Solas was pacing. He was walking too quickly from one side of the rotunda to the other, usually quiet footfalls echoing off the curved walls. He was fidgeting, his long fingered hands folding and unfolding as he moved. His normally sleek and graceful gait was ragged and uneven.

He didn't hear her come in.

"Solas?" Varania asked softly and he stopped in his tracks, staring at the wall as if he couldn't bear to look at her. Her heart sunk.

"Do you know what you've done?" His voice sounded strangled.

"I did what I had to." It was only the truth. If Corypheus wanted the Well, they needed it instead. If not her, then who? Morrigan? Varania trusted her more than she expected to, but it felt wrong to let a human absorb all those elven memories.

The look on Solas's face made it pretty clear he didn't share her practical sentiment as he spun around to face her. His eyes bored into her.

"You've pledged yourself to the service of an elven god!" He was angry, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of fear in his words. "Do you even know what that means?"

Varania sighed. "Not really, but I don't see that we had another option, do you?"

Solas opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning. "I suppose not. That alternatives were limited." He sighed. "The ancient gods were petty and often unpredictable. And you have so much information to sort through now, so much..." He paused, looking down at the floor, his face fluttering through a myriad of expression. She saw his chest move as he took a deep but silent breath before turning his eyes back to her. "What will you do if you manage to defeat Corypheus; with this knowledge, with the Inquisition?"

He'd never seemed particularly concerned with this before.

Varania looked at him carefully and trying to find her way through his carefully crafted mask. His eyes seemed to end at their pale blue-grey irises, like glass marbles. What was underneath the hidden. Even his earlier anger and barely veiled fear that were simmering in his accusatory tone was gone.

"I'll try to make the world a better place," Varania said finally, accepting she wasn't going to be able to figure out what he was after. She just settled for the unadorned truth. "I've seen the worst and the best of Thedas and I know we can do better."

"But what if the world you create is worse than what was before?" There was a wavering edge to his voice. He was struggling to keep his composure. She started to understand why he'd left the others to care for her. Solas looked like he was about to fall apart, but she didn't understand why.

There was a niggling feeling in the base of her skull like there was something she was forgetting and faintly, the scent of rainwater, of the Well, in the back of her throat.

"I'll pull myself together, figure out where I went wrong, and try again." She shrugged. It only seemed logical. What else could she do?

"Just like that?" The lines around his mouth softened.

"Just like that."

Instead of the scowl he'd been wearing, Solas smiled, his entire body draining of tension she hadn't even realized he was carrying.

"You give me hope, ma vhenan," he said. "Thank you."

He confounded her. Only a moment ago, he seemed so angry, but now he was thanking her.

"I don't understand." She felt like she never understood him, not even with all this new wisdom inserted into her head.

Usually, it didn't matter. Today it seemed to.

"You remind me that if we keep trying, we can find our way, in time," he said, cryptic as ever. "You are a remarkable woman, Inquisitor."

She raised her eyebrows at that. "Inquisitor?"

He chuckled, half shrugging with a single shoulder. "It is good for me to remember that, at times." He cocked his head. "Sometimes, I look at you and I see only one of the roles you play and forget the others. But I cannot do that. You have made all of this possible and I, of all people, certainly shouldn't second guess you."

Solas laughed then but it was as bitter as the white pith of an orange, a taste she'd almost forgotten. Orange trees grew along the road to her former Master's estate. Her skin prickled.

Solas's judgement of his own guilt was palpable in the air, but yet he was still as secretive as the voices whispering in her head.

"Come with me, vhenan," Solas said, just as suddenly, holding a hand out to her. "We have never had the opportunity to truly be alone before and I think it is time."

"Oh?"

The corner of his mouth quirked. "There are things..." His voice trailed away. "I do not say it, and I should, but I want to have you to myself, at least for a moment."

Varania's heart felt like is skipped a beat before racing in her chest. This thing between them wasn't new, but when ever he would crack open his shell and let her see inside, it thrilled her. With each tiny glimpse, she felt herself fall in love with him, just a little more.

