"It's nearly dawn, you know." His voice was weary, eyes half shut. Still, she persisted.

"It's barely past midnight."

"But it feels later. I've just returned. Can I not have one decent night's sleep?"

"You've slept enough if I recall," she said, tone edging toward dangerous.

"You know what I mean. Restful sleep."

"I'm too wired. You have to help me relax."

He opened one eye toward her, the other still scrunched tight. "I am not sure if I can do that again right away. You'll have to give me a few minutes."

"That is not what I meant."

"Then what do you require?"

"Tell me a story."

He rolled onto his back on the bed, arm draped across his eyes. "You never let me finish my stories any longer. You always attempt to distract me."

"I promise to be good."

"Your promises are empty." He sighed, glancing down at where she lay, on her stomach, near his hip. "Fine. What would you like to hear?"

Her eyes glittered at him in the dark.

"Seriously?" he groaned. "Why am I never allowed to tell you of Qunari legends? Why must you want to hear the fabricated fables of men and women long forgotten?"

"Don't the Dalish remember them?"

"The Dalish misremember them, at best. Why the interest in Fen'Harel stories? They are not even the best ones."

"They're usually the funny ones. There's a twist at the end."

He frowned. "Not twists. Lessons. Morals. Every elven god has a morality point. The people use their stories to teach the young."

"What is Fen'Harel's lesson?"

Solas found his throat had grown quite dry. "Be careful what you wish for."

One of her long fingers then, poking him in the side. He rolled onto that side, catching her hand in his. Fingers laced together with hers against his chest, he began. "There once was a village..."

She sighed, scooted closer to him.

"You promised to be good," he admonished her, tapping her fingers with his in warning. "The village was plagued each night by a great beast. It had the body of a bear, but was larger than any bear ever witnessed in the woods around the village. It had the head of a great serpent, but covered with hair instead of scales. Teeth sharp as knives and claws more deadly than any harpy talon. Every sunset it appeared on the horizon, entering the village and stealing away one of their young. Attempts to stop it from its thefts were met with great carnage, as the beast slaughtered any who stood against it."

She had her lips against his collarbone and he made a tsking sound with his tongue.

"Finish it, I'll behave," she whispered.

He cleared his throat. "The people prayed to Mythal, but all she could offer were tears and songs of mourning for their fallen. They prayed to Andruil, who fought valiantly against the beast but was ultimately wounded and had to withdraw. The beast, you see, anticipated her every attack and countered it. Finally, one desperate mother prayed to Fen'Harel. She had lost two sons to the beast, and feared the loss her young daughter as well. At the dawn, Fen'Harel came. He knew he could not best the beast in battle. Instead he fired a single arrow into the sky and left. The people mourned and panicked, and prepared for the beast to come again... " he trailed off, momentarily losing his train of thought. He next words were strained, breathless. "You... you are not behaving."

In the hall downstairs, a whispered argument took place. Apparently, Solas had returned... his arrival disturbing two Chantry sisters who were attempting to harvest mushrooms from the garden. Their scandalized giggles had roused Dorian from where he dozed in his chair, creeping down to the garden wall to see for himself what had caused the sisters to flush so furiously and avoid his eyes as they passed.

"We aren't... we cannot be certain it is Solas. The Inquisitor is a grown woman and if she chooses to... ah, entertain a gentleman guest, then it is none of our concern." Josephine stood in the hall in her dressing robe, her hand gestures were quick and erratic, clearly, the topic made her uncomfortable.

Dorian scoffed. "I happened to inhabit the floor above his weird little... study-art room for nearly a year, you know. If you think I didn't recognize something so irritatingly familiar."

"Good heavens," Josephine cut him off. "I do not need you to go into detail."

"I wasn't about to. But believe me, I could. From memory."

"Perhaps it is simply another elf? Perhaps elf vocalizations... ah..."

Dorian's mouth was an open smile. "Lady Josephine has never dabbled in the elfish arts? Oh, then allow me to educate you... they don't all sound the same just because they happen to be small-boned and fond of silly hats. I am telling you," he leaned against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, "I would have known that particular set of vocalizations anywhere."

Echoing in the stairway above then, a soft cry rang out, followed by a low laugh. Josephine flushed scarlet in the candlelight. "Perhaps we should give them some time before we... welcome Solas back." She pushed the sisters and Dorian away from the chamber door, shooing them the way one would a gathering of clucking chickens.

Upstairs, the pair now lay on the rug on the floor, the sheets half-pulled from the mattress and twined around them. Evelyn yawned lazily and asked, "Did he return to kill the beast?"

"Who?" Solas asked slowly, as if returning to this world from a dream. "Oh. Oh, yes. I mean, no."

"No?"

He pulled the quilt up around them. "The beast came that night and the warriors stood against it. The beast felled every one. Next it dispatched the women, and then the elders. As the children cowered together in the great hall, the single arrow fell from the sky and pierced the beast at the base of its skull, killing it instantly."

"So he didn't save all the people?"

Solas looked down at where she rested on his chest. "They didn't ask him to. They asked him to kill it."

"And he did, by being clever."

"He did with the slow arrow, one the beast never saw coming."

"He's tricky like that."

"I think he's predictable like that, vhen'an. It's why he is so dangerous."

She stared up at him, hair spilling over his side. "Do you think he was dangerous?"

"Yes," he whispered. "In more ways than the stories tell."