Emprise du Lion was not nearly as regal as its name would imply. Instead of a charming village, they found a cluster of ruined buildings, with the threat of red lyrium-addled templars looming in the surrounding woods. Camp was established slightly outside what remained of Sahrnia, with small tents huddled together around a fire. The party that accompanied the Inquisitor was small by design, the theory being that a smaller group could go undetected for at least a short time, with reinforcements arriving once the village had been secured. Solas was surprised he had been included in this group, but the Inquisitor had been nothing if not surprising as of late. Seeking his counsel more and more often, asking him to accompany her on scouting missions. Solas sat near the cooking fire, taking a roll of cloth from his pack and gently unwinding it to admire the stone contained within in the fire's light. It was an object of immeasurable age, taken from the pocket of a templar they felled on the road behind them. How he had come across such an artifact, let alone what he planned to do with the object was truly a point of bewilderment. Turning the stone over in his hand, he examined the carvings, now visible in the flicker of light.

Boots beside him then, boots attached to impossibly long legs. "Is it important?"

"Perhaps." He handed it up to her, red rock with greenish gold runes glimmering in her fingers. "We will research it back at Skyhold, see if I can discern its origin."

"You don't know where it's from?" she held it up to her face. "That seems… unusual."

He laughed. "My not knowing something is hardly unusual." Wolves howled in the distance; the moon was rising. "You should be getting off to sleep. Dawn will come early, and with it many demands of your time and attention."

"I think we're bunking together," she sighed. "Dorian and Iron Bull laid claim to the other tent, and the scouts are four deep in theirs."

A long moment of silence.

"I could sleep out here," he said at last, carefully choosing his words. "I do not mind the ground. It would not be the first time."

"Don't be ridiculous, it's freezing out here."

"I do not mind the cold, either."

"You're being stubborn."

"Only practical. How would it look for you to take me into your tent?"

Another long silence.

"How would it look for me to leave one of my inner circle out in the cold? When the others arrive?" A light snow began to fall as she spoke, causing her to shrug at him. "See? Inhumane conditions."

The tent was cramped, small, two bedrolls with barely a third of a foot of space between them. He cleared his throat and sat on one of the rolls, his legs folded beneath him. Evelyn sat opposite, taking down her hair from its pins. When she reached to undo the neck of her jacket, he laid back, turned on his side to face the canvas wall, listening to the soft rustle of clothing, the scratch of her boots against the roll as she kicked them off. It was what it was like, now, in her presence. Acutely, painfully aware of every movement, every motion, every breath. She moved in slow motion whenever she was near, haunting his moments. She settled in behind him, easing out a long breath of exhaustion and relief as she reclined.

"Sometimes it feels like this is happening to another person."

He rolled over, startled to find she was facing him, perched on the edge of her own roll, hands tucked under her head. "I think that is how everyone thrust into importance must feel," he whispered, not trusting his voice not to crack.

She laughed slightly. "I suppose that's true. I never think about that. It's too hard to imagine I'm the only one," she affected a tone of mock seriousness, then, "Thank you for keeping me grounded, Solas. I can always count on you to keep me in my place."

"Happy to oblige," he responded quietly. In the distance, a familiar squeal followed by hushed laughter. "I cannot escape the two of them, no matter where I go, it seems."

She leaned in impossibly close then, their faces a finger's breadth apart. "Tuck the blankets round your ears. It helps blot them out." Her breath was warm and smelled of salt and fresh herbs. Likely the tea he'd watched her sip earlier. She lingered there, close enough to cause a shiver of electric tension to overtake him. "Goodnight, Solas."

He laid back, staring at the ceiling and willing his breathing to calm, listening to her breath grow slower and even. There would be no sleep for him tonight, not with the less than half a foot of space that existed between them while she slept, her face tucked into her chest for warmth. A spill of hair had come loose from her elaborate blanket cocoon and now lay across her cheek. Solas considered moving it back into place, two fingers catching the strand and tucking it back, perhaps grazing her ear in the process. Her eyes would open, finding him so very close and something would shift between them.

The kiss would start slowly. Foreheads bumping, noses grazing one another. Gentle and soft, it would continue until she opened the blankets, inviting him in. There, on the shared bedroll, he would no longer be able to keep things gentle, nor soft.

Dorian and Iron Bull deserved a turn at being scandalized.

She roused suddenly, causing his ears to flush with uncomfortable heat. He again slipped onto his back, stared at the ceiling. Fortunately, she hadn't caught him staring at her like some kind of ravenous animal.

"Have you not slept?" she asked drowsily. "I thought I would have trouble with the cold."

"Sometimes," he said carefully, "the act of rest is more helpful than the act of sleep." Solas pushed himself up on one elbow, careful to avoid leaning too close. "It is not the cold, Inquisitor. I just have much weighing on my mind." A heavy moment of silence passed between them. "About our expedition here, I mean. There are Elvhen ruins nearby I am anxious to visit."

She pulled her legs up suddenly, grazing his side with her knees. The flesh beneath his tunic burned as if she were made of molten lead. He shifted uncomfortably, attempting to make himself small against the wall of the tent. She turned to him, eyes glinting in the dim of the tent.

