Barcus listens, curled up next to him, as small and inoffensive as a person can be, with his head resting on the rock beside him and silver eyes focused seriously on the elf's face. There is nothing he can say to fix it, any more than there are words of blame he could offer to make it worse, and he finds himself once again in the middle of something that is far too big for him, but which he cannot let alone and would not flee even if it were possible.

"I think," he says, "that perhaps the worst part of it is how hard you try to save them from themselves, and they don't listen." 'You' meaning both Solas and Barcus. Gods know he did his best to pull Wulbren out of his own morass of fruitless vengeance. And he did, temporarily, save him from murdering a dozen innocents, but who knows if that'll be the end of it?

Solas is in a worse place. Mythal is dead; he can't save her. Having loved, being betrayed, and then having lost her in a more final way than Barcus has lost Wulbren. After all, he knows if he returns home to Faerun, he'll see Wulbren at least once more, even if that once more is when he come around to try killing him. It's a twisted sort of hope, but hope nonetheless.

"But you have the strength to love again," he tells Solas. "That's worthy. You and Beleth--I see the way you look at one another. It won't change the past, but it's a foundation to build the future on."