[ It sounds a little flippant, maybe — and not at all like he’s hanging by his fingernails over the pit of catastrophization and deciding he’s lost them both forever — but it’s also the truth. ]
Should I have waited for her to find out another way?
No. [Solas heaves a quiet sigh] There would have been no good time to come to face what kind of creatures she has invited into her bed. But— [But you're still a fool.] a more considered approach, or a warning?
Felassan.
[He despairs of you sometimes, he really does. Or perhaps that is just the unaccustomed feeling of being the one left behind, for once; the one who must wait and hope and look at the door for every small sound.]
I will keep the hearth warm, for both of you. Please come home, when you can.
[ Ah. A hand up from the edge of that pit, backed by the strength of Solas knowing the resilient loyalty of her heart so well. And by Solas's admonition reminding him of the last time Felassan decided to accept his fate rather than put up any real effort to fight it. He won't repeat the mistake. ]
I will.
[ Could be it. But he's back a moment later. ]
She said I stood up for them, when she saw how I died.
[ Not news. Felassan relayed Solas the list, insofar as he's aware of it, to keep him from being blindsided. Pity that habit didn't hold this time. ]
I should have told her then instead of letting her look at me that way. Short of that, though, I should have warned you.
[But it is not the first time he has said so, and certainly not the first for that exasperated, low tone.]
...She will come back. If what I have done, and been, cannot drive her away, then your own transgressions will not. But she will be angry, and sad, and you will apologize. She will pretend to have put it aside, and you will be able to see that whether or not the wound has yet healed, it will become a scar.
Beleth cares deeply for her People, and they have always been her first priority, even when the opposite was never true. [And that's just one thing they have in common! Imagine it.] You will likely need to take care to make a material effort to show the sincerity of your contrition, to achieve real forgiveness. Something that matters.
[Alas, there are no conveniently imperiled Dalish clans here to rescue. But Felassan has never lacked for creativity.]
...Remember this blunder, next time. [That's an order.] Though I doubt you will find yourself standing by the wayside of any Dalish massacres, in the future.
[ The insult and exasperation would usually glance off. Felassan has never lacked for confidence, and he has known with certainty for as long as he's known anything at all that Solas cared for him, one way or another, and often even liked him. He could take it with cheek and a wink, if it weren't this time indisputably true.
Stung would be the wrong word for his quiet through the rest of Solas's commentary. Weary, maybe. ]
No, [ is agreement, to that last part.
He'd not taken time to learn what he would have been in Thedas, with that crack Briala had bored through his walls widened to a crumbling gap. If he had to learn to be something besides disengaged or dead. How to not be either of those things but also not go back to being stretched too thin across a thousand impossible fights and choking on the despair of it, the way he was when the world first ended, before he found Solas and was able to narrow his aim to a single target.
Whatever he might be, it would not involve standing on the wayside of any massacres, though, no.
He'll think on it. Not what he can do to make it up to her — gestures can be planned, but gestures are not enough. The rest, though. ]
I'm not certain how much time is normal to give mortals who are angry with you. If I wait too long and she seems unhappy I haven't tried, will you whistle or something?
[Solas is quiet for long enough to remember that, for all his experience with apologies, and apologies to Beleth in particular, he has no stones that ought be thrown, in such houses as these.]
She is more sad than angry, emma lath. [Solas says it gently, now, the sharp voice of the instructing general gone away, with his own sorrow evident.] You remember what it is to lose kin, and to hear of it only too late.
[True too, to love someone, and know they are the source and root of your grieving, and to continue to love them still. As for Mythal with Solas, for Solas with Felassan, and now Beleth with the both of them. Perhaps it is possible to have love wholly untainted by horror, but not for they three.]
A week's time. Give her a week to rage and weep. If she has come home to me by then, then she will want to see you. To know you are well, if nothing else. Mortals move quickly, and Beleth has not yet had time to learn what it will mean to never run short of it.
[ Felassan kind of likes the instructing general voice. Likes it, even, and now and then goes out of his way to provoke it, or else pins Solas down and mimics it to see what that provokes. And even now, in this least sexy of situations, he might prefer it to this kindness, which is no easier for him to settle into than the silence Beleth left behind in place of tears or invectives.
