[ Solas begins to fold, the distraction enough when his mind is already a tangle, despite the warm respite of dreaming with Galadriel at his side. ]
She overheard whispers in the Temple of Falon'Din. A spirit coloured as Mythal called me 'rebel'. She and I have spoken often of the nature of supposed Gods, too, and her mind is quicker than you might imagine.
She is quick, but quick like a fire. She will burn herself out with that quickness.
[ bitter, and spit out. regret and longing, but he holds the rest back. ]
We Rifters will see the gaps faster than those who are natives here, I fear. We are more willing to see stories as just that, and not bone-deep facts. Do you trust her as you trust me? Do you know what price she puts upon this secret that she has?
[ His eyes flick over Thranduil for a moment, drinking him in, but he bites his own tongue. ]
She is from a world where the Gods walk among people without pause. She called me much the same. [ And it's obvious just how much he hates that idea, please do not label him as any kind of God. ] I have already considered my options. My faith in her is strong, but she does not have the trust I have in you.
Will you take her service, knowing how she sees you?
[ solas isn't a god any more than thranduil is. he is tired in ways thranduil recognizes all too well, sees in galadriel moreso than himself. he is a scholar. he can be coaxed into submission with cake and careful application of some luxuries. he is his friend, his companion, and thranduil swore an oath for his sake. ]
[ secrets versus swords. thranduil is both amused by the predicament they find themselves in and as bothered by it as he has the right to be, which is a good deal.
well done, adalia. it is, in its own way, a triumph. ]
She is but a child. Galadriel might have once been able to make her forget, but this is too tangled a web to remove but one thread and expect her to be unable to put the pieces together once more.
I had been planning for her use, but I was caught off guard.
[ It's said wryly, at least; many people had been doing this to him over the last few months. Catching him unawares, leaving him baffled and confused, discontent in secrets being revealed. Adalia knows some, Thranduil knows some, Galadriel knows more.
He dislikes it. ]
Perhaps she will still be of use, if carefully monitored.
I fear I am the carrot more than the stick. [ Are they parents? Solas feels disquieted at the notion. ] We are both in a position to watch her, as much as is needed. I believe she goes to Tevinter with you, so she is little threat to me for at least some days.
[ Solas lets the shirt go, breathing a sigh. ]
I will have to kill her. No one will believe the rambles of a Rifter claiming to have met a Dalish God. None would believe that I could embody the Dread Wolf.
I will look after her as much as I am able,[ he says, turning his back on solas and going to his chest of drawers, digging for something among small bundles of fabric. ] but I fear I will be preoccupied. There is talk of speaking with the Archon. It may just be talk, but...
[ he finds what he was looking for, stands, and turns back. he reaches for solas' hand, and presses a ring into his hand. ]
You are not her minder, and I think she will not speak to you if this. I imagine she thinks herself the only one to know. [ Which is not necessarily a bad thing. It is isolating and makes her easier to watch over. ] You will be busy, as will she. This is no time for idleness - and I am certain Adalia will find much to distract herself with in Tevinter.
[ He watches Thranduil move, pauses, then accepts the ring, head tilted. ]
To be worn, or to be locked away? [ There is power in rings, after all. ]
Allow her that, [ thranduil says. ] If you please. Let us layer secrets on secrets.
[ he shuffles through the clothes in the bag and, satisfied, pulls the drawstring closed, before leaving it on the surface nearest to the door. there it can be grabbed in the early dawn when they depart. ]
It is only a bauble. Mithril, worked well, but no Power within it. I would have you with something finer while you visit the Dalish, and who knows- perhaps someone will recognize it. I have made friends with them where I can. Perhaps it will buy you some goodwill.
[ a glance back, with a wicked curve to his smile. ]
And you must have fine things to court your lady in.
It is the most that can be allowed. I will be on guard until she returns.
[ Solas watches his friend prepare, his gaze dropping down to the ring. There’s hesitance there - it’s not as though his friendships are any secret, but few have been so content to have him declared so obviously. All in the Inquisition will know Solas did not get the ring himself for himself.
It is a good thing all the same. ]
I will wear it well and hope it brings fortune. The Dalish will not welcome me truly, but I may be afforded some kindness.
[ But, hm. He frowns, sly eyes drinking in Thranduil properly. ]
I do not know what you mean.
[ Yes he does. He slips on the ring, on the middle finger of his right hand. ]
[ thranduil's pleased expression turns innocent enough, he looks away, crosses the room, pretends to fuss with one of the orchids by a window, makes watering it an intricate ordeal. ]
Shall I explain quendi courting to you, or will you have her do so?
[ which he is sure galadriel will manage with grace, somehow, such is her damnable nature. ]
[ This is not what Solas had come to speak of, and even with his anxieties comforted he still wishes to make sure he is set on a plan for Adalia, but this is well laid bait he cannot help but take advantage of. ]
Is it so different from traditional courting?
[ Sometimes, Solas thinks he ought to bite his own tongue. ]
Galadriel is a law unto herself. I needn't say more than that, but that she has you so close means she cares for you a great deal.
[ he settles the orchid a bit closer to the window. ]
Her husband was my cousin. He made a great deal of mistakes with her, namely that he wandered. Do not be a fool as he was.
[ thranduil doesn't bother to realize that solas might hear that as 'slept around' or 'looked at other hot elf chicks', or anything other than 'literally went far away'.
And I care for her. I would not have shared as I did were or not so.
[ They had kissed once, before she had learned, and Solas had fled. He had not wished to lie to her. He had not wished to betray the trust she gave him. Now she knows more than anyone; Solas welcomes her into his life and his heart.
