Shemassan makes him grin — mocked, yes, and good job of it, too. He likes it. Guessing precisely what's going on with Solas' face when he turns away to hide it makes him grin wider, eyes crinkling in a way that would have left him with deep crows' feet something like six thousand minus fifty years ago, if it ever were going to.
His stance stays as it is: casual, loose, but too far away from Solas to elbow him in the ribs. Too far to touch at all. Lurking beneath his grin, the open wound of his narrowly-averted execution and his quiet, watchful mistrust of the entire world he has found himself in now do not fall away. They only have competition, in the form of kneejerk relief at seeing Solas seem happy about something for the first time in quite a while, and the source a woman with dirt beneath her fingernails.
"Quick work," he says, not even knowing how quick. Forgive him for imagining it might have taken the better part of the decade he missed for Solas to come around to the ideas he'd cut Felassan down for having, rather than only a year. Forgive that this remark may be nonsensical — nothing said so far has confirmed Inquisitor Beleth Lavellan knows what either of them are, and perhaps from her perspective she has spent an exceedingly respectable fifteen years charming someone whose lifetime might be only four or five times that long.
Forgive him, too, for holding aside the possibility of worse: that Solas didn't come around, only found the ideal position from which to guide someone powerful and regain what he'd lost. Maybe he'll ask — but not in front of her.
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His stance stays as it is: casual, loose, but too far away from Solas to elbow him in the ribs. Too far to touch at all. Lurking beneath his grin, the open wound of his narrowly-averted execution and his quiet, watchful mistrust of the entire world he has found himself in now do not fall away. They only have competition, in the form of kneejerk relief at seeing Solas seem happy about something for the first time in quite a while, and the source a woman with dirt beneath her fingernails.
"Quick work," he says, not even knowing how quick. Forgive him for imagining it might have taken the better part of the decade he missed for Solas to come around to the ideas he'd cut Felassan down for having, rather than only a year. Forgive that this remark may be nonsensical — nothing said so far has confirmed Inquisitor Beleth Lavellan knows what either of them are, and perhaps from her perspective she has spent an exceedingly respectable fifteen years charming someone whose lifetime might be only four or five times that long.
Forgive him, too, for holding aside the possibility of worse: that Solas didn't come around, only found the ideal position from which to guide someone powerful and regain what he'd lost. Maybe he'll ask — but not in front of her.