Rook walked her through a dim hallway, no braziers lit to illuminate their path. Only the candles each of them held in their hands guided their way. The castle was cold, stuffy.

She glanced into the library as they passed. "Where is everyone else?" she asked, her voice echoing harshly.

"I requested they make themselves scarce," Rook said. "At least for the evening." She glanced over her shoulder, a weak smile on her lips. "It's usually much warmer, and, ah, inviting."

They entered a small study, a desk off to the side with the chair askew. There were frescos on the walls. In the dark, she could not make out the details, but the emotions they evoked—it made her breath catch.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she adjusted her grip on the candleholder. "And why is it not now?" Her tone was biting. She quickened her pace to set the candle on the desk. Shaking out her hand, she flexed her fingers, hiding it behind her back.

The frescos, they seemed to scream. White eyes and stained cheeks. Black fur. A tower with an eclipse. Her own cheeks began to tingle, the tips of her ears. As if it were yesterday, she recalled a cool breeze nipped at her face, brisk, the thinness of the Veil electrifying her skin. And then it was bared.

Rook remained by the doorway, head tipped back as she also observed the deteriorating frescos. "This is a strange place, Inquisitor. It changes as we do. What we do, how we feel." She hesitated for a moment, her eye catching at the corner nearest her. "Not always from the physical inhabitants."

She rubbed her hand into her chest, feeling her heart already racing. Perhaps this was a bad idea. She should leave. Dreams, that was all she should be allowed. All that she could handle. But if it wasn't enticing to come into his dwelling, where he couldn't flee if she dared get closer than he wished.

"He's doing this?" she asked. "Providing this warm welcome?"

Rook grinned. "I'm afraid so."

"I'm honored," she mumbled, turning in her spot and scanning the bookshelves, a small bench off to the side. "Is he here now?"

She hadn't any idea how this worked. She was only told they were connected, that his voice bounced around in Rook's head, like a persistent buzzing. There were murmurings amongst their crew that there might also be sightings. Rook had been light on the details.

Inhaling, Rook gave a firm nod. "Yes, he's here. In the corner." She gestured at the space she had just looked toward. "He's also… talking."

"What's he saying?" she asked, feverish. She turned her head to where Rook pointed, hoping, aching, for a glimpse.

"Pleading."

"What's he saying?"

"Oh, nearly on his knees."

"Rook."

She laughed. "You both spoke at the same time. 'Please, do not make me do this. I demand, no, I beg, this is the last—'"

Pausing, lips pressed together, Rook briefly closed her eyes.

Her hand had found its way into her hair, twisting at the locks at the nape of her neck. Slowly, she pried them loose, though her nails dug into her skin. Tears pricked at her eyes. Hearing him in pain was so easy. So easy. "Rook," she whispered. She thought of him in pain often.

"I'm usually his voice, as it takes great effort for him to show himself." Rook shook her head and spun on her heel. "It seems I'm no longer required." She left, shoulders back, head held high, the light in the room dimming with each step she took.

"Rook," she repeated, lowering her hand to roughly wipe at her eyes. "If he is not here, then I cannot stay. I cannot bear—"

And then, a soft voice spoke through the Veil crackle. "Dehari?"

She turned to meet him. Can you feel it on your skin tingling?

"Solas," she breathed and reached to touch him. This time, he didn't recoil, though it didn't matter. Dehari could not touch him. Her fingers passed through his cheek as if it were only air present and not the presence of her once-lover. Perhaps that was why he didn't recoil. He knew there would be no point.

He looked sad. She imagined she did too.

"It has been a long time," he muttered. His hands were behind his back, and she knew he was tightly gripping his fingers. Still practicing restraint, even after all these years.

She half-smiled, but didn't feel amused. "Only ten years."

Solas closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Dehari glared and tipped her head, trying to catch his gaze. "You don't get to hide. Again. Rook suggested you being here is effortful." Once his eyes opened, a flash of purple, Dehari leaned closer. "How long do I have with you?" she whispered. "After a fucking decade, how much time do I have with you right now?"

If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel his breath against her lips. Solas looked at her, stare icy, before that facade quickly cracked. He relaxed, shoulders lowering, a small frown emerging. "A few minutes. I am mustering enough energy to speak with you now."

"Thank you."

They both straightened and looked at the other. Silence hovered between them. The candlelight flickered. Out of the corner of her eye, Dehari swore a brazier on the opposite wall caught aflame. Solas lost his frown, face molding into contentment, a soft expression. His hands were still behind his back. Dehari wished she could grab them and rub her thumbs into his knuckles, as she once did after long days of traveling stretched into nights.

She didn't know where to start. How could she fill in the time they had spent apart? How she hopped from place to place, no real home, after the Inquisition disbanded? She could not return to her Clan, and the longer she stayed with her friends, the more she felt like a trespasser. A decade, still an interloper.

And he knew all this. Had watched her nightly as she slept and dreamed. There would likely be nothing she could say that wouldn't surprise him.

"I don't know what to say to you," she said.

"I do," Solas said. "You are beautiful."

Immediately, Dehari looked away. Tears stung again, this time freely sneaking out of her eyes.

"And I have missed you, vhenan."

"Don't," she spat, still looking down at the floor. "You don't get to say that."

"I'm attempting to choose my words wisely, knowing the time we have left."

She sputtered out a laugh, raising her hand to wipe her cheeks. "You bastard."

"Will you please look at me?"

Dehari sharply breathed in and lowered her hand, just as she turned to stare at him again. There was now a smile on his face, a full one, and even a glimmer of something in his own eyes. "There you are," he whispered.

"How are you doing?" she said, curling her fingers. "You have more company now. And you're working together. How does it feel to trust someone?" Genuine care stumbled into bitterness. The words were sharp on her tongue, but they needed their place.

A flicker of a frown, a pinch in his brow.

"To not be alone?" Another slice. She could not resist.

"Dehari, when we were together, I—"

She raised a hand and went to touch his chest, to interrupt him, but she again only found cool air. She shook out her hand against the tingling. "Don't try to correct me. You didn't trust me. And even when we were together, locked behind our doors and in each other's arms, you were still so deeply alone."

Solas glanced away, pressing his lips together. A thousand thoughts appeared to run through his head. Dehari wished she was privy to them.

"You're right," he settled on. He looked back at her. "You are here to aid in Rook's efforts?"

"As much as I can. Try to stop me." Dehari tossed her shoulders back, gathering all she could to appear cocky.

Solas smirked, a huff of a laugh. Like old times. "Oh, I dare not."

Seconds passed. Dragged. An unspoken question in their shared space: Will there be more time?

His breath hitched. Dehari knew.

"Remarkable how easy it was," Solas began. He lifted a hand and moved to touch Dehari's cheek. "To speak with you again." Almost, almost, his fingertips skimmed along her face, down the scar that curved along the edges. A ghost of a touch. "If only I hadn't been cowardly," he murmured.

He leaned to brush his lips to her forehead. She imagined he was corporeal—

And for a moment, as if in a final push, his hand found the back of her neck. The lips on her skin were solid, real, and familiar, as he held her close to say goodbye. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she leaned into him, wishing for this moment to linger in time.

When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with a warmly lit study. The frescos were full, brightly painted. The sun shone, two figures grasping hands, peering up at the star above them.