He does remember losing kin and learning too late. And he remembers, after the last time, setting fire to the humans’ encampments whenever and wherever he came across them for a hundred years afterwards. ]
A week.
[ All right. His deep breath is an agreement, a shoring-up. That’s not long. It’s so not-long that, if the prediction holds, someone probably should worry about her.
But she’s a strange thing, and he loves her, and loves Solas, and loves his standing invitation into the warmth and home they’ve made here, so he’ll take it. If he can. ]
[More even that solas can comprehend, really. For her to have spent what might otherwise have been a full quarter of her life in waiting for him is insanity. For it to have worked is even less sane. But no one can question her commitment, or her powers of prescience.]
Var lath vir suledin. If what she endured on my behalf did not dissuade her, then nothing can.
[ He’s feeling better. Var lath vir suledin. There’s still something subdued and ruminative beneath his bolstered humor, keeping it quiet; he is still a bastard with things to consider, and he won’t be happy until he and Beleth reach some kind of detente.
But he’s willing to be annoying again, so clearly nature is healing. ]
— you have those sad eyes and that sensitive artist’s heart. Not to mention the broad shoulders, the careful hands, the voice, the great strength and the willingness to set it aside and be weak for someone…
[ Where’d his point go. It’s around here somewhere. ]
[ No more apologies. In the face of these crimes Solas didn't kill him for, but someone somewhere certainly would have been within their rights to, the time for joking about it has come. ]
— a few times. We must account for the sad eyes and the sensitive heart, so let's say five times is the absolute limit.
[ He does have more self-respect than that, really. ]
The Dalish clan you met when you woke up, what were they like?
[Huff! But no, that's just a lie, outright. Still, he ruminates on the story for a moment or two; how circumspect to be. He had given Beleth little detail, knowing it could only bring her distress, and Rook less than that— she deserved nothing from him, and it was easy to pretend to be a recalcitrant.
But Felassan knows him better.]
I did not have much chance to actually know them. I greeted them in Elvhen, and they responded in kind. They deferred to their Keeper, and I was invited to join their fire. When I introduced myself, they initially believed it to be a joke.
...When I insisted otherwise, their good humor, eventually, wore off, and they warned me that it was not wise to impersonate the Dread Wolf. Of course, I was doing no such thing.
But by then, it was far too late; I was surrounded, and so I was forced to run. I still do not know if they truly understood that I was not mocking them, that they truly did host Fen'Harel at their camp. It is likely, if they survived, that they now know the name 'Solas' and associate it with an elf of my physical description... But if they remember our encounter, that I cannot say. It was a rude awakening.
[ Of course Felassan hates the thought of him alone, still weak, and having his earnest attempt to find allies in this strange and quiet world violently rebuffed... But he also snorts something near enough to a laugh, albeit less merry than it could be or will be after Beleth sees fit to kiss him again. ]
However many worlds exist, you have to be the worst god of lies in any of them.
[He does not like being alone in the house! It does not even feel safe, not quite, to take a nap. Which is a shame, because you make him so damn tired sometimes.]
Have you any more questions about my dealings with the Dalish?
I have spoken with various Dalish elves in more recent years, but I never revisited that clan, nor any other. It is my understanding that the Dalish prefer me to keep my distance—
[Which is to say, he is unwilling to put himself at their mercy on a whim. Even if they could no longer pose a meaningful threat to him, nobody likes being attacked. And Solas has never been the type to enjoy lording his power over others.]
I know where I am not wanted. The inheritors of Elvhenan have been thorough in their rejection of me, with only a few notable exceptions.
[ — but his breezily judgmental conclusion, there’s one ancient elvhen artifact they don’t want to collect, catches and dies in his throat as he remembers the desolate silence and the set of Beleth’s shoulders when she walked away from him.
Shit, et cetera.
He abandons the sentence entirely. ]
Did they have one of those statues of you? The little one that they turn away from the camp?
[Solas divines the joke before it can happen; he'd walked right into it, after all. But he's surprised when Felassan lets it go unsaid. He must be truly worried. And so, Solas replies, gently:]
I believe you will find, that at least one representative of the Dalish did indeed collect me.
[At great difficulty, no less. But enough of that.]
