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Solas finds her in the rotunda.
Lying on her side on the couch with her knees tucked to her chest, his heart looks smaller. Younger. More innocent, though by this point she is anything but.
He crouches down next to her sleeping form, close but not touching, and allows his eyes to drink in the sight of her resting face. She looks peaceful; the worry she carries in the corners of her mouth smoothed away by dreams. And though he is loath to disturb this momentary peace, he cannot seem to stop himself from reaching out to her.
He trails the tips of his fingers across her brow, cataloguing the angle of them, before cupping the side of her face with his palm. He brushes the pad of his thumb over her eye, savouring the delicate tickle of her eyelashes against his skin, before running it down the bridge of her nose and over the tip, coming to a rest against her upper lip.
The deliberate press of her lips against his finger brings him back to himself and he looks up to find her eyes on his. Her lips curl in a small smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and his heart leaps at the sight.
“Hello,” she whispers, voice muffled from sleep, and he finds himself smiling back, slightly breathless.
“Sleep well?”
Her reply is a contented hum that pulls a chuckle from him. He takes a moment to brush stray strands of hair behind her ear, eyes locked with hers. She blinks slowly, eyelids heavy with sleep, and he finds himself reluctant to drag her back to the waking world just yet.
He stands up and gently scoops her into his arms, and it is a testament to her weariness that she offers no protest, opting to snuggle closer to him instead. Her nose presses against the fabric of his tunic and she breathes in slowly. He bends his neck to murmur in her ear.
“Ma vhenan.”