Inside his tent, Solas sat at the edge of the bed, bread in hand. He took another bite.
It tasted… adequate.
He placed the half-eaten loaf beside him and picked up the tin cup. Steam still rose from the stew. It smelled warm—comforting, even. A red broth with chunks of meat floated near the surface. White meat, it seemed.
His eyes narrowed slightly, inspecting it. Then, slowly, he dipped the wooden spoon and brought it to his mouth.
Warmth spread across his tongue. Silky. Subtle. Soft. A quiet moan of satisfaction escaped his lips before he caught himself.
Without thinking, he dug in—dipping bread, savoring each bite with slow appreciation. He didn't realize how much he needed it until the bowl was empty.
He set the tin cup on a crate beside the bed, leaned back slightly, and exhaled a soft hum of contentment.
But peace, as always, was short-lived.
"S-Solas…?"
A soft voice—gentle, uncertain—spoke from just beyond the tent.
He turned his head toward the entrance, rising calmly to his feet. "Rowena? Is that you?"
No reply. Just silence and moonlight filtering through the fabric.
He stepped forward and pulled the flap aside—
There she was.
Rowena stood just outside, gently rubbing her arm, her eyes lowered. Behind her, the twin moons hung in perfect alignment—casting a pale, dreamlike glow around her form.
When she looked up at him, her lips parted as if unsure how to begin. "They… they had me go around the tents—to inform everyone of their assigned positions."
"I see." He folded his arms lightly. "And what's mine?"
"Main force," she said quietly.
That gave him pause. The main force? He hadn't expected that—not with Vargra's so-called protection. Wouldn't she want to keep him close? Then again… maybe this was her way of testing him. Or proving something.
"You're certain?"
Rowena gave a shy nod. "Mhm."
Solas considered dismissing her—she likely had other tents to reach. But before he could speak, her voice halted him.
"May I come in…?"
A small smile crept onto Solas's lips.
"Of course." He cast a glance at the moon before turning his eyes to Rowena. "It seems the night wishes it too."
Stepping aside, he held the tent flap open for her.
Her eyes lit up. "Thank you," she said softly, and stepped inside.
As she entered, a strange warmth settled over her—a familiar comfort, as if stepping back into the moment they'd first met. The memory brought a quiet joy to her heart.
"Do you not have any other tents to visit besides mine?" Solas asked, a curious tone threading through his words.
She turned to face him as he let the flap fall shut behind him. "No… I saved yours for last."
"Ah." He gestured toward his bed. "Please, take a seat. I'd rather not see you standing."
Gratefully, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed and looked up at him. "It's nice to be with you again…"
"I can say the same for you, Rowena," he replied, his voice soft—luring. "After all… you're the one who brought me here."
She felt warmth bloom in her chest at his words. Her lips parted, uncertain of how to respond.
"I—I…" Struggling to find footing in the emotion, she changed the subject.
"I'm part of Vaelira's squad now. She's taken me under her wing." There was pride in her voice. Happiness.
"That's wonderful," Solas said as he moved to sit beside her, elegant even in that simple act.
"Then we'll see each other on the battlefield."
"I'm looking forward to it." But beneath her smile, there was something else—a flicker of concern.
Solas turned slightly to her.
"Rowena." He said her name with gravity, not urgency—but something weighty hung behind it
"Rowena."
"Eh?" She turned her head, curiosity blooming with a flicker of concern.
Solas's voice was calm—almost casual. "How come the people of the court spoke differently… from the way others speak? Here, or elsewhere?"
"What do you mean?" She tilted her head slightly.
"The way they used words like thy and thou. Do you know why that is?"
"Oh! I thought you'd know about this." She glanced upward, searching for the right words, then looked back at him.
"Over the years, our language changed. What they spoke—that's the old tongue. No one really uses it anymore. Only nobles or really old people." She paused. "They taught that in school…"
Her crimson eyes searched his.
"Didn't you go to school?"
For a moment, Solas didn't answer. He let the question hang between them, unthreatening… almost innocent. Then—
A soft smile curved his lips.
"I've studied many things. But not always in classrooms."
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Some knowledge finds you when you need it," he added, his voice smooth. Measured. Like something half-remembered from a dream.
She blinked—unsure whether she understood… or if she'd simply been charmed out of asking more.
"…Oh." She nodded faintly, trying not to look confused.
Solas tilted his head slightly. "And you?" he asked. "What did they teach you in school?"
"Me?"
"What knowledge did they pass down to someone of your sort?"
"Swordplay, history, language, geography… the basics," she said. Then her voice softened. "The kind that favors the victors."
"It always does," Solas replied quietly.
"I wasn't very good at the other things… but I remembered the stories. About great people. The kind that felt impossible."
"And what made them impossible?"
"They did things no ordinary person could do. Like they belonged to no one." Her voice lingered. "But stood above everyone."
"I see," Solas murmured.
Rowena looked down, twirling a strand of crimson hair around her finger. "You talk like someone who's lived many lives. Like someone who's seen everything already."
He said nothing. His soft lips remained still, as if her words carried more weight than she realized.
Her crimson eyes met his icy-blue ones—two opposing elements quietly staring into each other.
"What were you doing before all of this?" she asked, her voice quieter now. "Before I found you in the forest?"
Solas paused.
"Looking for something," he said. "Maybe I still am."
She didn't speak. Didn't press. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Like something waiting to be touched.
She broke the silence, her gaze lowering as she spoke softly.
"I never really made many friends growing up…" There was a pause—hesitant, shy—but she chose to continue. "Then I met you."
Her eyes lifted to Solas, glowing with quiet joy. "You're the first person who's ever really felt like a true friend. I just feel… comfortable. Happy, when I'm near you."
She paused, as if letting the weight of her words settle.
"Meeting you changed my life. Because of you, I've grown. I've met people who care for me. I'm not so alone anymore."
She looked down at her hand, opening her palm like she was holding something delicate. Then her gaze returned to Solas, eyes shimmering with emotion.
"Thank you, Solas. Thank you for finding me." A pause.
"I think meeting you helped me understand what I want."
He offered her a soft smile.
Then, gently, her fingers brushed against his as she stood.
Solas rose, following her movement with quiet grace.
Rowena stepped toward the tent's entrance, her hand reaching for the flap—then pausing.
"Solas," she said, turning her head just enough to meet his eyes. Her voice was quieter now. "What is it you're looking for?"
His smile slowly faded. Silence crept between them—thin and still.
"There was a time I knew," he finally said. "Now… I only know what I'm willing to do to reach it."
Rowena inhaled, uncertain what to make of the answer. It worried her—though she tried not to show it. And yet, her lips parted with softness, concern threading her words.
"I don't know what it is you're chasing…" She smiled gently. "But I hope you find it."
"I will," Solas said, his voice steady. Calm. Certain.
She searched his face. "Even if it changes you?"
Their eyes locked.
A quiet smile returned to his lips.
"It already has."
Rowena's heart stirred. Her voice came soft, nearly a whisper.
"Then… I hope I'm with you. For whatever comes."
The flap of the tent rustled as she stepped into the night, her silhouette fading beneath the stars.
And above them, the twin moons watched in silence, shining down upon both of their souls—as time ticked forward, quiet and inevitable.