I don't think these two people actually like each other
Solas is pulled from his own book with a sensation not unlike being wakened unexpectedly from a pleasant dream. It was a golden afternoon, a deeply soothing peace he had come to rely on, and a needed balm after the grim, frantic work of the past few weeks. Their home was largely intact, and both of them alive and now uninjured...
Every day he found himself heaped with baffling good fortune, all undeserving.
And then Beleth is in his lap; he has just enough time to rescue his book from being crushed. It is in him to be annoyed, but despite the startled edge of emotion, she is here, alive and warm and in his arms... and her words are a pool of cool and shadowed depths on an over-hot day.
"I thank you for the sentiment," He says, accepting it with bare honesty. Solas' arms come up automatically, to balance and hold her. The slim strength of Beleth's waist is always a temptation to the hands, "I like you as well. Even if things were not as they are between us, I would love you, as dear a friend to my heart as any has ever been. Greater, perhaps, for being more true."
Not everyone can bear up loyally under the pressures she has been subjected to, after all. And yet, she always has. Not for the first time, Solas wonders idly what she might have been, were she born a spirit and not an elf of waking flesh. Loyalty? Steadfastness? Strength? Grace-under-pressure? Something rare, he is sure, and powerful.
"Yet I am glad, that that is not so. You are beautiful, graceful, and strong; I would grieve to never have caught your interest, in some other life."
no subject
Solas is pulled from his own book with a sensation not unlike being wakened unexpectedly from a pleasant dream. It was a golden afternoon, a deeply soothing peace he had come to rely on, and a needed balm after the grim, frantic work of the past few weeks. Their home was largely intact, and both of them alive and now uninjured...
Every day he found himself heaped with baffling good fortune, all undeserving.
And then Beleth is in his lap; he has just enough time to rescue his book from being crushed. It is in him to be annoyed, but despite the startled edge of emotion, she is here, alive and warm and in his arms... and her words are a pool of cool and shadowed depths on an over-hot day.
"I thank you for the sentiment," He says, accepting it with bare honesty. Solas' arms come up automatically, to balance and hold her. The slim strength of Beleth's waist is always a temptation to the hands, "I like you as well. Even if things were not as they are between us, I would love you, as dear a friend to my heart as any has ever been. Greater, perhaps, for being more true."
Not everyone can bear up loyally under the pressures she has been subjected to, after all. And yet, she always has. Not for the first time, Solas wonders idly what she might have been, were she born a spirit and not an elf of waking flesh. Loyalty? Steadfastness? Strength? Grace-under-pressure? Something rare, he is sure, and powerful.
"Yet I am glad, that that is not so. You are beautiful, graceful, and strong; I would grieve to never have caught your interest, in some other life."