"I don't understand." Evelyn sat heavily at the edge of her bed, hands trembling noticeably. "That doesn't make any sense."

The sun rested just atop the mountains beyond her thick paned windows, catching the snowy peaks in a dazzling display. The sunsets had always managed to catch her breath in her throat, somehow never diminishing in their ability to impress, regardless of how many times she witnessed them. Warren had been away for three of these breathtaking sunsets, presenting himself just as she'd begun to appreciate this most recent one.

"Maybe you had the location wrong?" Warren asked wearily, still quite dusty and sore from the road.

"No," she whispered. "I remember it perfectly. In the valley, just past the turn in the road. You could see the edge of Lake Vinale, in the distance, framed by those massive ancient trees."

He nodded, slapping his gloves against his leg. "Yes, that was the view."

"That view includes the chapel. You could see it off on the ridge, to the right. Then the road bent southwest, toward the small village with an inn."

"Yes, as I said, I did find the building."

"You said you found a ruin."

"I said it was in a severe state of disrepair. It did not appear anyone had been there in some time."

Evelyn frowned, gripping one hand in the other to still their shaking. "Was it possible there was an attack? Some sort of something with bandits, or maybe... Fuck, I don't know."

"Tell me what you do remember. Maybe it would help us figure it out."

Evelyn's frown deepened. "It was all such a blur. I was still so exhausted. We rode through the day. Stopped to camp once. Rode again at first light. I remember the way the sun struck the chapel in the distance, like it was straight out of a dream. Like a beacon."

Warren made a rolling motion with his hands, "So you saw a chapel in a sunbeam and decided 'let's get married.'"

"It wasn't like that," she shook her head. "We'd talked about it the night before. There was an engraving in the grove, like a sort of poem... Oh wipe that look off your face." Evelyn rubbed at her temples. "He made a comment about how it would work, in a pinch, or something similar. It was empty, we were the only ones there except for the handful of sisters... I don't remember it being particularly run down. Old, certainly. The ceilings seemed impossibly high..." she had this strange unfocused look on her face Warren found he didn't particularly care for.

"If they were Chantry sisters, we have bigger problems. Those places keep records."

"If? Do you think I'm lying? Or..." her face fell.

"Yeah."

"What incentive would people have to pretend to be Chantry sisters?"

"All things considered right now, plenty. There are no shortages of people escaping what they were, disappearing into what they're not."

"And you believe this nefarious plot extended to the village on the other side of the damned bay?"

"Don't shout at me." Warren sat back onto her sofa. "I'm just trying to find an explanation."

"You were in the wrong place," she said stubbornly.

"I wasn't."

They sat in uneasy silence. The sun dipped behind the mountain, cloaking the room in semi-darkness.

"If it was something as simple as bandits," Evelyn said quietly, "perhaps this is a blessing."

"... are you being serious right now?"

"You have no idea what is at stake with this, Warren. The Inquisition is not in a stable position. Our allies are falling away now that they believe the immediate threat is behind us."

"Oh, so this is really about the Inquisition, and not just you suggesting the death of an entire village was a suitable alternative to people finding out you're secretly an impulsive idiot."

"It wasn't impulsive."

"No, a wedding after a twelve-hour engagement is admirable, really," he said dryly. "However did you wait so long?"

Evelyn cleared her throat and stood, brushing her skirts back into place. "Has he returned yet?"

"No, not yet. He said it would be a number of days." Warren distractedly examined his cuticles. "Have you decided what to do with him?"

"I'm not doing anything with him."

"And if he brings up the ceremony?"

"Only you and I know. We deny."

"And if someone from the chantry pops up with proof?"

Evelyn seated herself again at her desk, lighting the three candles that stood sentry. "I will handle that if it happens."

Warren watched her write for a moment. "So I assume we're done here."

She didn't respond as she turned a page.

Warren paused, his hand resting at the top of the banister. "You're sure it happened."

"Why," she asked coldly, "does everyone speak to me as if I don't know my own mind? It's always 'are you sure,' 'if you're certain,' 'if that's how you remember it.'" She sat her pen down, but her eyes did not leave the page. "I know my own mind. It's the only fucking thing I seem to be able to rely on."

"After everything you've been through, it wouldn't be unheard of. Soldiers sometimes have a rough time clearly recalling moments, like their thoughts and memories shift and adjust to... well, to protect-"

"You think I invented a wedding because I was... what? Sad? Tired?" She slammed her hand on the desk, causing the inkwell to jump slightly. "If there's one thing I've learned through this entire damned mess, it's that I can only trust my own recollections. Even when everyone else seems to forget what I've given, what I've sacrificed for all of you."

"Lyns," he ignored the way she flinched at the endearment. "I'm only trying to-"

"The only thing you're doing," she said cooly, meeting his eyes, "is adding to this stress and exhaustion you seem to be so insistent is affecting me. I'm fine. I just need everyone else to remember their fucking place."

"Well," he said, lips pursing together as he jogged down the stairs. "If you're certain."

He heard the inkwell hit the wall above as he clicked the door closed.