[ Her laugh is lovely, he thinks, but he doesn't voice it - it's not necessary. All the things he says are genuine - he does not give compliments lightly and for no reason - but they are interrupted. Solas is frustrated, since his art is not done and he was prepared to speak for a little while longer, and he steps forward. He might not have a Herald to support him now, but he knows that people know of him, and it might be enough to protect them from errant Templars and foolish humans that hunt them down.

The lady takes control, however, and he frowns as he tilts his head to watch her. He can feel her power and it is something remarkable, drawing around him almost in the same way the Fade does. He could hear a pin drop, if someone were to do it.

Solas stares as he watches the Templars spread, touching her barrier and moving away, and when his awe has settled - a quiet, soft thing that he does not say aloud, and is quickly gone - he turns to look at her again. The nostalgia strikes him like a burn, a brand across his heart; peace, calm, eerily so, and he feels his hands clenching at his sides as he forces himself to calm. ]

You have no reason to apologise. It is best that Templars are avoided, especially for those such as myself. [ Apostate mages are not looked upon fondly. ] We can walk and speak, if you would like. I would watch as the art dries, but I fear it may be a risk tonight.