of Elvhen, actually," she folded her arms across her chest. "We're running into more Dalish. I want to appear welcoming."

"Of course, whatever I can do to help."

She smiled, "I'd hoped you'd say that. Goodnight, Solas. I hope you have pleasant dreams."

"And you."

Evelyn closed the door behind her. Solas stood for a moment longer and then allowed himself to rest on the arm of the sofa. His mind whirled. Of course she wanted to learn some Elvhen, any good diplomat would. And she had expressed interest in the stars, hadn't she? If she thought it was appropriate, well. Above him, a distinct snickering noise sounded, prompting Solas to return to his fresco. If nothing else, at least this strange dance of theirs entertained the Tevinter.