They did. A howling wolf, his teeth full of moss. Initially, I thought of it as a promising sign; no one who seemed to wish for a Wolf to guard their camp could be against me. More the fool, I.
Yes. He is. And since it's Solas, and after however many thousand years words ought to be unnecessary now and then, he can't even mind. The sound he makes in his throat is mostly amused, with only a hint of grudging don't coddle me around the edges. ]
For what it's worth, I don't know that any given clan would be overly thrilled if Elgar'nan or Falon'din sat down at their fire, either.
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[Ergo:]
What did you do?
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I told her Clan Virnehn is dead, and how.
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May I ask what prompted this subject?
[Unspoken, but quietly: you idiot]
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[ It sounds a little flippant, maybe — and not at all like he’s hanging by his fingernails over the pit of catastrophization and deciding he’s lost them both forever — but it’s also the truth. ]
Should I have waited for her to find out another way?
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Felassan.
[He despairs of you sometimes, he really does. Or perhaps that is just the unaccustomed feeling of being the one left behind, for once; the one who must wait and hope and look at the door for every small sound.]
I will keep the hearth warm, for both of you. Please come home, when you can.
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I will.
[ Could be it. But he's back a moment later. ]
She said I stood up for them, when she saw how I died.
[ Not news. Felassan relayed Solas the list, insofar as he's aware of it, to keep him from being blindsided. Pity that habit didn't hold this time. ]
I should have told her then instead of letting her look at me that way. Short of that, though, I should have warned you.
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[But it is not the first time he has said so, and certainly not the first for that exasperated, low tone.]
...She will come back. If what I have done, and been, cannot drive her away, then your own transgressions will not. But she will be angry, and sad, and you will apologize. She will pretend to have put it aside, and you will be able to see that whether or not the wound has yet healed, it will become a scar.
Beleth cares deeply for her People, and they have always been her first priority, even when the opposite was never true. [And that's just one thing they have in common! Imagine it.] You will likely need to take care to make a material effort to show the sincerity of your contrition, to achieve real forgiveness. Something that matters.
[Alas, there are no conveniently imperiled Dalish clans here to rescue. But Felassan has never lacked for creativity.]
...Remember this blunder, next time. [That's an order.] Though I doubt you will find yourself standing by the wayside of any Dalish massacres, in the future.
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Stung would be the wrong word for his quiet through the rest of Solas's commentary. Weary, maybe. ]
No, [ is agreement, to that last part.
He'd not taken time to learn what he would have been in Thedas, with that crack Briala had bored through his walls widened to a crumbling gap. If he had to learn to be something besides disengaged or dead. How to not be either of those things but also not go back to being stretched too thin across a thousand impossible fights and choking on the despair of it, the way he was when the world first ended, before he found Solas and was able to narrow his aim to a single target.
Whatever he might be, it would not involve standing on the wayside of any massacres, though, no.
He'll think on it. Not what he can do to make it up to her — gestures can be planned, but gestures are not enough. The rest, though. ]
I'm not certain how much time is normal to give mortals who are angry with you. If I wait too long and she seems unhappy I haven't tried, will you whistle or something?
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She is more sad than angry, emma lath. [Solas says it gently, now, the sharp voice of the instructing general gone away, with his own sorrow evident.] You remember what it is to lose kin, and to hear of it only too late.
[True too, to love someone, and know they are the source and root of your grieving, and to continue to love them still. As for Mythal with Solas, for Solas with Felassan, and now Beleth with the both of them. Perhaps it is possible to have love wholly untainted by horror, but not for they three.]
A week's time. Give her a week to rage and weep. If she has come home to me by then, then she will want to see you. To know you are well, if nothing else. Mortals move quickly, and Beleth has not yet had time to learn what it will mean to never run short of it.
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He does remember losing kin and learning too late. And he remembers, after the last time, setting fire to the humans’ encampments whenever and wherever he came across them for a hundred years afterwards. ]
A week.
[ All right. His deep breath is an agreement, a shoring-up. That’s not long. It’s so not-long that, if the prediction holds, someone probably should worry about her.
But she’s a strange thing, and he loves her, and loves Solas, and loves his standing invitation into the warmth and home they’ve made here, so he’ll take it. If he can. ]
We do ask a lot of her, don’t we?
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Yes. We do.