Soon, she wondered if she'd be able to tell when he ended and she began.

Ma vhenan. My heart.

She nodded, slipping her fingers between his. His skin was warm and soft, the raised callouses on his palm from his staff worn smooth. He squeezed her hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Then he smiled and turned towards the door.

She let him lead her; the taste of oranges, both sweet and bitter, lingering in her mouth.

They took horses and left Skyhold with the wind at their backs.

Solas assured her that the Inquisition would get by without them for a few days. Varania certainly liked the sound of that. She'd not left her duties except when unconscious since they found Skyhold perched on the side of the mountain.

Or since Solas led her to it anyway.

Even now, most didn't know that he was the one who found it, not she. Her advisors made sure of it. It bothered her, taking so much credit for what her companions had done, for the hard work and knowledge they brought. Yet she knew they needed someone to follow, someone to idolize and put on the pedestal with the sword to point the way, even if it wasn't entirely true.

For now, she got to leave that all behind. She breathed deeply of her temporary freedom, the breeze warming as they came down out of the mountains, the scent of summer flowers weaving through the strands of her hair as they whipped around her face.

Solas rode ahead of her with his usual grace, as if he and the horse were of one mind, moving together seamlessly. Only the Dalish Halla riders seemed more in tune with their mounts, yet Solas had never before ridden this particular geldling before. The wind fluttered the fur that trimmed his tunic and pushed the fabric tight against his body. She bit her lip, her brain providing the image of the lean, wiry form she knew all that baggy fabric concealed.

For once, she didn't have to try to focus elsewhere. She let herself indulge for a moment. She nudged her horse forward as the path widened to ride beside him. Solas glanced over at her but didn't say anything.

"Can I ask where we are going?" It didn't really matter, but she was curious.

"Crestwood," he replied quickly but didn't elaborate.

"Crestwood." Her tone was both matter-of-fact and questioning. "Where we closed a rift under a lake and dispatched several wyvern?"

He smiled. "Yes, where we found the wyvern in fact."

"The grove, with the statues." It wasn't really a question. She remembered. She also remembered distinctly that Varric commented it smelled like wet dog and that Solas had been greatly amused by that.

"Yes," he said and noticing her strange look added, "You'll see."

Solas looked back toward the road for a moment before turning back to look at her. He cocked his head in that way he did, inspecting her, having some quiet internal debate.

"Tell me a story," he asked, his voice quiet.

"I'm no bard," she said, surprised at his request. "Leliana said I didn't have it in me."

"I know," Solas said. His voice had a new strange quality to it, one that she couldn't put her finger on. "Because bards - and many others - lie. You do not." His expression was equally indecipherable. "Tell me a story about you, about your life." He seemed to hear her unspoken question. "I know much from the Fade, but precious little from the world. I wonder how much the stories change."

"Much I'd imagine," she said. "I still can't stop thinking about what Abelas said, about Mythal and Fen'Harel and murder. It's not the same story I was told." She paused, that strange feeling in her bones again, trying to tell her something, but she couldn't understand, like a dream you forget upon waking. It was almost enough to keep her from noticing how Solas's eyes narrowed a little at the mention of the two gods. "I wonder what the truth is?"

"If I have learned nothing else," Solas said, his face carefully neutral again. "It is that the truth is mutable. In the Fade, stories are told by the perspective of spirits, of those mortals whose powerful emotions affected them. Emotions always change how the story is told. Even so, I would like to hear about you, from you. I know less than I'd like."

"I don't even know how old you are Solas," Varania groused. It was such a strange request. She was happy to tell him whatever he wanted to know, even if most of her stories would be sad. But the direct request when she knew he'd still tell her nothing was strange.

"I don't know how old you are either vhenan," he said snidely. "I didn't ask and you didn't volunteer."

"Oh I..." A smile spread across Varania's face. He was right. She hadn't told him. Perspective was indeed a funny thing. "I'm thirty-one, " she said. "How old are you?"

Solas grinned. "Old enough."