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[goethbeforethefall]

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Solas The Dread Wolf Fen'Harel

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[goethbeforethefall]

Solas turns to her as she enters; he usually does, as incapable of ignoring her presence as a lodestone is to true north. And what he sees gives him pause.

It is rare for Lavellan to seem so worried; whether as inquisitor, or as merely Beleth, she carries herself with extraordinarily prepossession. But here, and now, she hesitates, the terse uncertainly a furrow in her brow, a tightness of lips, and nervous hands. Willingly does Solas reach out to her, and take those hands into his, to offer what solidarity he may.

“No,” he says shortly, growing more uncertain with every word, as to what this could be about, “When Mythal lived, she was my sole focus, emotionally, if not sexually. Our relationship was… complex, and fraught.”

To put it mildly, he supposed.

“I had other encounters, other lovers, over the centuries, of course... But since leaving the Evanuris, very few. And since the creation of the Veil, none— none, save yourself. Why? You cannot fear comparison, I hope.”

[arlathvhen]

"I do not fear comparison." She answers, voice feeling somewhat distant to her. She squeezes his hand, relishing the feeling.

It was as she had assumed -- though it was not entirely impossible that Solas had noticed the way Felassan's eyes followed him, the softness around the edges there, and simply did not feel worth mentioning to her. He could be the same as Felassan -- acknowledging that these things happened sometimes, and it wasn't the end of everything. It was okay to let it be.

But things didn't have to be like that. Beleth had learned that. That things could be better. That is the thought that gives her resolve.

"I had wanted to know, if... It had ever occurred to you -- or if you had ever noticed, I suppose." She hesitates, now, because this is the precipice. "The way that Felassan looks at you. Has looked at you for some time, I would suspect. The way that he looks at me." She glances away, towards the window towards the garden. It was a beautiful spring day.

"Because I noticed." Then she grips his hand again, and pulls it to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Reassurance, for both of them, maybe. "And... I found myself not opposed to it. For either of us." That was the important part, she thought. This was not her trying to slip Felassan in as some kind of side piece. If he were to be involved, it could only be with both of them. That was what she wanted, more than anything.

[goethbeforethefall]

"Felassan?" now Solas is the one carrying a furrowed brow, his mind turning over the idea. It... wasn't impossible. Infatuations amongst the ranks were common, and Felassan had always been frank and open, free with his attentions, as was his habit. There had been a time when Solas had admired his ability to love so openly, even envied it; his own heart had so often put him into impossible positions, where the choice was between the chains of grief, or regret.

Felassan had seemed... freer than all that. More honest, somehow.

That he should show admiration for Beleth was not wonderful either; she was a beautiful woman, and Solas had no doubt that many amongst the Inquisition and beyond followed her for reasons less of duty and more of the heart. He had not expected her to remain true to him, for all this time, had in truth expected quite the opposite. But things were different now, surely. They were... all that had stood between them was...

He has been silent for too long. She can no longer meet his eyes, had turned away toward the cheery views of the garden, where the ivy is overtaking the wall, tiny buds of pink-and-white flowers only just beginning to bloom.

Felassan... But how could it be? It had been millenia, and he had said nothing. If Beleth wished only to seek his blessing, she must have it; though jealousy twist his gut, he would not allow himself to become a shackle placed around her throat. If she wished another lover, even one as... as much as Felassan. So it had been with Mythal, but. Was that what she was asking for? It seems not. But he finds himself uncertain.

And does it bother him more, too, that it would be Felassan? If it were Finnick, or Dorian Storm, or Vax'ildan, or even someone closer to her such as Cullen Rutherford, he would mind less. But Felassan inspired some new, additional pang of loneliness, of jealousy, to imagine himself left out. And again: that did not seem to be what she was proposing.

Say something! Fool of a wolf! Pride demon! Spirit of fallen wisdom, if you are silent, she suffers, say something!

"...What do you propose to do?" He asks, quietly, hoping he sounds only half as lost, and confused, as he seems.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth knew that her words, and what they suggested, what they could lead to, would not be a simple matter to digest -- even if Solas were to dismiss her out of hand, he was not a man who reacted rashly. He'd dwell on it, before turning her away. So it is neither balm nor burn that he takes so long to think on what she's said.

Patience is what he deserves, and what she gives, hand clutching his tightly, a lifeline that she needs as she waits for Solas to give his judgement. Her eyes turn to his face, now and then, and when her worries grow too dire, she turns back to the garden. Weeding. She needs to weed. Spring has brought even unwanted growth into her garden.

