“Saying so will not make it so,” he says, and he settles into holding her; she so nicely tucks under his chin and her hair—disheveled as it is—is stroked by one hand, petted to comfort.

No; he does not seek death. The idea is still foreign to him. Even coming close will not bring him into contact with the hardness of it, as much as he has accepted the abstract of falling, and not getting back up.

Emeric will be smart about the arrangements to provide for her, and he is glad of that. He has no way to keep her as she is accustomed even with Solas’ intentions making anything past the next decade or so irrelevant. But she deserves what she knows. He says, “Do you wish to see Iorveth, or stay until the camp is broken down?”