Felassan smiles his you're welcome, cheeky in both the metaphorical and literal sense, and lifts his hand from Solas' shoulder to give him a light, harmless flick on the jaw instead, while his mouth is full. He's kind and court-mannered enough — despite all his efforts to dress like a recalcitrant woodsman these days — to swallow most of what is in his mouth before opening it to speak.

The time it takes saves him from feeling the need to answer that I missed you directly, which is for the best. He does not want Solas to say he's sorry again. He doesn't want to have to tell him that it all is forgiven, either. He doesn't want to tell him that it isn't. He would like to take a walk and feel however he likes about it for a while, without concern for how Solas might feel about how he feels.

But he's seen shades of this before: at the end of the rebellion, when Solas was rocked by Mythal's murder, secretive, desperate, unbalanced. Certain he was in it alone even while Felassan tried to catch him long enough to talk about it.

"Maybe a power that can pluck us out of any time and place is not bound to put us back where it first found us," he says, which is different from saying this world's gods might indulge the request. The only 'gods' he has known drew their power from a source beyond them — one that did not belong to them. Until he sees proof this world's gods can not be circumvented and whatever they draw from tapped into directly, without having to bow, scrape, and beg, he'd like to keep believing it. "And if it is, you have an indomitable woman who seems insistent you will not be left alone."