The door muted the conversations in the hall enough for him to be unable to discern anything other than tone. From what he could tell of the tone, however, most of it was polite. There as a moment where a voice grew heated, stopping just short of a shout before all became quiet. The sounds of a retreat to a more private location, most likely the wing that housed the War Room and the Ambassador's office, followed by the noise of servants clearing up wine goblets and then the courtyard sounds of horses, cargo, men greeting other men as they bedded down. It would appear the Trevelyan patriarch and his attachment would be staying at least the night.

It was early, at least an hour before dawn, when he heard the commotion of the courtyard start up again. There was another conversation in the main hall, something clipped and quiet, but with an air of finality before he heard the great gates of Skyhold creak open. Solas emerged to a quiet and empty room, the side doors still firmly shut, the only noise the distant clatter of pots and pans from the floor beneath.

"Why on earth are you skulking around at this hour?" Commander Cullen Rutherford entered through the main door, a scroll in his gloved hand.

"I was not skulking, I assure you. I thought I heard activity, found it unusual this early."

"The Bann left just a moment ago. Some business he needed to attend to. Had you wanted to say goodbye?" Cullen crossed his arms. "I don't recall you having an interest in meeting him."

Solas squared his shoulders toward the Commander. "Did The Inquisitor see him off?"

"Of course," Cullen sighed, crossing the stone floor toward the southern wing. "I should have known that would have been the focus of your interest. She's otherwise occupied, if that's your next question." Cullen shook the scroll in the air as he passed. "She has the business of running things to attend to. I'm sure she'll seek you out when you're needed." The gritted teeth, the emphasis on the word, neither were lost on him. With his jaw clenched, Solas watched the door close behind Commander Rutherford.

It was hours before Evelyn left the War Room, still dressed in a deep green silken gown that far from her usual style, and clearly meant to meet whatever expectations Bann Trevelyan had in his daughter's appearance. She had deep creases beneath her eyes betraying the puffy aftermath of a sleepless night. Solas stood when she entered, prepared to absorb whatever terrible revelations the visit had brought.

Instead, she said something he had not expected at all.

"We have received a letter from a scholar in the Frostback Basin," she said, oddly stiff and formal. "Leliana has vetted the information, and it seems valid. He claims to know where the first Inquisitor is buried."

"Are you going to travel there?"

She nodded, rubbing at her forehead. "At once. I'd like you to come with me."

"Of course." He watched her nod appreciatively, wearily, as she turned. "Evelyn?"

"Not right now, Solas," she said without facing him. "We'll discuss it when we have time, later."

"Of course."

The horses were packed and ready by the time he emerged with his rucksack, Evelyn already mounted and having a terse conversation with the expedition scouts. By the time they had left the gates, it was evident that this was to be a hard ride, paced at a breakneck speed with minimal stops for rest and water. There was an uneasiness in the ranks that was palpable at every pause, a constant checking over shoulders and scrutiny of every shadowy underbrush. They weren't saying it, but the reports had clearly stated that the way would be fraught with dangers.

The attack came shortly after they made first camp, the approach signaled only by a prickle at the back of his neck, nearly imperceptible itch on his flesh that brought him to his feet with a swiftness that made Varric's eyes narrow.

"You leave a fire burning somewhere?" the dwarf asked. "If I didn't know better, I'd say the way you just stood up was propelled by something not quite natural."

"Something is approaching," Solas said quietly, backing toward the tents as he scanned the horizon.

"Who?" Varric tossed his apple core into the cookfire. "Everyone's acting spooked but we haven't seen a sign of anyone this whole way."

"They were templars once, but not any longer." Cole appeared quite suddenly at Solas' elbow. "They remember what it was like before the red. They try not to think about it. Thinking makes them sad, but sad only leads to angry."

"Fuck," Varric was on his feet now.

"Indeed," Solas stood behind him.

"How many?"

"I can see six. They are not attempting to hide."

"That's because they're all goddamn insane by this point."

The roar of the largest one, body grotesquely mutated by the red rocky growth, drew the attention of the others. Evelyn began to shrug her plate back on, Solas stepping to her side without a thought to fasten the straps at her shoulders. "We count six, but there could be others."

"Should we send the archers into the trees?"

"There isn't time."

She moved into a defensive position in front of him, a gesture that always made his heart feel like it had become wedged in his throat. He raised a barrier just as the first addled red knight reached the edge of the clearing. That first man was already too far gone, his face a broken mess of red crackling energy and muscles pulled taught over crystallization, visible in the places where his flesh had split apart. The horrors of what red lyrium did to a body had more of an effect on the men than he could have anticipated, some having never seen it up close before. The fighting became messy as the fear took hold, clanging metal and hysterical curses surrounding Solas as he attempted to land his casts with precision against foes that moved with unpredictable recklessness, some charging headfirst into flames as if they either could not see the danger or simply did not care that certain death awaited. Moving in this way, turning to ensure that nothing was able to overtake him as he tried to avoid hitting the chaos of their own, he was able to control the flow of the battle until only two remained.

