They matter, Dorian. But people die. It is what they have always done.
[ The bitterness hangs heavy on his tongue, echoing the thousands of years of hurt and pain that comes hand in hand with his very existence. It is the only way he can rationalise the choices he has to make, the path that he had chosen, to undo all the damage that had been wrought because of him. The war with the Titans, the Blight, the horrors that the Evanuris have brought to the world and the creation of the Veil itself...
Solas longs for a world that is long gone, but he also knows that this one is damaged. Wounded. He is the one who can mend it, and it is as he had always said; the healer has the bloodiest hands.
Stepping forward, he hesitates. He might be able to transport himself over, to stand beside Dorian and be near his friend once more, but he also fears the consequence. He is in no mood to be hit, no more than he is prepared to be scolded as he currently. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Speak whatever is burdening you.
[ Dorian means for the words to come out another way: To help Rook understand you. But as he balls his hands into fists at his side, his breath catches on them, voice thick. ]
To understand. [ Because Dorian has never understood Solas, much less now than when he thought he had the measure of him years ago. Lavellan and Varric had both believed they could talk him down, and Dorian has less of a hook in him than either of them had. The stakes feel just as high, all the same. ]
Was any of it real, Solas? All that time spent at Skyhold, breaking bread and playing cards with people who die? Or were we always a means to an end?
[ And that was the problem, wasn't it? Spending time with the others at Skyhold, befriending the Inquisition, the Inquisitor themselves... It had made Solas think, however briefly, that the world that he had awoken to was more real than he would ever allow himself to admit. It would mean that all he had thought about and all he had been fighting for was meaningless, and he simply could not allow it.
Solas bows his head, breathing out softly, and it seems as if all the weight he has ever felt slides down his body, unable to look Dorian in the eyes. ]
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[ The bitterness hangs heavy on his tongue, echoing the thousands of years of hurt and pain that comes hand in hand with his very existence. It is the only way he can rationalise the choices he has to make, the path that he had chosen, to undo all the damage that had been wrought because of him. The war with the Titans, the Blight, the horrors that the Evanuris have brought to the world and the creation of the Veil itself...
Solas longs for a world that is long gone, but he also knows that this one is damaged. Wounded. He is the one who can mend it, and it is as he had always said; the healer has the bloodiest hands.
Stepping forward, he hesitates. He might be able to transport himself over, to stand beside Dorian and be near his friend once more, but he also fears the consequence. He is in no mood to be hit, no more than he is prepared to be scolded as he currently. ]
Why have you come, Dorian? Speak whatever is burdening you.
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To understand. [ Because Dorian has never understood Solas, much less now than when he thought he had the measure of him years ago. Lavellan and Varric had both believed they could talk him down, and Dorian has less of a hook in him than either of them had. The stakes feel just as high, all the same. ]
Was any of it real, Solas? All that time spent at Skyhold, breaking bread and playing cards with people who die? Or were we always a means to an end?
no subject
[ And that was the problem, wasn't it? Spending time with the others at Skyhold, befriending the Inquisition, the Inquisitor themselves... It had made Solas think, however briefly, that the world that he had awoken to was more real than he would ever allow himself to admit. It would mean that all he had thought about and all he had been fighting for was meaningless, and he simply could not allow it.
Solas bows his head, breathing out softly, and it seems as if all the weight he has ever felt slides down his body, unable to look Dorian in the eyes. ]
That was always the problem, my friend.