The leaves were completely brown on one half of the plant, withered and fading in the cold shadows. Solas plucked off the dead branches with a slight frown, letting them drift to the trampled patches of grass. The herbologist Josephine had insisted was "well-vetted" had clearly not received such vetting in mountainous regions. He stooped to pull on the heavy stone vessel, slowly dragging it into a patch of sunshine before selecting one green frond.

"Seems a bit shady for a garden," the voice was friendly, relaxed, matching the figure reclined against the stone arch.

"It is," Solas said carefully. "I had advised something more central, away from these high walls."

"And she didn't listen." The man let a lazy grin spread across his face.

He frowned. "No." A slight pause. "She was trying to prevent this from becoming a place for," he waved a hand loosely in the air, "meditative reflection, I believe was the phrase."

"That sounds like Chantry bullshit."

"It was indeed. I presume you are Warren?"

The grin widened. "She said you had a funny way with words."

"Funny?"

"Archaic. Formal. You sound a bit out of time."

"I suppose that depends on the time." Solas glanced pointedly past the man, toward the door he blocked.

"Clever." Warren stepped back slightly, allowing Solas to pass. "She mentioned that too. What's with the weeds?"

Solas twirled the branch slowly in his fingers. "I was going to brew some tea. Your sister is..."

"Hungover all to shit?" he let the door loudly swing shut behind them.

"Elfroot, when brewed, speeds rehydration."

"I should have you make me one." Warren followed Solas to the stair. "You know, you're taller than I expected."

"You haven't met many elves."

"Oh, but I have. None quite as tall as you." They crossed the dark stone corridor. "When I'd heard about you, I hadn't expected someone quite so... strapping."

Solas pulled apart the greenery and placed the pieces in a mortar, shaking a sprinkle of salt over the pile before mashing. "Probably the benefit of being raised in the fresh mountain air. Although I am sorry to disappoint your fantasies of some delicate woodland creature entrancing your sister with my lilting song."

Warren smile turned devilish. "You were raised in the mountains, then? Near here? So your family is local?"

Solas examined the green paste critically before reapplying the pestle. "Do you really wish to know about my parentage? Or were you tasked to simply deal with me?"

"Tasked?" The smile never faltered. "I should have visited this place ages ago. Everyone here seems to believe I'm on some grand quest. I don't believe I've ever had my presence taken so very seriously before." Warren watched the greenish fluid swirl in a glass bottle, both men momentarily distracted. "Is that what you do for the Inquisition?" he asked after a long moment. "Are you some sort of herbalist or healer?"

"I was almost certain you knew I was an apostate."

"I believe the term used was 'damnable hedge mage,' but yes, I might have heard that somewhere." He watched as Solas stoppered the vessel and shook the concoction more vigorously. "You do understand my father's hesitation."

"Hesitation. That is quite the polite term." He hefted the large black kettle over the coals, adjusting its position carefully. "You do not have to be so very careful with me. I know a thing or two about the weight of familial expectations."

"Then you also know a thing or two about our family, I'd assume."

"I know enough. It will not matter, in the long run." Solas rose from his crouched position and gave the bottle another firm shake.

"Wel, that sounds fairly ominous."

"It was never intended to." He placed the back of his hand near the kettle's metal hull, then took a stone mug from the shelf above. "I understand her position with your family. I understand that she was born and raised to fill a certain role within that family, and that her education and development was centered around fulfilling that obligation." He tipped the kettle slightly by the handle, catching the steaming water in the mug. "Unfortunately for the Trevelyans, I also know that all sense of duty and obligation to one's family tends to fall to the wayside when one becomes the central figure in a holy army standing against the end of the world." Solas emptied the glass bottle into the mug.

"Do you believe she feels a similar neglect of family ties because she's caught up in this whole Inquisition business?"

"Of course not. But I do know Evelyn, and I know that right now her mind and her heart are concerned with matters beyond mingling your bloodline with another, similarly suitable vintage. There are larger things at stake, and she is..." he stirred the mug thoughtfully. "She is like nothing I expected to find among you."

"Among humans, you mean."

"Among anyone." He extended the mug slightly. "I should deliver this."

Warren shifted out of the way, calling after the man as he passed out of the kitchen. "She can't avoid him forever, you know. Eventually, she will have to give an answer."

"Eventually we all will, Master Trevelyan. However, that is something to worry me on another day."

Evelyn was half sitting up, squinting into the faint light as Solas came back into the rotunda. "What time is it?"

"I am afraid you have missed dinner. I brought you something to help with your head."

She winced as she leaned her head back against the couch's arm. "Warren is probably wondering where I am."

"I told him you were resting. Sit up and drink this, please."

She pushed slowly upward, sniffing at the mug as he handed it to her. "You... spoke with him?"

"You sound concerned by that prospect. He seems to be under the impression our speaking was your idea."

"I was drunk."

"Yes," he agreed a bit too quickly, earning him a sharp look. "Drink. It only works when still hot."

The cup emptied, he assisted her to a wobbly standing position and Evelyn slowly made her way back to her room to change before she had to deal with another person, dismayed to see her brother admiring the dwarven tiles on the far wall. "These are fascinating," he said without turning to face her. "Any idea what they mean?"

"No," she said weakly. "We have people who... who do that sort of thing. Nothing to report yet, the set is incomplete, one of those answers." She placed a hand against her forehead. "Can we discuss art another time? I need-"

"To throw up?" he asked, glancing back at her. "It would probably help more than the moss your boyfriend fed you."

"I don't have time for this right now, Warren. Whatever the two of you discussed can be..." she wearily drooped her shoulders, "... discussed later. Just... just be nice. Please."

"It was very nice, I assure you. He's a bit bolder than I expected. Usually, his type is more deferential. He was quick to tell me how well he knows Evelyn."

There were the sounds of people laughing from the Ambassador's suite, getting close to the door. "We'll get to what that means later, Warren. Now I have to go and change."

"Yes, and clean up. Please. You smell like a meadery."

She gave a dismissive gesture and speed-walked toward her quarters before skidding to a stop. "Wait. Did he say that?"

"Which part?"

"Did he call me 'Evelyn?' To you? Out loud?"

He looked away for a moment in confusion before responding. "... yes? I think he did. Why? What does he normally call-" then he shook his head. "Actually, no. You know what? Don't answer that question. I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I really don't want to know." He regarded her for a moment, lips pursed together. "Wait. Why the hell are you making that face?"

"Nothing. I'm just... tired. It's nothing." She closed the door behind her, heart fluttering even as her stomach lurched. Evelyn. Not Inquisitor. Not Herald. Not Her Grace.

Evelyn.