He was dispatching of the largest of their group when he felt a searing heat tear into his leg. The smaller, quicker of the horrors had landed a cut, and it was quite deep. In anger, he struck out with a force spell that knocked back two of the Inquisitions' troops as it ruptured the beast, tearing it to pieces before shattering those pieces into a messy spray. One of the fallen, a man by the name of Norran, glared up at Solas as the other, Ailis, rolled onto her side, clutching at her abdomen in pain.

Evelyn pulled her helm off, sweat matting her hair to her face and stared in disbelief at the fallen. "Help her," she said to Norran. Turning toward Solas, then, "Why would you..." the helm fell into the grass as she saw the stain of blood spread from his thigh.

Solas sat heavily on the ground. "I believe it is not as bad as it looks, but if you could help me to my tent..."

She instead immediately helped him to her tent, wincing when she pulled back his rent pant leg to uncover the wound. "This will scar."

"You should see my opponent."

"We're all picking pieces of your opponent off our clothes. I don't know what to do here."

"There are salves and bandages in my knapsack, if you would be so kind to retrieve them."

Evelyn returned with her armor removed, clutching his bag. Retrieving the items as he instructed, unscrewed the top of the purple jar and smeared a thick amount of the salve onto his cut.

"You can use that sparingly. I want it to last."

"Not a chance. I won't see you lose a limb to infection."

"Then you probably should have cleaned it first," he grimaced.

"Shit... what do I do?"

"It will be fine. You just globbed enough on me to disinfect an entire Qunari dreadnought. Now hand me the bandages before you encase me completely." He worked the cloth around his thigh carefully, watching her anxious supervision. "I will be fine. How are Norran and Ailis?"

"They were upright when I went to fetch your things. They're likely disgruntled, but that's to be expected when you get the wind knocked out of you by a supposed ally."

"I suppose then I will have to apologize. It was a reaction borne of anger and distraction."

"That isn't like you."

"That is exactly like me, I just am normally better at keeping it under wraps."

He placed his hand flat against where the cut throbbed, willing the flesh to knit back together. The wound was caused by a red lyrium infected blade, and would not heal from magic alone. It would heal with a slowness he was neither accustomed to nor appreciated. "And you?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" Evelyn packed the jar and remaining bandages back into the sack. "What about me?"

"How are you?"

"I wasn't wounded."

"That is not what I meant."

Evelyn closed the top of the bag. "I know." She sat up, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "I was hoping to speak of this when one of us wasn't bleeding all over the other's bedroll, but..." She sighed heavily. "My relationship with my father is a bit complicated."

"I believe that everyone could make that statement."

She smiled wryly. "This is true. But my position, my title, this makes things a bit moreso, in our case. He believes that my calling carries with it additional responsibilities to my family. Responsibilities he has come to believe I am not taking seriously."

"And you do not agree."

Evelyn stared at him solemnly. "No. I most certainly do not."

A moment of silence. Then, "Dare I ask?"

He saw the tear slip down her cheek and moved quickly to take her chin in his hand. She caught the hand and instead brought it to her lips, pressing the kiss against his fingers, and then his palm. "I don't want to talk about this. Not now." With two fingers against his sternum, she pushed him back onto the bedding.

"What would you rather talk about?"

"I don't want to talk at all." Evelyn placed another kiss on the skin of his upper thigh, above where the wound lay covered, her hand pulling at his smallclothes.

"Do you really expect to keep using sex as a way to avoid serious question- oh," the thought dissipated as she again moved, taking his swiftly hardening length into her mouth. "I... I don't know if it's such a good idea in my condition."

Evelyn pulled back to look up at him. "Then just lie there. I can handle this on my own."

Solas gasped and gripped the blanket beneath him as she again lowered her head. "I... this is hardly fair."

She stopped again, eliciting an involuntary groan from him. "I'm not interested in fair. Now shut up unless you'd rather I stop and argue with you."

He found himself quite beyond the ability to argue at that point.

When he was finally able to quiet his breathing again, it sounded as if everyone else had bedded down for the nigh. The pair now laying entwined on top of her bedroll. "Better?" she asked him.

"Is that a standard Fereldan healing treatment?" he asked thickly, still entranced.

"Are you asking me where I learned that?" she scoffed.

"No. No, I think I would rather not know the answer to that."

"Are you telling me that's the first time?"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

She laughed into the hollow where his neck met his shoulder.

"Should I go back to my tent?" he asked. "I think I can walk now."

"No. It doesn't matter."

"So everyone most decidedly knows, then."

She was quiet.

"Including your father."

"My father is my problem to deal with, Solas."

"For now."

Evelyn pushed back to look up at him. "For as long as he can be."

The crickets sang in the wood outside as Evelyn settled back onto his shoulder. Within minutes her breathing had slowed, warm and steady against his chest. Solas lay staring at the tent wall, feeling her weight slowly drag his arm to sleep, welcoming the pins and needles loss of feeling. If only he could numb his heart in a similar fashion.