The sunlight and noise were disconcerting, in a way that only truly affects those who are feeling the effects of overindulgence the night before. His head pounded, sharp pain behind his eyes, but the question of which overindulgence sparked the headache remained. Was it overly rich food and too free-flowing drink, or was it because he had once again given in, despite his better judgment?

He tossed his pack onto the saddle, wincing as someone dropped a heavy trunk behind him. He turned to see two of Cullen's men, the commander himself striding up toward them. "Just put that in the… Maker's breath, Solas, as you all right?" the commander's concern slid into a knowing smile. "Too much merriment before the action? Or perhaps after? I dare say more than one of us is suffering from that particular malady this morning. Orlesians do love their wine.". He jutted his chin toward where Iron Bull reclined under a shady tree, waving away Dorian's attempts to help him to his feet. "We're a sorry lot today, I'm afraid. Hope that we don't have any trouble on the road. Not a one looks battle-ready."

As if she had heard this cue, Evelyn stepped into the courtyard, looking herself a bit pallid. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed a fitful sleep, and Solas felt the familiar rise of warm shame. Her eyes met his and his blood went cold. The presence of encompassing knowing was held in her gaze. That will be an uncomfortable discussion, once they were back at Skyhold.

Cullen pushed past him, a hand raised in a gesture of apology as he made his way toward The Inquisitor. He had some pressing matter to discuss with her, Solas was sure. Something that would require them to ride side-by-side, to further the discussion. Nothing untoward, of course, just a meeting of equals on the road together, strategizing as they were wont to do. How many times could the commander attempt this tactic, before he decided to make his move? Something in the bold way the man stood now, his back to Solas, arms folded in front of him instead of worrying the back of his hairline in that nervous way he had, showed that there was not much time remaining before he would make a public declaration.

Solas was certain the wedding would be lovely.

He slid up onto his horse, finding Iron Bull slumped on his own mount alongside him. "Here," the Qunari said, tossing him a waterskin.

"What is it?" Solas asked, unscrewing the top and grimacing at the pungent stench that wafted from within.

"Probably best not to ask that. The Qunari call it Kata-asaara. It's a disinfectant, and a hell of a hangover cure."

Solas took a swig from the bottle, pleading with his stomach to keep it in place. "Death breath," he exhaled weakly. "Yes. The name is apt."

Iron Bull laughed and slapped him on the back roughly. "You'll be singing its praises in no time. If you can keep it down, that is. And, Solas, I wouldn't lean in toward any open flames for a while."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The ride back from Halamshiral felt much longer than it was. The world had gone red and grey, the headache pounding in pulse with his heart while his guts positively roiled. He managed a queasy sideways scowl at The Iron Bull, who grinned maniacally back at him. By the time they reached the main road, he was fighting whether to cry or vomit. His head throbbed with every strike of the horse's hoof, his eyes squinted shut against the relentless sun. When they rested the first night, he felt awash in relief, crawling into his tent and passing out almost immediately. The morning sun brought a fresh new pain: the cringing embarrassment of remembrance left alone in a now-clear mind.

There were very specific, important reasons he was part of this Inquisition, and unnecessary romantic entanglements was not among those reasons. He had come into this organization, adopted this facade, with a singular purpose, one he could not stray from. And then Evelyn Trevelyan had stumbled into his plans and messed everything up. What had started with a simple fascination with her predicament in absorbing the anchor had developed into a foolish schoolboy crush he had told himself he could ignore. When that schoolboy crush had crossed over into lustful thoughts, he dismissed them as a natural reaction to their close quarters. Love was never to be part of the equation. Yet, time and time again she had stumbled back into his mind, into his dreams, refusing to be ignored.

He rode on, several horses behind hers, watching the back of her head as she traveled. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, leaving her neck bare. Her collar had irritated the skin where her neck met her shoulder, leaving a red mark. She rubbed at it now, slender fingers worrying the place and readjusting her shirt. He felt the pangs in his chest, the desire to be the one to attempt to soothe that spot with his own touch. This need to be with her was bordering on obsession. He thought back to all the times he had very nearly taken advantage of her vulnerability. In his dreams, how close he had come to crossing that line, telling himself that it didn't matter there, that neither of them could get hurt, all the while knowing full well it was a lie. There was a night, frozen in a tent outside the shine he desperately wanted to visit in Emprise du Lion where he had become concerned he had gone too far; waking so wrapped around her that any casual observer would have thought them lovers. She had never mentioned it, however, and he believed himself to be in the clear.

Skyhold bustled with activity as they entered the gates, the noise and confusion of various parties sorting through crates, packs, and the matter of the prisoner they transported provided Solas with an opportunity to slip away, hauling his own belongings up the steps and into the hall. His hand was on the door to his study when he heard the hurried footsteps behind him.

"Solas?" Evelyn now stood less than ten feet away. "I was hoping to have a word with you."

Josephine and Cassandra appeared behind her, arguing about some piece of paper Cassandra waved in the air. "Inquisitor," the Lady Ambassador said, an edge of irritation in her voice. "If we could beg your input on this matter, it seems we have come to an impasse."

"Of course," Evelyn smoothed the edges of her riding jacket against her hips and made to follow them. "Solas, we can speak later?"

"Of course," he echoed, watching as she made for the War Room vestibule, shivering when she paused to glance back at him before disappearing through the door.