The smell of fresh coffee, fruit-laden pies, burnt sugar, and buttery breads filled the room, the bustle of people serving and receiving their breakfast foods creating a constant low-level din that Solas registered only as a dull roar. He sat slouched in his chair, cup clutched in front of him, fingers of his left hand drumming against the stoneware in a distracted rhythm. The window beyond framed the courtyard tree, branches still laden with heavy snow as two squirrels chased one another up the trunk, sending small flurries falling to the earth. His unfocused eyes stared past this courtship ritual, past the men sparring in the wooden ring to drift lazily over the stones of the far wall, scanning unseeing as his mind wandered.

Fingers nimble, scratching slightly as they tugged off his breeches. A soft giggle and she flopped backward, pulling him to her. Her heels digging into the mattress as they clawed at one another. Hips dragged up to meet his. Soft gasps becoming moans. Flipped over, his hand pulling her head backward by the chin, tongue tracing the curve of her ear in the way that caused her breaths to come faster. A whispered promise that if he continued, she would-

He found himself jarred back to reality in an embarrassing flush when one of the mercenary recruits bumped his chair as she passed, mumbling a half-heard apology. Solas glanced up at the head of the table, where Evelyn sat with one leg crossed over the other, her own plate cold and forgotten. She smiled slightly at some point on the wall beside her, her fingers tracing the lower lip of her open mouth, thumb and forefinger pinching the flesh there slightly. Beside her, Josephine bore a concerned expression, clearly frustrated that her words found no purchase in The Inquisitor's consciousness. With irritation, the lady ambassador leaned forward, napkin grasped in her fingers and rubbed brusquely at Evelyn's neck. Evelyn started with a shock and grasped Josephine's wrist, staring at the napkin as if she'd been attacked. From this distance, he could see a smear of iridescent blue paint on the white linen. The two women exchanged a few low words, Evelyn shaking her head dismissively while the Antivan carefully folded the linen over, the blue stain clearly offending her delicate sensibilities. Josephine then focused her stare on Solas, who felt his blood run cold. Evelyn put a warning hand on her ambassador's arm, whispering something as she rose that seemed to put Lady Montilyet at ease. He paused before following.

Evelyn waited in the hall beyond, holding another white linen napkin in her hand. "Our Lady Ambassador," she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, "would like me to inform you that you seem to have something behind your ear."

"Ah," he took the offered cloth, "it would seem someone made a mess, not wanting to wait until it was dry."

"I don't remember there being many protests."

"I remember my mouth being otherwise occupied."

She suppressed a smile, clearing her throat quietly. "Our northern scouts have sent word of a delegation approaching. They'll be upon us by supper. Lady Josephine suggested I should bathe."

"Are you suggesting I join you?"

"I'm suggesting conserving resources, you could use a wash."

Solas canted his head, "Are you suggesting I am filthy?"

She tugged at his tunic, ignoring the startled looks from two passing infantrymen. "I'm declaring it."

They stared at one another for a silent beat that stretched on and on.

"Unless you'd rather go back to your breakfast."

He shook his head.

"Not hungry?"

"Famished."

Evelyn backed toward the door, pushing it open with both hands behind her. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The banners were first sighted as Cullen's men began lighting the rampart torches, sounding two long sustained horn blasts that sent the fortress staff into a scurry of preparation. Rugs and table linens changed over as the banners unfurled from the balconies. Evelyn whisked from the War Room and back to her quarters by an armament of personal attendants, arms laden with silks and jewels from the vaults below. He caught wind of the reason for the barely restrained panic from one of the kitchen maids. House Trevelyan approached, and while Solas noted Evelyn's expression bore signs of disappointment, it showed no surprise.

Strange that she didn't mention the visiting dignitaries were relations.

Solas made his way back to the rotunda at the first sound of the raising gates, Varric nodding appraisingly as he approached. "Planning to stay hidden? That's probably for the best."

"Planning to stay out of the way," Solas bristled. "Unless my services are needed."

"Don't fool yourself, Chuckles," Varric leaned against the stonework. "Your services are exactly the reason for this visit. Every floor of this castle has buzzed about your little affair for weeks. No doubt some Orlesian's noble's second cousin whispered to his courtesan who told her lady maid who wrote to her sister who went to a party where someone's aunt from Starkhaven overheard that the Herald of Andraste is tangling the sheets with an apostate mage. They're probably performing skits re-enacting the most salacious bits at every street festival. If I were you, I would find a dark corner until Dear Father is done reminding the leader of the Inquisition of her responsibilities to her good family name."

"That," Solas said sharply as he opened the door, "is completely ridiculous."

"I'm sure it is," Varric tossed over his shoulder. "Want me to tell you when it's over?"

Solas paused, his hand on the door's handle. "... Please."