"Ir abelas," He says, quietly. Solas lifts his head slowly, blinking back the shades of old trauma, "I'm alright. I... imagine that if the waking-born could remember their birth, it would be no less terrible."
It is a weak observation, and a worse joke. But he cannot hear the agony in her voice and not seek to soothe it. And truly, he is alright— she calls him Wisdom and he closes his eyes on a sigh, and for once he cannot defend Mythal.
What a terrible thing, to have failed so utterly, and to know that nothing could ever have made you do otherwise. He should have told her no. He should have never taken on a body, never let himself be convinced, and twisted, and made some version of real that someone else defined. He'd known that it would happen, had seen the warning signs, and still gone forth, for the love of someone who, ultimately, should have known better than to ask. But how could he have done otherwise, when she asked it of him?
To know that one day he might very well look back on himself now, and think the same traitorous thoughts about Beleth.
Solas shudders and curls back in around her, like a child clinging to a toy, letting her soft reassurances wash over him, meaning almost nothing individually, and all together forming a litany of love.
"It was not always thus. There was so much of beauty and pleasure and joy, in the old world. I would rather show you Arlathan's glories, rather than my shame, and my regrets."
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It is a weak observation, and a worse joke. But he cannot hear the agony in her voice and not seek to soothe it. And truly, he is alright— she calls him Wisdom and he closes his eyes on a sigh, and for once he cannot defend Mythal.
What a terrible thing, to have failed so utterly, and to know that nothing could ever have made you do otherwise. He should have told her no. He should have never taken on a body, never let himself be convinced, and twisted, and made some version of real that someone else defined. He'd known that it would happen, had seen the warning signs, and still gone forth, for the love of someone who, ultimately, should have known better than to ask. But how could he have done otherwise, when she asked it of him?
To know that one day he might very well look back on himself now, and think the same traitorous thoughts about Beleth.
Solas shudders and curls back in around her, like a child clinging to a toy, letting her soft reassurances wash over him, meaning almost nothing individually, and all together forming a litany of love.
"It was not always thus. There was so much of beauty and pleasure and joy, in the old world. I would rather show you Arlathan's glories, rather than my shame, and my regrets."