The mention of her husband has him souring a little however. ]
She spoke of him, once. It was enough for me to hear.
[ But that’s not relevant at all, is it. ]
No. We are all watching. It is all that can be done.
[ Solas had read the report. Of course he had - it was public, for anyone to see and view, for anyone to devour, and he had been able to see what Morrigan had said of Mythal, what damning words she had used on the best of the People. He's well aware that the heart of Mythal herself may no longer have a place in the woman she had become, mixed and joined with Flemeth as she was, but...
The spark of anger is more difficult to bear.
He pushes himself into Thranduil's office, making sure the door is shut tight and quiet behind him, before he flings the papers onto the desk, looking sour and frustrated.
It seems, at least for now, Thranduil is Solas' only port of call in this dangerous storm. ]
I knew Morrigan a fool who believed in old falsehoods, but this is... Not what I had imagined of her.
[ he anticipate this. or maybe he just constantly has sweets on hand, now, because solas is in here more and more often (this pleases him) and he soothes in the only way he can. a mug in his hands, a hand on his shoulder. ]
Sit.
[ glancing over his shoulder at the papers now scattered on his desk. ]
This is her report? The only copy?
[ he hadn't read it himself. nor had he made a beeline to do so. all these things end up in his desk, or a copy in his files, eventually. he picks it up to begin to read it, eyes flying over the pages, and, offhand: ] You were right. What we met had only the starved remains of... what might have once been.
[ Solas doesn't even think about the sweetness pressed into his hands, looking irate and frustrated in a way he can't put into words, tension making his jawline clench. ]
This is -
[ Are there even any words? Solas is frustrated beyond belief, not just because Morrigan dared to say such things but because she was so public about the matter. Did she not pause to think of the future? Did she not consider what might happen, if people believe the People have returned?
They have not, Solas knows that as much as anyone, but there's an edge of something tight and dangerous about him. ]
It is a copy. I cannot say if it is the only one. [ Sourly; ] But it is one, for anyone to read.
Do you not realize how fortuitous this is for you, especially after your recent efforts at the Arlathvhen? Now you are [ gently, a hand raised, ] do not take this unkindly, you are not one apostate mage raving, you are the somniari who warned them. Who tried to bring them the truth. Now the Men have spoken it, seen it with their mortal eyes, and the Chantry will seize on this, send Sisters to convert the Dalish who despair at their gods being no gods at all.
[ hard-eyed, shoulders set: ]
There is no better time than this one to give them the truth. They will listen, now. They must.
[ And here, the hurt is real. Solas knows, first hand, and he moves, stepping away from Thranduil's side, feeling a weight in his chest that makes him feel prickled and unsure. This should not be the thing that makes the Dalish listen; they should have been capable before. They should not have been ignorant.
He is fuming. Bitter. Frustrated with their refusals, with their inability to see the truth bared in front of them.
Turning away, Solas breathes. ]
They call me 'flat-ear', they shun me, turn me from their camps, but the word of a human woman will be enough to sway them? All whilst they summon me to take their enemies?
Where is the elf who raised the population of Arlathan against those who called themselves gods? [ challenging, sharp, a hot poker against the infected wound of their anger. he steps closer, follows, looms, his voice low and murmuring. intimate. ]
Where is the clever trickster remembered in their stories two thousand years after he fell into slumber? He is not here, hiding from this challenge.
[ he sweeps to solas' front, takes his chin in his hand, tilts his head up. his eyes are hard and his gaze focused. ]
This is an advantage, no matter how we came by it. Take it. Fight their enemies, mellon-nin, they are lonely and broken and starved for a champion. Shartan is dead. Mythal cowered in the shadows. They hunger. Feed them.
His heart died when he woke to a world where his sacrifice meant nothing!
[ But does Thranduil know that? Of course not. There is so much that Thranduil does not know yet, so many things Solas has swallowed back; is this the time? There is more weight to him than he can possibly express, and Solas can't do much more than shift, turning away, trying to pull his jaw free of the touch.
It doesn't matter how soothing it is. He is unworthy of it. ]
All that I gave them they threw aside, as if it was meaningless. They clung to the lies their so-called Gods told them and spurned the truth.
[ He scoffs. ]
They will not take me as their champion. They spurn me, hate me, loathe me. They shun me even as I have a place among them, question my reasons, my heart, my knowledge.
[ He tilts his head up, looking at Thranduil with the same tilt he is forced to look at Galadriel. ]
Where is Elgar'nan? Where is Falon'Din? [ solas will not turn away from him, he will not allow it. his hold tightens, he drops to meet solas' downcast gaze with bent knees and curved back. ]Where is Andruil? Their hands are not meddling in the affairs of the Dalish. The only threats to them are mortal and many without magic, and die as any Men might.
[ which means they can be defeated, with sword and bow and training. corypheus is the greater threat, but after he is set aside, what they face is no impossibility. cities burn. men die. evil can be exorcised. there is no melkor, no sauron. this world is relatively unblemished, despite the blight. the whole of thedas might be made as pure and good as valinor, without the interference of the valar. they have a chance to make paradise. ]
You come to them dressed in sackcloth and rags. You display no cunning nor sweet words to bring them about to your way of thinking, and you expect them to thank you for it. They fear and respect you enough still to have you- you- placed to guard their camps. There is potential here, if you would just seize it! Why must you be so afraid of letting them love you?
[ he is angry. he cannot remember being this angry since thorin's stupidity, hot and unrestrained. he does not like it, it is too base and mortal, but he rides it. ]
Where was Mythal, when the Dales fell? The creature I saw stole Morrigan's son away, and stole-- stole something from him. Even a demon needs consent to possess, but she behaved more base than even that.
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