Felassan's gift for dodging topics he would prefer not to speak on has been useful to them both in the past—Solas has even found it amusing, on occasion. The charm of it is somewhat lost in its being turned against him.
His expression remains frigid and impassive, unmoved by Felassan's attempt at levity.
"This is a century of ruin. Suffering. Death."
Death, not just in battle or accident, but inevitable. Death by aging, infirmity, illness—all things the elvhen should never have had to face, save for his rebellion. Torture, corruption, imprisonment of their spirit kin—the loss of who they are. None save Solas remain alive who know the emotion from which Felassan was born.
There was a time, not some hundred years past, that Felassan would have understood that.
"Do you find that so interesting?" he questions, arch, subtly mocking. "You prolong all of this, denying me the passphrase, so I suppose you must. Have the years made you so callow?"
His goal is not beyond him without the eluvians, Felassan knows that as well as he, but it will take time to acquire them now. Time, and effort—lies, manipulations, more... regrettable measures. A year, perhaps two, to put all the pieces in place. Barely more than a blink in the long scheme of their existence,
but a blink in which hundreds of thousands of spirits and elves will suffer and die, needlessly, senselessly. Because of Felassan.
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His expression remains frigid and impassive, unmoved by Felassan's attempt at levity.
"This is a century of ruin. Suffering. Death."
Death, not just in battle or accident, but inevitable. Death by aging, infirmity, illness—all things the elvhen should never have had to face, save for his rebellion. Torture, corruption, imprisonment of their spirit kin—the loss of who they are. None save Solas remain alive who know the emotion from which Felassan was born.
There was a time, not some hundred years past, that Felassan would have understood that.
"Do you find that so interesting?" he questions, arch, subtly mocking. "You prolong all of this, denying me the passphrase, so I suppose you must. Have the years made you so callow?"
His goal is not beyond him without the eluvians, Felassan knows that as well as he, but it will take time to acquire them now. Time, and effort—lies, manipulations, more... regrettable measures. A year, perhaps two, to put all the pieces in place. Barely more than a blink in the long scheme of their existence,
but a blink in which hundreds of thousands of spirits and elves will suffer and die, needlessly, senselessly. Because of Felassan.