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[goethbeforethefall]

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Solas The Dread Wolf Fen'Harel

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[goethbeforethefall]

It is enough, at least in this moment, not to have to argue. He doesn't want to be such a wretched thing, forever wracked with guilt and sorrow; Solas would prefer to think of himself as something worthy of admiration, a straight-backed figure, righteous and strong and...

...and so frequently his attempts to be just that have been the path to cruelty and ruination itself, and Felassan so often the witness. But Felassan allows the silence between them, and allows Solas to find some sense of balance and ease in the strength of his arms, the near weight of breath and the still-warm afterglow of pleasure that had been pulled from him. It cannot last, of course, Beleth is waiting for them and that pleasure too is a living flame in his breast, but Solas is content to wait, just a moment or two more. And then to sigh a little breathy scoff of recognition, when he feels Felassan's idly questing hands.

"I am learning," he says at last, "To be content with less. And to ask for less with which to content myself."

A man who once dreamed he might save the world could do worse than to learn humility. But there is mourning in that too: for all the pain he might have spared, the lives prolonged, the grief forestalled. But it is folly, and would only lead to worse ruin, if he continued to try and better the world, except in the smaller ways that are still permitted to him.

In some ways that is a greater freedom than Solas has ever known, to be shackled out-of-reach from his dreamed-of futures. In others, to be chained thus is agony. As usual, he can blame no-one but himself for the strange duality of it all. But at least he is not alone.

"Do you have one last question, then? Vhenan will be calling us to breakfast, any moment."

[loosed]

One last question.

What hurt worse, the Dalish arrow or the rejection? How long was he alone? What was it like, to wake again after so long? What was the first thing he saw when he emerged? What was the first thing that made him smile? Was it difficult to learn to eat again? Did the air taste different? So many things changed so slowly that Felassan could only notice in hindsight that the entire biome was shifting. How much can the world change and still be where they’re from? What does it make them if it isn’t anymore? What did Solas think the first time he saw Beleth awake, with her bright keen eyes and steady-handed courage, wielding his magic? When did he truly understand what she was? When did he understand the unfamiliar world was still alive? How long did he stay angry with Felassan? Is he still, even a little? Would he ever have told her about him? If Solas and Beleth return to Thedas without him and Beleth remembers this as a dream or not at all will he please tell her— Which of the legends they tell now was the hardest to hear? Does their history still belong to them or do they owe it to their descendants to cede it to their interpretation? Does the truth matter for its own sake or only for its effect? Is it better to have all their cruel and bloody wars reduced to pretty metaphors? Does Solas understand how beautiful he is? If Felassan had tried to touch him before, when Mythal was alive, when Mythal was newly dead, would he really have wanted it? Would it have helped or only been a new broken layer to a broken thing? Is that what it is now? Is it mending? Does it matter? Does he like his own freckles? Is it really less, to learn to be content with this life?

— they have time. Felassan kisses his shoulder as he shakes his head, feeling some small pang of guilt for getting so carried away with Beleth just across the garden. She might have enjoyed joining the game. Next time, perhaps. In the meantime they should go.

But ah, there’s one.

“If we hurry,” he says, “do you think she’ll tolerate us messing up her makeup a little?”

[goethbeforethefall]

Solas laughs, and this time it's genuine; a low, pleased chuckle into the hair just behind Felassan's ear. He can practically hear the gears grinding inside your skull, and that is what that strange machinery spits out? But of course. Of course.

He too is so often preoccupied by the same: Beleth, and her many moods, each one its own form of delight.

"I believe so," He says, "But let us go, and find out."