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They were not gods, [ this he says easily, perhaps with a hint of solas' intonation. this he knows. this he might have said before solas, too, for there is only eru and the music, even here. ]

There are too many knots in your histories for my liking, and too many of them the same stories with different words. They will unravel with time, but I dislike not knowing the truth.

[ this, at least, should be his. he should know of the histories, the shifting borders from memory, and not from the books that may have gotten the details wrong. ]

They were gods to the elves. [It's not so easily cast aside, this arguing of a point because it matters and she doesn't know if he listened to the arguments set forth before her that day she asked about it. What certain individuals in particular said about it all.] If you make a god in the minds of many, does it matter? They believe it. They build it. Would you so easily rip it from them?

[Would even he manage it, he remote and kingly in the face of a people who never again shall we submit. Zathrian's clan didn't even want a city-born First when he chose her, and that was one clan.]

My mother met Maric who went on to reclaim Ferelden. She met the Hero before he was that and Alistair. She rescued the Champion. [She perhaps (most likely) was the one to influence Calenhad. And she has read Avvar tales to Kieran, she has heard some whispers surrounding Tyrdda that now cause discomfort.] Again she plays the same role; here I am to offer aid and wisdom. 'Twas said that Mythal righted wrongs whilst exercising motherly kindness.

[Her mouth twists. Half the tea is forced back in one swallow.]

The rest are...a darker, more vengeful picture. What do you think the Dalish will wish to know? They pray to her still. There were those not so long departed from us with her Vallaslin upon them that you and I both knew and spoke with. What will you do with the truth?

[After all, she imagines that their idea of it is a rather different beast.]

Give me a few hundred years, [ he says, casually, as if it is no more than a handful of seed, ] and I could make a god of myself. Yes, I would. Not when it is folly enough that it would leash them still. They deserve their own history, raw and painful and true, when so much else has been taken from them.

[ look, what a clever trick, he opens his mouth and solas' words come out. more or less. he had some of these opinions before, and solas has only confirmed his fears. ]

Placing yourself in the midst of things is not difficult. The harder thing is to stay out of them.

[ which he knows from experience. he motions to the pot, to refill her cup should she wish it. ]

Tell it, so that she cannot find some suspecting Dalish woman to pour herself into. Or else wait. We will be drawn into one another's orbit soon enough. Such is the way of things.

A few hundred years. [Not so bitter as it might be, the disbelieving scoff instead. Thranduil is something other but the person she invites in her home, around her son, who loves and is loved by Gwenaëlle, someone she's complained over work with, has joked with more easily than some she's known ten years and has had to learn how to be around. And then he says these things. Tips his head. Holds himself in a way that reminds her-- As if a star has angled wrong somehow.] The mages in the Circles learn nothing of history; the elves and their fate was there, what happens when another is handed the leash and yet look what became of them. Then in Skyhold they made their little circle and called it a council, as if that made any difference. They might paint this much the same way.

[Coming from her mouth. One or two at least do not like her and they are very loud in their opinions. Often, she wouldn't care but this? When she is right, then she does.]

They-- they are not her daughters. There was a thing that needed to be done. [Her hand is upon the grimoire, curled tightly (in this light it grips as an old woman's might when age decides when to seize the joints, an absent nod of yes) to keep herself from looking.] To strip the will from-- from me. Not them. Perhaps in knowing she will need to find one of these sisters if they might be found.

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