The icicles dripped in staccato against the stone outside her bedroom windows. Drip, drip, drip, each landing in the same pattern as Solas stared blankly at the ceiling overhead. Evelyn buzzed around the floor, dressing as she continued her monologue about troop placement and Orlesian battlefield courtesies, punctuated by breathless swearing as she lost yet another earring in the thick carpet laid before the fire. She stomped past the bed again before dropping to all fours, another muttered curse before a cry of victory. The offending jewel had been located. Solas blinked slowly, flexing his feet beneath the coverlet.

Today they moved to the Southern Wilds, to the thick and luxuriant jungle that lay beyond the Emerald Graves. This is where the scouts reported seeing the two things they'd most feared: red templars and signs of ancient Elvhen architecture. Morrigan preened as she exited the war room the evening they'd planned their assault, sure of herself and her predictions of what lay within the ageless walls. Solas knew better. The secret buried beneath locks both rigid metal and unyielding magicks thrummed in his mind when he tried to sleep, the echo of a voice long since faded from time, whispers turning to near-lunatic laughter in the night.

Evelyn stood at the foot of the bed, hand resting on one cocked hip. Shit. "I am sorry," he pushed upright. "I was lost in thought."

"Have," she drew each word out slowly "You. Packed?" There was a playful edge to the voice, but it was still an edge. One that had crept in with alarming frequency in recent days past. Edgier words, questions; shorter and sharper answers; pointed looks and a slight narrowing of the eyes as if she were trying to devil him out. Some evenings he would feel on the cusp of asking her what she was thinking. As if she could read his mind she would be on him with a fevered mouth and quick hands; fast and violent and over before he could fully catch his breath. She would sleep soundly after, breathing deeply with her back to him. Before others it was sweetness and light, the playful flirtations she once saved for in private. At first, he had been overjoyed, reveling in their time together in the sun. Now it felt like a performance, something to shield the others from the doubt he feared she felt.

Did he not feel it too? Did it not begin to sneak into his quiet thoughts as soon as Varric Tethras said his peace? Had someone, Warren perhaps, given her a similar talking-to? Was she plagued by the same worried and regrets?

Why were neither of them capable of voicing them in the time they spent alone together?

Maybe there would be a better time for such a conversation. It was best not to let this rattle him, not when he needed to draw on all his inner reserve to remain impassive on the journey ahead. They ventured into sacred walls he'd feared returning to. Who knew what ghosts still haunted those halls, what whispered secrets waited to be uncovered.

As the trees grew thicker with each passing mile, the ground beneath their horses' hooves turning soft and spongey, he felt more certain that the topic of the sudden unease between the two of them was one best left for a future date. Perhaps it was simply the weight of knowing this venture lay before them; an exploration that would almost certainly end in another confrontation with Corypheus. The arcanist dwarf had devised a method of breaking through the red lyrium armor worn by the former templars, but a means of defeating a corrputed magister still eluded them. Solas threw a sidelong glance at Evelyn's face, shadowed as it was by concern, and felt deep regret. How could he think that she worried solely for her relationship, for him, after all they knew they faced?

He'd spent too much time in this world. It was making him as self-centered, as mortal as the rest of them.

Those thoughts lingered as they lay in the semi-dark of her tent, the blankets cast aside as they waited for evening to cool. "Are you concerned?"

She sighed and rolled toward him. "It's hard not to be. He thinks he's an immortal god, Solas. And I have yet to see any evidence to the contrary."

"There is no such thing as an immortal god, Evelyn. They die just like everyone else. They just tend to be a bit harder to kill."

"Then I'm concerned that this one will be very hard to kill."

He opened his mouth, the words of comfort, of solace laying just behind his teeth and tongue when the thought was interrupted by a commotion outside. Evelyn pulled herself up immediately, shoving her hair back into a loose bun and tightening her boots before emerging. There were a few low voices and then a shout. "I thought you could use some support," the voice was male, thick brogue betraying the northern root of his ancestry. There was a collective cheer, and Solas shoved his way out of the tent to see Evelyn standing with her hands over her mouth, unrestrained delight readable on every inch of her face.

The assembly of men was impressive, several horses deep and with foot soldiers behind, all wearing the proud red crest of Starkhaven, led by an impressive man on a large white horse, armor glittering as if it had never seen a day beyond its fine, silken-lined chest.

"Ohhhh boy," Varric breathed beside him. "I knew it would look like a cliche when it finally came riding in to save the day, but I didn't expect it to be this on-the-nose."

"So his is Halden," Solas said quietly. "I saw him at his family manse, but only from a distance. I thought he would be taller." They watched the man slip from his horse and cross to Evelyn, bowing in a way that set Solas's teeth on edge.

"Surprisingly catty," Varric said with approval. "He does have a knack for making an entrance. Showing up with a full accompaniment of men before we have to face Celene's forces." Solas gave him a quizzical look. "Don't play dumb with me, Chuckles. They were going to gossip when they saw how few men we've got left."

"I suppose this does make us appear more competent and formidable."

"Thanks to Prince Charming, don't forget."

"I know you are trying to rile me, but she has discussed her arrangement with him. They will remain friendly for the sake of the family. Neither is interested in anything beyond friendship."

"Sure," Varric dropped back a bit. "I know I always show up in the middle of the night, looking dashing and providing just what is needed at just the right moment for women I want to be friends with. Get some sleep, Solas. I think it will be a few hours before she joins you."

Solas was dismayed to discover Master Tethras was correct. He was roused from a fitful sleep by her pushing her way back into the tent, reeking of rum and a bit too amused for his tastes. She laughed as she lay down. "I'm sorry," she hiccuped. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I thought it would be prudent to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow."

"Don't lecture me. I had to be hospitable. He brought... Solas, he brought a full army. He saved our asses."

"Yes, how convenient."

She was up against his face then, eyes wide and glassy. "Are you accusing me?"

"Of course not. I just hope that his intentions toward you remain friendly."

"Would it surprise you to learn that some men want to help and support me because they believe in my cause, in my ability? That they think I am actually capable of making this world a better place and therefore are willing to make sacrifices?"

"Evelyn, you know I support you more than anyone. And I do hope you are correct about the Vael boy."

"That Vael boy just gave me an army. All you have given me is a good shake to my pedestal. Thank you for keeping me so grounded."

"Evelyn."

"Shut up, Solas. You were right."

He wrinkled his brow. "I was?"

"Yes. It would be more prudent for you to sleep." She rolled over then, her back to him.

"Evelyn?" he began again, hearing only a derisive snort in response. Solas rolled onto his back. Prudent or not, sleep would not come.