[More even that solas can comprehend, really. For her to have spent what might otherwise have been a full quarter of her life in waiting for him is insanity. For it to have worked is even less sane. But no one can question her commitment, or her powers of prescience.]
Var lath vir suledin. If what she endured on my behalf did not dissuade her, then nothing can.
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[ He’s feeling better. Var lath vir suledin. There’s still something subdued and ruminative beneath his bolstered humor, keeping it quiet; he is still a bastard with things to consider, and he won’t be happy until he and Beleth reach some kind of detente.
But he’s willing to be annoying again, so clearly nature is healing. ]
— you have those sad eyes and that sensitive artist’s heart. Not to mention the broad shoulders, the careful hands, the voice, the great strength and the willingness to set it aside and be weak for someone…
[ Where’d his point go. It’s around here somewhere. ]
Who could possibly give you up?
Aside from me, of course. I could.
[ Please ignore evidence. ]
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[You're turning this into a flattery session, you ridiculous turkey?]
My voice. Sensiti— Really?
[You are such a brat.]
You are completely free to leave at any time, of course.
[Like right now, for example.]
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Music to his ears. ]
Perhaps if you kill me again —
[ No more apologies. In the face of these crimes Solas didn't kill him for, but someone somewhere certainly would have been within their rights to, the time for joking about it has come. ]
— a few times. We must account for the sad eyes and the sensitive heart, so let's say five times is the absolute limit.
[ He does have more self-respect than that, really. ]
The Dalish clan you met when you woke up, what were they like?
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[Huff! But no, that's just a lie, outright. Still, he ruminates on the story for a moment or two; how circumspect to be. He had given Beleth little detail, knowing it could only bring her distress, and Rook less than that— she deserved nothing from him, and it was easy to pretend to be a recalcitrant.
But Felassan knows him better.]
I did not have much chance to actually know them. I greeted them in Elvhen, and they responded in kind. They deferred to their Keeper, and I was invited to join their fire. When I introduced myself, they initially believed it to be a joke.
...When I insisted otherwise, their good humor, eventually, wore off, and they warned me that it was not wise to impersonate the Dread Wolf. Of course, I was doing no such thing.
But by then, it was far too late; I was surrounded, and so I was forced to run. I still do not know if they truly understood that I was not mocking them, that they truly did host Fen'Harel at their camp. It is likely, if they survived, that they now know the name 'Solas' and associate it with an elf of my physical description... But if they remember our encounter, that I cannot say. It was a rude awakening.
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However many worlds exist, you have to be the worst god of lies in any of them.
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[A brief, but significant pause.]
Unlike some.
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[He does not like being alone in the house! It does not even feel safe, not quite, to take a nap. Which is a shame, because you make him so damn tired sometimes.]
Have you any more questions about my dealings with the Dalish?
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Did you try again, after the first time?
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No.
I have spoken with various Dalish elves in more recent years, but I never revisited that clan, nor any other. It is my understanding that the Dalish prefer me to keep my distance—
[Which is to say, he is unwilling to put himself at their mercy on a whim. Even if they could no longer pose a meaningful threat to him, nobody likes being attacked. And Solas has never been the type to enjoy lording his power over others.]
I know where I am not wanted. The inheritors of Elvhenan have been thorough in their rejection of me, with only a few notable exceptions.
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[ — but his breezily judgmental conclusion, there’s one ancient elvhen artifact they don’t want to collect, catches and dies in his throat as he remembers the desolate silence and the set of Beleth’s shoulders when she walked away from him.
Shit, et cetera.
He abandons the sentence entirely. ]
Did they have one of those statues of you? The little one that they turn away from the camp?
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I believe you will find, that at least one representative of the Dalish did indeed collect me.
[At great difficulty, no less. But enough of that.]
They did. A howling wolf, his teeth full of moss. Initially, I thought of it as a promising sign; no one who seemed to wish for a Wolf to guard their camp could be against me. More the fool, I.
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Yes. He is. And since it's Solas, and after however many thousand years words ought to be unnecessary now and then, he can't even mind. The sound he makes in his throat is mostly amused, with only a hint of grudging don't coddle me around the edges. ]
For what it's worth, I don't know that any given clan would be overly thrilled if Elgar'nan or Falon'din sat down at their fire, either.
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