"You were correct, however. The temperature is quite unpleasant. I should thank you, then, for the invitation. It would have been most unfortunate to find me a frozen in the morning. I am not nearly as effectual when iced over." Despite his attempts to push away, they seemed closer than ever. He could feel her warm breath on the place where his neck met his shoulder, causing the uncomfortable warmth to flood over him once again, in spite of the chill.

An almost imperceptible shiver then, from Evelyn. "Are you too cold?" he asked, shifting closer before he thought better of it. "Here," he lifted the edge of his own blanket. "It's big enough. I can remain here and you can use more than half." He pulled the blanket across so it rested on her shoulders. He withdrew his hand and it accidentally grazed hers beneath the shared cover, fingers sliding over one another. "Your hand," he said slowly, quietly. "It's like ice." He took the offending hand in both of his own, willing warmth into her fingertips. Her free hand rose in startled reaction, finding his arm and extracting from him an uncomfortable laugh-gasp that he immediately regretted, because she then drew away. "How are you so cold? What do you do in your castles when the winter winds grow fierce and no amount of cover can keep out the chill?"

Without waiting for a response, he adjusted his grip to her forearm and pulled her to him, turning her slowly in the process. Her head tucked beneath his chin, arms folded before her, wrist still held in his own grip. His knees slid behind hers, his feet resting neatly under her own. "When I was... younger," he said quietly, "we were taught to sleep like this when travels took us through the mountains. Of course," he paused, swallowed hard, "it works better with more bodies, but we can make do with just two."

The wind outside the tent howled, shaking the canvas flaps. "I think there will likely be another few feet of snow when we wake," he murmured. "Travel might be slow." Discussing the mundane kept the mind busy, distracted. Solas hoped it would be enough to keep his body from betraying how her proximity affected him.

The wind continued its unearthly roar, howl of wolves in the distance, she shifted against him and he stared at a fixed point on the far wall in a fruitless attempt to distract himself.

"I would have suggested this myself," she said, edge of yawn in her voice, "if I had not believed you would bolt out into the ice. You seem to run any time I get lean too close. I thought you were afraid of me.

At this, he let loose a low laugh deep in his throat. "Do you believe I startle so easily, Inquisitor? My concerns were for your reputation, I assure you. I am not afraid of you, despite the tales others might tell."

She moved her head slightly, her hair rubbing against his jaw. "Evelyn. If we're sleeping like nesting spoons, we can use first names, please. Now, what tales?"

"Didn't you know?" he asked with a tone of mock surprise, "The people might love you, but the Chantry faithful spread the sordid truth. You dance naked bathed in the blood of infants beneath the light of the full moon, drunk on rift power. You feast on virgins to regain your strength and practice forbidden spirit rituals to lure men to their deaths. Fortunately, I am not an infant, so my blood is safe, and it has been many years since I was considered innocent. Now, if you're going to lure me to my death, you're not doing a very convincing job of it... unless you plan to smother me with my own bedding."

Her fingers grazed his arm. A sudden vision of turning her over, separating her knees with his own and pressing her back against the hard ground. He cleared his throat and shifted his arm away slightly. He steered the topic back to their travels. "There's a shrine nearby, to Ghilan'nain. A very old one, predating the first Dalish clans. I visited it once in my youth and it remains a place I think of often, and fondly."

Only silence then between them, his heart thundering in his chest. The wind died down, the only sound that of swiftly falling snow and the occasional beat of a night-bird's wings in the dark. She shifted against him, releasing a lazy yawn. Clearly she needed rest, and as she relaxed, rocking into him in her maddening way, he felt his own mind drift. His dreams were of sunlit hills in the valley in which he was born, his skin warm, feelings of comfort as his fingers were gripped tightly in an act of love, security.

Solas awoke suddenly to daylight peeking through the tent's door, shocked to find his face buried in her hair, lips pressed against the place where her spine met shoulder. His fingers were laced with her own, hand drawn up tight against her chest with his arm encircling her rib cage. She had shifted half onto her stomach in her sleep, with his own body following suit, legs entwined with hers. He carefully extracted himself, ignoring the way the soft sighs she made in her sleep left him feeling raw. With his legs drawn up, arms wrapped around his knees, he took a grounding breath.

It was best to be outdoors when the others woke.

The world beyond his tent was painted over in dazzling white, the fresh snow covering every available surface. Already a few of the men were digging paths from the tents to the campfire, attempting to fight a losing battle against the blowing drifts. The journey would be slow-going, and tricky.

Dorian stepped out of his tent, face contorted by angry shock. "We're not going to travel in this, are we? This is beyond comprehension."

"It's snow," said Iron Bull, stretching behind Pavus, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have seen snow before, haven't you? You walk through it, you push it around. It doesn't exactly bite."

Evelyn emerged then, wrapping a thick coat over her shoulders. She positively grinned at Solas. "Sleep well?"

Despite all the deceptions he'd built around him like tiny walls, he did try to answer most of her questions as truthfully as possible. It was easy to avoid the harsher parts of the truth, when necessary, while still remaining steadfast to his vow. Discreetly vague statements, clever turns of phrase, artfully placed humor, all had served him quite well up and until this point. Regardless, he ignored both his unspoken rule and the screaming exhaustion of his body.

"Yes," he returned her smile, "quite comfortably."