It's easy to focus on the garden. Harder to focus on Solas' continued silence. What would she do if he did rebuff her? Tell her that she was just like Mythal, that she was no different from the woman who had done him so cruelly, and turned away from her? What if--

No. Look at the flowers. Focus on the dust, quietly falling in the light of the window, snow soft and peaceful. Don't think about his face growing cold and hateful.

Solas' voice breaks her out of the tearing of her mind into worries and attempted meditation, brings her mind into the present, her eyes refocusing on him. He's... not mad. Which is a good start.

"If anything is to happen," She revisits her thoughts from before. "It must be between all three of us. I do not want you to stand aside, I want you to be a part. Felassan cares for you, vhenan. More than I have seen in some couples. I know that you are not always... aware, of such things, unless the other person makes it beyond your ability to miss." Like grabbing him and kissing him senseless, for instance. "And he has always thought it a lost cause, not even worth making it so. But I thought it could be different. That it's not so hopeless."

She lets the silence set in, after that. Eyes focused back on his hands, her fingers brushing his fingernails, the subtle lines of his hand. She's said her piece. Now it's up to Solas, to examine his feelings, and make his decision.

[goethbeforethefall]

The three of them. Solas looks down at their joined hands and tries to imagine it. Felassan is still the point of greatest confusion; Beleth's appeal is obvious, but that Felassan should want him as well... The look he gives her is sharp; very well, he can be... singleminded, but he's not unobservant. He's not blind.

...Is he?

His annoyance subsides on the guilty realization that he might very well be. Beleth would hardly bring this to him if she were not sure; she was cautious, and the risk of upset far too great for a gamble. Again, he tries to imagine the form it would take, the future ahead of them. Tries to imagine a life with Felassan, for it would be a lifetime, not merely a few decades of idle pleasures, or a brief encounter: too much stood between them for it to stand so lightly. What would it be like to hold Felassan's hands, to feel his own on Solas' waist— to kiss him?

The tips of his ears pink slightly. Ah. There it was; the truth of the matter. Wise Vhenan, to see it before Solas himself understood.

"It is not hopeless," Solas admits, his voice quiet with distraction. How had he not known, or seen, or... or realized... But he knows the answer. Mythals' influence had shadowed his entire being, until so much later that Felassan must have rightfully given up hope, even as he continued to serve Solas, "Are you sure of this, Vhenan? Felassan is... This can be no trifling matter. He is my friend."

It came out softer than he'd like, soft and vulnerable, easily-wounded.

"I care for him, deeply, even without an element of sex, or of an— an addition, to our partnership. You are my heart, and your proposal is not without merit, but the way forward is dangerous, and I wish not to cause any further harm to him than I have."

[arlathvhen]

Beleth's patience continues through the disbelieving look Solas shoots her, an easy thing to grant, when he is sounding more and more amenable to her proposition. If he wants to think that he is beyond missing details of another's affections... well. Pride and wisdom can make a stubborn mix. She knows the truth, recalls the baffled look on his face when she pulled him to her.

The pink ears are quite interesting to her, and when Solas admits that the case is not hopeless, she nearly surges up to kiss him silly right there. It's hard to beat back the flood of relief, when there are still matters to discuss, delicate things that must be handled with all the care that one would treat a heart.

"I confirmed it with him, before I sought you out. I had suspicions... but I thought it wise to make sure that I was not being egotistical, seeing affection that did not exist. It would be... unpleasant, I felt, to speak with you about this, and then find out that I had been mistaken." Humiliating, more like. In front of two men she admired greatly. She could think of deaths she would find more enviable.

She pulls his hands up to her lips, presses another kiss to them, then another. "I could hardly blame anyone for finding you desirable, of course. He was quick to admit it, though again, he thought the cause long lost. I think if the two of us explain to him that his affections are not as unrequited as he had assumed, then..." She pauses at that, and reaches up, to give Solas' cheek a kiss.

"It won't be the easiest path, perhaps, but it will be worth it. The three of us will see it through."

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas feels a terrible, glorious thrill at her words, at her clear elation. It is a risk that somehow feels greater and more personal than any mighty work of magic he has worked thus far: to love, and be loved by a friend. A ridiculous notion; he turns his head, when she bids him lean that she might kiss him, and returns the gesture with no insignificant passion.

She is beautiful, and her heart is overful; how can he not wish to heap it still higher, and bask in the warmth and glow of her? She is his sun, and all that makes life outside the Fade worth living.

"Ar lath ma," He whispers, his arms around her waist, voice soft and private, "Whatever we do, we do as one. I will speak with Felassan. And then... we will go forward. Together."