The breath had only been a quick moment, as she gathered the threads of her anger and weave them into the right words. So many angry thoughts and feelings swirled inside her. How desperately her People had clung to what they knew of their past, and how persecuted they were for those scraps-- which had been so, so wrong.

All their devotion, their salvaging of what could be gathered, like trying to weave clothes out of the scraps of millennia old finery. Only to find the finery had been crafted out of the flesh and blood of other elves. She's ready to let Solas know her thoughts on the subject, his attempts to grab her ignored as she starts to get worked up into a fine hysteria. The hurt feels like it's rising from the marrow of her bones--

Then a single sentence, and she feels like the breath had been knocked out of her. Beleth turns to face him, notes that he's as surprised by the admission as she. The silence stretched between them for a beat, then two. Then Beleth moves through the water to her beloved's side, all anger put aside in the face of this injustice.

Her hand reaches up to slowly trace over his face, as though she could feel their remnants. There are none, of course. His had been removed as entirely as her own, as though the needle had never touched her skin. She still knows the general shape they must have taken, the careful, elegant branches.

"Mythal said something to you," She whispers quietly, and the fight has quite gone out of her now, regarding Solas in the sorrow she had felt for her own circumstances. "When we asked you to step aside from your plans. She insinuated--" The words die on her lips. They don't mean anything, coming from Beleth. Well, she had her own words to offer.

"She did not deserve your devotion, either. We are both free of her."