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[goethbeforethefall]

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Visuals Caldera Vhenan

Solas The Dread Wolf Fen'Harel

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[goethbeforethefall]

"It was I who took you from Thedas in the first place," His wry tone is as adroit as his hands, tangled in Felassan's loosened hair, and fisted damply in his shirt, with a fine tremor running through all three, "Therefore, it seems only fitting that I serve to return you to it."

How few of his regrets, his mistakes, could ever be se remedied? It was an impossible chance. But the possibility of true forgiveness, of truly setting something, anything, anything at all, that mattered, to rights... He could not help but long for it. Just this once, let some folly of his come to a good end. Let anything he has ever done be aright.

In the meantime, Solas closes his eyes and leans his face against Felassan's palm, suddenly weary for his burst of furor, and grateful to be held. Of course Beleth had told him. Of course— clever Vhenan, always safeguarding them both.

"We must... bring her here, some time. She would appreciate the beauty of this place."

[loosed]

"She'll add to it," Felassan says, smile pushing his cheeks against Solas's jaw. "Soon, while the berries are still this good."

They can come back with Beleth, with lunch, with a basket for the raspberries. With what Beleth needs to save honeysuckle for her teas and with something for Solas to sketch with. With a blanket or two. If Felassan is very charming perhaps he might convince them to forgo their soft bed and stay the night here.

He stores the plans away. Solas was not quite shaking, a moment ago, but near enough. The lean of his head is heavy and tired, and Felassan eases back to look at him. The vulnerability he'd been hiding has seeped out of his face, for the most part, but not the love; it's only more surefooted, as sturdy as his hand against Solas's cheek. His fearsome, fragile friend. He tilts Solas's face within range to kiss the eyelid of one of his kind, sad, mischievous eyes, and the sun-touched bridge of his nose, and one last time — at least for an hour or so — on the mouth.

"Let's get you home," he says. They'll have to hunt another day. A fiercer day than this one, which he wants to keep this way now, gentle and unbloodied. "After the time she has had lately, it's best if we don't make her wonder where we've gone."

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas huffs a breathy chuckle, low and dry, but genuine, closing his eyes to linger a moment longer in the weight and warmth of it. Then he sighs, and cannot argue: yes, he is tired already, and the water which had been a bracing refreshment a moment ago is now merely cold.

"Yes. I have given her many reasons to fear that I might vanish," He hesitates though, in moving to go, though he has not yet even stepped away from Felassan, not fully, and turns back, "...Perhaps you can sympathize?"

He had found those notes you left, lost letters, ancient pleas for help to a man who's mind had been struck low by his own folly, and who had crawled through the mud towards survival. Solas thought, perhaps, that it might give his detractors among the survivors of the Veil's initial rise, to imagine him thus... but it was a cold comfort, and useless. He had left the messages where they had been found, and hoped that if they did not vanish into history, that they might at least bear witness to his crimes.

"Ir abelas, for your pain, but I think... you both know who and what I am, now."

[loosed]

It's an old pain — a wound that has not healed cleanly, maybe, but has healed, in the thousands of years since Felassan last glimpsed the Lighthouse and what they left behind there — and Solas is a thousand things, becoming more by the day, always shifting in the light, and to claim to understand even the simplest man fully and forever would be arrogance and boring besides —

But Felassan knows enough of the hard things in Solas, and the sharp things, and the things that slip out of his hands if he tries to hold onto them. Felassan came to love him in wartime, with blood on his teeth and lightning in his hands. Every part of Solas he's ever bruised himself against was a part that also helped free their people. Every story he told Briala about Fen'Harel's inscrutable cunning he told with affection and admiration. So Felassan knows enough of him to nod with confidence, smile small and unbothered, as he links his arm around Solas's to draw him out of the water and back toward the deer path.

"Someone we'll lose," he proposes, "and someone we'll find again. Although you are always welcome to communicate your plans," he adds with a touch of tartness, "if it suits you."