"I am not completely helpless..." He protests, but Solas knows it sounds weak. It is weak. He has never, not once in all his long life, had to face the prospect of a fight without magic.
His is not frail; he can climb, and swim, and throw a blade— stickfighting is not beyond him. But it is not what he trained for, not how he works. It is waking up to find himself on the wrong side of the Veil all over again, only worse, a thousand times worse, because difficult is not the same as impossible. Will he dream, he wonders, if he were to sleep? Or is he truly cut off from all that was his birthplace, a shadow himself now, in truth.
No, that is unfair. Lavellan, at least, would not appreciate the comparison.
Belatedly, his arms come up around her, too slow, numbed by her kindness. He deserves no such sympathy, after all he's done to force others into so similar a position— he should not have told her. And yet, the comforting weight of her arms, her head against his shoulder, is more balm to the horror than he can express.
"Rook," He admits, at last. Perhaps not a wise admission, but he would prefer not to lie to Beleth without good reason, "She... I disguised certain truths from her, and this was her retaliation. She was right to be angry. I am only surprised she did not try to kill me."
And if Lavellan asks, he will be forced to say what he hid... And then, perhaps, she will abandon him at last. It is for cowardice that he hesitates, even now.
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His is not frail; he can climb, and swim, and throw a blade— stickfighting is not beyond him. But it is not what he trained for, not how he works. It is waking up to find himself on the wrong side of the Veil all over again, only worse, a thousand times worse, because difficult is not the same as impossible. Will he dream, he wonders, if he were to sleep? Or is he truly cut off from all that was his birthplace, a shadow himself now, in truth.
No, that is unfair. Lavellan, at least, would not appreciate the comparison.
Belatedly, his arms come up around her, too slow, numbed by her kindness. He deserves no such sympathy, after all he's done to force others into so similar a position— he should not have told her. And yet, the comforting weight of her arms, her head against his shoulder, is more balm to the horror than he can express.
"Rook," He admits, at last. Perhaps not a wise admission, but he would prefer not to lie to Beleth without good reason, "She... I disguised certain truths from her, and this was her retaliation. She was right to be angry. I am only surprised she did not try to kill me."
And if Lavellan asks, he will be forced to say what he hid... And then, perhaps, she will abandon him at last. It is for cowardice that he hesitates, even now.