"You are telling her story. On the goddamn walls."

"I am. On the goddamn walls." Solas tipped the bottle into his mouth. "You think it too much."

"It doesn't matter what I think. She loves it, right? She always did love her portrait being painted. And here you are, painting her twenty feet high."

"It is fresco."

"Hell yeah, it is." Warren grinned

"No, I mean it is not really painting-" Solas paused, noting the confounded look taking over Warren's face. "Nevermind. That is not important." He leaned back to gaze up at the panel before them. The great all-seeing eye of the Inquisition rained light down. "This space has always contained stories."

Warren lifted his bottle and gestured toward the blank panel to their right. "What will go there?"

"I suppose we will have to see what she does."

"I think that's what's being discussed now. There was some serious talk about serious men and serious things going on in that wing."

"There often is, in that wing."

Warren smiled turned wry. "Which is why I prefer the bar."

The reports on the Grey Wardens had started worrisome and grown positively grim. For nights now the strategy sessions had stretched late, Blackwall reluctantly dragging himself down the long hall to the War Room for advisement. Evelyn fell into bed each night weary yet unable to sleep, staring up at the ceiling as she gnawed on her cuticles, pausing to softly ask him questions about demons and abominations that left him feeling chilled. What had the Order wrought? How far would the rot of it carry?

"She's seen some shit," Warren breathed, breaking Solas out of his reverie. "I don't think our life prepared her for that. We spent the Blight locked away on a hill. It barely affected us, save losing some men to the king's order. Most of the children were considered too young to be eligible. Our eldest brother wasn't so lucky."

Solas leaned against the desk. "She has mentioned Liam before. Says he is the 'sweetest' of her brothers. That is the word she uses, time and time again. 'Sweet.'"

Warren swallowed hard and nodded. "He is. Very quiet, deep. He was the sort that would lose himself in a book in the garden for hours, until my mother had turned the entire house upside down in a panic, searching for him. She would fret that he was too mild, too sensitive, that his future betrothed would push him around too easily. To be frank, I don't think he would have given half a shit if they did. He never appeared interested in matters of state, seemed more content to stay within our little world forever. Then came the Blight and, and the eldest son, his sacred duty." The last two words were venom, bile Warren washed down with a mouthful of brew. "He came back intact, thank the Maker. Physically, anyhow. He's still sweet, but it's in a way that's so much more... simple. He stares for long hours instead of reading. Sometimes we find he's drooled a bit on himself." A beat, a silence that lingered. "At least it's peaceful. The night terrors are not so charming."

"War has a way of destroying the mind."

"It has a way of destroying far more than that." Warren stared thoughtfully at his hands before continuing. "After he returned my father gave up all hope of growing into his proper place as head of the family. He turned to me, but my proclivities were already known well enough to see I would never be the source of a blood heir. Tom is a slovenly moron with a tendency to be a total asshole, unreliable as a source of family pride. That left Evelyn and she... well, she's been too busy with other things."

Solas shifted, crossed his arms. "Other things being saving the world, or is this me in particular?"

"It isn't all just about you, you know. I could give you the speech about how no one would ever be good enough, but we both know-"

"We both know your father has already determined which particular one is quite good enough."

Warren shook his bottle, testing its remnants. "I don't agree with him that his children are just breeding stock, okay? But I can see why it chafes. You build a family name through generations. It has to be hard to watch it sputter out. He just doesn't get why she can't run this army, defeat the evil, become a religious icon, marry someone brag-worthy and begin reproducing en masse."

"I am impressed."

"By my witty analysis?"

"By your ability to bring this up once again under the guise of another friendly conversation."

"I don't remember bringing it up."

"We were discussing war. You leaped to family."

"If you knew my family, you'd see how it's not that far of a leap."

"I suppose you believe that unique to your family."

"I only know mine. Why, are you planning on finally introducing us to yours?"

The sound of voices in the hall interrupted, eliciting a resigned sigh from the Trevelyan. The War Room was emptying for the evening, much earlier than expected. The two men sat silently, each staring downward.

"I should-" Solas pushed himself up to his full height.

Warren swallowed another mouthful of beer and shrugged. "By all means."

In the great hall, Evelyn stood apart from her advisors, gazing thoughtfully at the throne as they argued. The weight of the conversation hung in the phrases he heard as he passed.

"...strained to our limits..."

"...under prepared..."

"...ridiculous death wish..."

"Did you ever wonder?" Evelyn asked quietly as he stood beside her. "Why they gave me a throne?"

"Are you asking why the Inquisitor has a throne?"

"I'm not the queen."

"No, not a queen, but the seat of power is yours, nonetheless."

"Power," she repeated softly. "Is that what I have? I feel as if I exercise very little power. I feel sometimes as if I'm told what to do, what is right, who to listen to, where to go, and what to do."

"Do you feel as if your advisors have the true power? That they tell you what to do?"

"Among others. The Empress, the King, other lesser leaders of smaller holdings. Now Morrigan, Vivienne," her eyes turned to him, "you, at times."

He recognized the exhaustion in her words, in her face, and heard the wariness lying beneath. This wariness caused a tight ball of unease to form deep in his gut. When her speech became so formal, so prepared, so... regal, it often meant there was a fissure of distrust forming. This was not uncharted territory between them. "Have I provided unsound guidance?"

"Don't do that. This isn't about you. It's about..." she wrung her hands and he saw the quiver in her chin. "They want me to..." her voice dropped to a whisper. "We're launching a siege on Adamant Fortress, Solas."

So this was the cause of her unease. He had thought that they would have to face the remaining Grey Wardens at some point on the field. Bringing the assault to their walls was another matter entirely. Many would die against those walls, and many more would face whatever horrors the blighted men inside now carried within them. The battles they faced had escalated and felt less like victories and more like miracles of survival. "Are you afraid, Evelyn?"

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Yes."

A high pitched giggle from the corner of the room, the rugs were being cleaned. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should continue this in your quarters."

"Not tonight, Solas," she wiped at her face brusquely. "I have to prepare myself. Go and drink with Warren, then get some sleep."

"Evelyn."

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, lips pursed. "Not tonight. Goodnight."

The door closed with a definitive click, leaving him standing on the other side.