Andersson sat upright in bed, propped against the headboard, the sheets bunched around his waist and the cabin dim around him. The lights were set low—the moonlight was doing most of the heavy lifting. A soft amber glow lined the base of the walls, casting long shadows across the floor.

Through the viewport, Vael'theron's sky unfolded in hushed gradients. High above, Elun hovered like a brushed-silver coin, its pale face turned toward the waking world. Just beneath it, Narellan lingered lower on the horizon, rust-gold and heavier in the dark, watching like it remembered things no one else did.

The doors to Andersson's quarters hissed open, letting the scent of something warm and savory in as Reece stepped through.

"I saw Hale," Reece said, walking in like he belonged there, because at this point he did. "She told me about her little chat with the med team from Skyhold."

Andersson raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "Do I want to know?"

"She told them to go jump in the ocean." Reece set the containers down on the counter opposite the bed. "That was the polite version."

Andersson gave a faint huff of air, halfway to a laugh. "God, I hope she's not going to get us banished."

Reece stood at the foot of the bed, concern etched plainly across his face. "You hungry?"

Andersson didn't answer right away. The scent drifting through the room had caught his attention—warm, savory, layered with something sharp and herbaceous. He tilted his head, nose twitching slightly.

"I don't know," he murmured.

Andersson started to shake his head, then paused. He sniffed the air once more, sharply, and blinked. "Is that…" He trailed off, brow furrowing. "Hasparat?"

Reece turned, walked back over to the counter, and checked the label on one of the containers. His head snapped up. "Did you already eat one of these?"

Andersson frowned. "No. I'd never even heard of it until now."

Reece glanced down, peeled back the lid completely, and frowned. "So how did you know that's what it was?"

Andersson hesitated, as if the answer might be sitting just out of reach. "I don't know," he said finally. "I just do."

Reece watched him for a beat longer, then crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, the container still warm in his hand. "This is freaking me out. Are you going to wake up with pointy ears or something? Not gonna lie—I would find that hot."

Andersson raised an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "I'm not sure," he said honestly, "But… I think I like hasparat. And so will you."

Reece offered a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, lucky I brought two."

He handed over one of the containers, and Andersson opened it more carefully now, taking in the sight of the food inside. Hasparat, it turned out, was a perfect square—precise, almost architectural. Dozens of delicate layers stacked in a flawless cube, each one folded thin as silk. The top was glazed with something golden, and the layers inside shimmered slightly, woven with flecks of crushed herbs, pickled roots, and something that looked like sun-dried algae. The scent was warm and savory, with a tang that hit the back of the nose—complex and balanced, like someone had reverse-engineered flavor itself and rebuilt it one layer at a time.

It looked like it should be sweet, but it wasn't. It was something else. Something unmistakably Elarin.

And somehow, Andersson already knew exactly how it would taste.

Andersson picked up one of the square-cut hasparat slices, turning it between his fingers before taking a bite. The moment it hit his tongue, his expression shifted—not in surprise, but in quiet confirmation. The flavors were layered and delicate: flaky pastry folded around tangy preserved roots and sweet spiced vegetables, cooled by a smear of some pale herbal cream. The texture gave just enough resistance before melting into savory softness. Just what he'd expected.

Reece watched him from across the room, the tension in his shoulders not easing. "How does it taste?"

Andersson hesitated, chewing slowly. When he swallowed, he looked down at the food like it had just told him a secret. "Exactly how I remember."

Reece blinked. "You're sure you've never eaten it before? You didn't grab one of these yesterday before you came down to the bar?"

Andersson shook his head slowly. "I don't think so." He tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling. "EDI, check the inventory. How many hasparat units were in stock after the refit? And how many have been used?"

EDI's voice came calmly over the overhead speakers. "Ten hasparat units were uplifted. Two units have been used—retrieved by Commander Reece six minutes ago."

Andersson let out a quiet breath. "I remember I had a vashael yesterday," he said, the name falling from his mouth before he could think twice. He blinked. "Whatever that is."

Reece raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't have hasparat at Skyhold that first night?"

"I don't think so. Do you remember seeing it? I'm pretty sure we ate the same stuff."

Reece didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on Andersson, as if he were trying to make sense of a painting that kept changing every time he blinked.

Reece let out a breath and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Well, that's kind of terrifying."

Andersson gave a quiet chuckle, the sound a little rough but genuine. "I think being able to identify Thedan food by smell isn't the worst curse I could be given." He looked back down at the half-eaten hasparat, a note of surprise softening his voice. "Besides… want to hear some good news?"

Reece straightened slightly, hopeful. "Please. Anything."

Andersson lifted the rest of the slice and took another bite before speaking. "I think I'm starving. And the hasparat is making me feel better."

That pulled a crooked grin from Reece. He gestured toward the remaining container. "See? You can trust me to make the right choices."

Reece set his empty container down with a satisfied sigh. "That was actually really good. I can feel the nutrients."

Andersson gave a small, amused nod. "See? Told you you'd like it."

"You've known me, what—five days? And you already know what I like?"

"I can just tell."

Reece smirked. "Alright then. What's my favorite pizza?"

"Meat feast," Andersson said without hesitation. "Obvious."

"Easy one," Reece scoffed. "Okay—shake?"

"Peanut butter."

"Wrong," Reece declared, pointing at him like he'd caught him red-handed. "Strawberry."

Andersson winced. "Gross. Peanut butter's actually my favorite."

Reece laughed. "Damn, what I wouldn't give for a slice of pizza and a shake right now."

Andersson tilted his head. "Settle for a hug?"

Reece's face broke into a wide grin. "Hell yeah." He tossed himself onto the bed with zero ceremony and rolled to face away, leaving space for Andersson behind him. Without hesitation, Andersson slid closer and wrapped his arms around him.

"You know," he murmured, "you should be hugging me. I'm the sick one."

"You're bigger," Reece muttered, already half-melting into the contact. "And besides… I think you just did it all for attention."

"Sure," Andersson replied, voice low with a smile. "Speaking of which—have you gotten over your tantrum about being the Flame yet?"

"Not even a little bit," Reece said. "But if I have to be Robin, I'm happy you're Batman."

Andersson let out a quiet laugh, resting his chin gently against Reece's shoulder. "That is possibly the most adorable thing you've ever said."

Reece didn't answer right away. He just shifted slightly, settling in closer, his back pressing into Andersson's chest, one hand resting over the arms wrapped around him.

The silence stretched between them—not awkward, not heavy, just still. Safe.

Andersson's eyes drifted toward the window, where the twin moons hung high above Vael'theron's skyline—Elun pale and high, Narellan low and burnished gold. Watching. Waiting. The stars beyond them scattered like memory.

He closed his eyes, breathing in slow, steady rhythm, matching the rise and fall of Reece's back against him. Whatever had changed in him—whatever was still changing—this moment felt real. Untouched. Unbroken.

Reece's breathing deepened. Andersson's followed.

Neither of them moved.

Wrapped in each other, they let the quiet take them.

Sleep found them there.

Together.