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Quick hands worked between the opened pack and the back of his shirt before the order came. “Off with it, then.” It was soft - concerned even - but it was an order nonetheless. The wool tunic was shrugged off in the gently pulsing light of a few orbs he’d placed earlier, lit by his magic and sustained by his will. Solas laid on the fur-lined bedroll to give Ayelet space to work. He watched her from the crook of his elbow.

She didn’t flinch at the bruising that mottled the skin of his back, and if she worried over the way the red templar had bashed him from behind with a shield, there was no trace of it on Ayelet’s face. She produced a green bottle containing a viscous liquid of the same color. After warming it between her hands, she spread it over the purpling flesh. The steady touch felt like a scrape from a dull knife; Solas hissed and Ayelet chewed her lip, the practiced composure falling from her eyes. She apologized, eased the pressure, and tried to distract him with small talk. The sharp pain continued while she massaged the potion into the battered skin. He had felt worse before, and he would no doubt feel it again. But it was new to feel pain at her hands.

“You’ll be good as new by morning.” Ayelet’s smile was apologetic. “Are you feeling better?”

Solas nodded, taking her hand. “Ma serannas. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, vhenan, just a few scratches this time.” She kicked off her boots and laid down next to him, careful not to bump any sensitive parts. The tent darkened. “I’ll keep better watch behind you from now on. Get some sleep.”

With Yel between his arms and a tingling ache in his back, Solas heeded her command once more.