Re-entry was more and more difficult and disorienting the longer one had lingered in the Fade. It started moments before true waking, the loud rush in the ears as the world returned to consciousness, the sensation of cold damp air bringing an unpleasant ache in disused joints, the firmness of the ground beneath compressing the spine. Solas carefully raised himself up onto his elbows, his sleeves stiffly cracking under a thin sheen of frost. He slowly circled one ankle, then the other, until warmth began to return to his bare feet. He'd slept longer than he had intended. Time in the Fade passed by differently, more slowly or quickly depending on area or activity. In fifteen minutes of actual time, one could experience what felt like years. Similarly, you could easily while away an afternoon in the misty depths only to awaken and discover years had passed. Decades, at times. Solas hoped it had not been months that he'd lain here, but the mossy growth on his things didn't bode well for hopes of a few hours, either.

He stood and immediately staggered, spreading his arms wide to keep his balance on unsteady legs. The bright moonlight pooling in the cave entrance told him of the hour, but not the day. He did note, with some concern, that the moon was nearly full. It had been a thin fingernail when he found this shelter. His absence had likely caused concern at this point. Sliding his pack onto his shoulders, he took a deep breath and emerged, thankful that the snow had not reached the foothills as of yet. With luck, he would reach Skyhold before mid-day.

At least the return journey was quiet, ascending slowly into snowier regions until he glimpsed the fortress walls in the distance. The courtyard was busy with the standard daytime activities when he made his way through the gates, tired and damp with snowmelt. He noticed the temporary pause in movement, the quieting of conversation. Above him, on the main stair, there was a flurry of activity as two scouts scrambled through the doorway, throwing glances over their shoulders at the place where he stood, pack hanging limply in one hand. He wondered if he had time to change before he was summoned to explain his absence.

In the rotunda, he tossed the rucksack in with the books and scrawled notes that littered his sofa, noting with dismay that the piles had shifted. Someone was looking for something among his things. That, however, was an irritation he would have to deal with at a later time. Solas pulled his tunic over his head and turned to cross the room, to the assorted trunks shoved against the far wall. He was rummaging through these trunks - which had also clearly been searched through - when the door shoved open.

She entered confidently then stopped, arms crossing in front of her chest. Evelyn had dark circles forming under her eyes, and a fresh battle wound scratching her upper lip that had only just begun to heal. She smelled heavily of lavender and vanilla, fresh from the bath he had clearly interrupted. He could see the curls of damp hair at the nape of her neck just below where she'd hastily tied it back. She stared at him a beat, mouth slightly open, then looked away deliberately with a flush rising to her cheeks. He stared down at his bare chest and realized it was his half-naked state that had flustered whatever speech she'd rehearsed on the way to his room.

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor," he plucked out a shirt and kicked the trunk closed before pulling the garment over his head. "I had hoped to be more presentable before greeting you."

"Greeting me?" her words were quiet, with a slight waver that contained both restrained tears and barely reined-in rage. "Is that how you planned to make this... was that what you..." she paused, took in a long breath. "It's been almost four months, Solas."

He blinked, caught off guard. Damn.

She glanced upward, eyes shimmery but refusing to let any tears fall. "I thought you were gone. Dead, possibly. No word, no sign, nothing. For almost four months. And then you come back in through the front door as if you'd been out for... for a walk and just... change your shirt?"

"The shirt was dirty," he said plainly, stepping forward. She retreated in response, holding a hand up to halt his approach.

"Where were you?"

"I am sorry, Inq-" she cast him a sharp look that froze the word in his throat, "... Evelyn. I went to see if I could find any trace of my friend. I visited the places she had dwelled in the Fade to see if perhaps she would return, in one form or another."

"And did you?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Will she?"

"Perhaps. Not as she was, but sometimes there remains enough of a spirit to reform into something new."

Evelyn folded her arms more tightly, hugging herself. "So you searched for something, someone, that you couldn't be certain existed, and you did this for almost four months without sending a word."

Solas stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I am sorry. I did not intend to stay in the Fade for so long."

She stepped back again. "You were in the Fade? This entire time? Just... sleeping?"

"I was."

With a shake of her head, she pursed her lips together. "I don't believe that. That you just slept. For this long. Without food, without waking, without wondering if you should perhaps..." she stopped, conscious of the whispered conversations above. She shook her head again.

"Perhaps," his voice was just above a whisper, "we could discuss this later?"

She scoffed, chin jutting as she glanced at the railing above. When she spoke, the words came as more of a hiss. "If you think I'm inviting you into my bed tonight, to give me your apologies, your excuses laced with honey after this?" Evelyn turned and made for the door, raising up an arm as if she could read his mind. "Do not follow me. If you want to give a report on your findings in the Fade, tell it to one of the mages." The door shut heavily behind her, and a chorus of whispers floated down from the upper floor, following by barely muffled snickers.

Somehow, she managed to avoid him for the rest of the day, lingering in the War Room before taking her evening meal alone in her quarters. Just as the guards began to light the lamps, the reports from the southern troops arrived. She strode toward the passage alongside her counselors without glancing in his direction, their speculation over the meaning of this missive already giving rise to frenzied arguing. He found himself a strategic place near Josephine's bookshelf and watched the door with interest, half-heartedly paging through the manuscript in his lap until they again emerged. From the way her advisors exited, he took it the news was not received well. Josephine shuffled past with an apologetic smile, Leliana striding without expression. The commander cursing slightly under his breath. And now The Inquisitor, her hands tucked behind her, frowning as she saw him now standing at the end of the hall. Skyhold had long been dark and silent, with all the night guard tucked away in their beds. Her advisors now extinguished the lamps behind them and made the same journey, putting their worries on a shelf until dawn.

"Why are you here?" her voice was weary, an edge of anger, sadness. The argument still as fresh in her mind as in his. A glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy, and then a sigh. "We'll talk tomorrow, Solas. I'm much too tired for this now."

She made to push past him, into the ambassador's office and he moved without thinking, an arm at her waist barring her path through the door. She stopped, startled, and put her hand on his arm, as if to force it down, looking back up at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "What are you-"

He kissed her then, free hand moving up to catch her head right at the back of her skull, fingers twined in her hair. She didn't resist, her arms opening wide for a moment before her own fingers were at his lapels, pulling him closer. They crashed into the door frame, her back against the wooden panel, his knee pushing her legs apart, hips pinning hers as the kiss became more intense. She made a small sound that was half sob, half invitation and he found himself unbuttoning her collar, slipping his hand inside to trace her collarbone. Her skin was always so soft, so warm in spite of the harshness she faced. She pulled at him greedily and it made him feel greedy too, wondering if they would make it to her room, or at least the rug in Josephine's office.

A harsh, guttural sound echoed in the space behind him, someone clearing their throat. He felt her freeze, and pulled back slightly in response, his head dipping into the shadow.

"Was," she sounded hoarse, out of breath. "Was there something else you needed, Commander Cullen?"

Solas could hear the awkward shift of the Commander's metal grieves. "I left an important missive in the war room, your worship. I can retrieve it another time."

The elf withdrew slightly, stepping lightly back into the dark of the hall. "I was just leaving."

"Yes," she said, clearing her own throat. "We should all be off to bed. I'll see you in the morning, Commander. Solas."

They walked, her slightly in front of him, into the vast great hall as Cullen hurried into the War Room, not looking back at either of them.

She inclined her head slightly. "Fifteen minutes, make sure he sees you back at your work, then you follow."

"Ten," he whispered, pulling her to him again. "I will not survive fifteen."

Another hurried kiss, fingers grasped until pulled apart by distance as they both went their momentarily separate ways.