I'm Sure They Just Need Some Time.

Just being a little guy and joining new servers.

And my newest one got me kicking my feet and giggling because i like the people the people are like me.

IM GONNA DETONATE SO HARD!! 😭

[if they find this hi guyss! Love you!]

Anyways take a doodle of uhm that one robot guy from that one book. [They def get the reference because i AM so good at this👍]

Elgar'nan and Ghillan'nain cut banter during the fight with two dragons

Most likely, these lines were cut because it was decided that Elgar'nan should first appear here, not in Minrathous as it was before. So the usual banter without animations or effects was rewritten and remade into a cutscene that we see in the game.

Ghillan'nain: Clouded hearts. Shadowed by fear, eclipsed by doubt. Rook: Ghilan'nain! Elgar'nan: You struggle fruitlessly, when you could kneel. If the player saved Minrathous and met Elgar'nan. Previously the first meeting with him depended on the city choice. Rook: And Elgar'nan! If the player saved Treviso. Rook: I'm guessing you're Elgar'nan!

Ghillan'nain: The ones from the fortress. Ghillan'nain: The ones that destroyed my Archdemon! Elgar'nan: You shall have your vengeance, my sister. Elgar'nan: Fen'Harel's last piece on the board, ours for the taking.

Elgar'nan: The Dread Wolf once commanded armies. Elgar'nan: Loyal warriors who lived by his command and died with his name on their lips. Elgar'nan: All dust. All forgotten. Elgar'nan: He will lead you to your doom, as he led countless others.

Elgar'nan: You owe Fen'harel nothing, for he has given you nothing. Elgar'nan: He harbors secrets like no other, for he has little else to comfort him. Elgar'nan: He has not shown you the true power of the dagger. Elgar'nan: He has not offered knowledge of the prison that holds him. Elgar'nan: All this and more I would gladly share. In exchange I ask only for your devotion.

Ghillan'nain: The world has grown thin-blooded. Its skies empty. Its spirits weak. Ghillan'nain: The Dread Wolf's Veil choked all glory from this place! Ghillan'nain: Once we found our new empire, I will bring us closer to the glories of old.

Ghillan'nain: I was once young. Foolish. I crafted creatures for beauty or grace. Ghillan'nain: But elegance did not suffice. There was always a lack! A complexity even I could not reach! Ghillan'nain: We will have the dagger. We will release the blight. Ghillan'nain: And I will unlock the final mysteries of blood, and flesh, and bone!

Ghillan'nain: The dragon fails! Elgar'nan: Its weak flesh could never substitute for your masterwork. Elgar'nan: When we are finished here, we shall gather for you the makings of the finest Archdemon yet.

Elgar'nan: (Snarls) Ghillan'nain: You were correct, Elgar'nan. These creatures fail our needs, again and again. Elgar'nan: It seems the way of this pale world. Elgar'nan: For now, patience. When retribution comes, it will be all the sweeter.

Elgar'nan: I see the Dread Wolf's game. I know his moves and the pieces he has arrayed against me. Elgar'nan: When next we meet, Rook, you will not be so fortunate.

Angsty great-now-we're-both-stuck-in-the-fade-prison Solrook is great and all, but what about separated-by-the-veil-but-always-aware-of-each-other Solrook?

Them getting stuff done in starts to ease up the regret prison while he's serving time and the blight shows more signs of receding in the waking world.

Spirits and wisps that send messages back and forth with questions and advice and barbs that hint how they kind of miss their conversations

Wolves seem to follow them around while little trinkets just appear in his cell.

HUMMING THE SAME SONG ON EITHER SIDE.

Clingy

My animation skills are quite rusty, sorry

I know I'm not the only one who thinks Arnold Vosloo's Imhotep looks suspiciously like Solas. 🤣

Fallout 4 companions part 1 !!!! Here we go again :)

Varric and Solas argue. The sound echoes.

Varric: Me, take down the Dread Wolf? I'm flattered. Varric: No, I just came to ask you a question. So, you rebelled against the other gods, and it was a disaster. Varric: Then you imprisoned them and created the Veil, and that was a disaster. Varric: So how is this time gonna work out any better? Can you tell me that? Solas: I understand your hesitance, but what I do now must be done, despite it being past your comprehension. Varric: I'm not saying you're evil. But if you really believed in what you were doing, you'd be able to give me a straight answer. Solas: You would rather cast aspersions than admit that this is mine to solve. Varric: No mistake is worth killing innocent people over. Solas: The question is what lives, and how. My ritual will heal the world, and restore what was driven out of balance. Varric: C'mon, Chuckles. Who are you trying to convince here? Me, or yourself? Solas: Varric… Varric: You're not the first good man I've seen talk himself into a bad decision. The question is whether you can admit it.

A goofy scene where Solas needs glasses. I've been meaning to write it for a while but the good @oldxenomorph reminded me. I think it's of interest to @plasticfreckles too.

Also on AO3: Skepticles

----

They worked in silence these days, their work entirely separate, but together still. It was an escape, in a way. Solas let Tahmina have the desk tonight so she could hunch more comfortably over letters from their outposts outlining movements and needs. He took up the spot in front of the fireplace, Tutu kneading his lap and purring.

She pulled her head up, realizing she'd hunched so far to read this blasted tiny writing that she nearly had her nose to the paper. A few ribs popped as she straightened and she stopped to stretch. Would that the Creators had built them with the ability to bend all the way backwards when the occasion called for it. She could think of at least three reasons, aside from stretching. She chuckled to herself.

Just then, Solas clicked his tongue and growled. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh -- get up, get off," he barked at the cat. "You and your tail. I've had enough. I can't see what I'm reading for all the fur."

Tutu darted from his lap.

"Solas," she admonished, "he's just a cat. He can't help it."

"Then you take him."

"He likes you! That's an honor."

"An honor," he huffed, as if he did not regularly feed Tutu far too much fish and rub his belly. "Would you like me to entertain your cat, or would you like me to find out how to remove the Anchor? Your wish is my command, Inquisitor."

Tahmina waved a hand at him and dismissed him back to his reading. He was in one of his moods. He was overall kind, generous, often sweet and funny, but had a habit of lashing out when he was irritated with something he could not correct. He reminded her of her father, in that sense, who had been particular about handling problems sooner rather than later, and scolded her mother when he could not. As if that would fix it.

He clearly needed a break, but would certainly not take it if she suggested it. But so did she, and she was quite happy to look at something other than the Comtesse's ugly handwriting.

She stood and stretched again, and more popped in her back. Her body hadn't been so sensitive when she was younger. She could read Deshanna's texts late into the night with no ill effects. Now just a handful of hours made her stiff and weary.

She made quiet kissy noises to Tutu and lured him onto the bed where she laid on her back. The cat climbed onto her chest with an appreciative murr and settled, purring quietly while she scratched his chin and neck.

He was a sweet cat, a blended brown and orange tabby, with luxuriously long fur and big green eyes. He should have been hunting mice and other vermin but she had not once, in their nearly two years here, seen him do so. That was alright. He kept her such good company instead.

From where he had laid back on the ground, Solas let out another low growl. Now what was the matter?

She tilted her head back against the bed and watched him as he leaned closer to the pages of parchment.

Then he made another noise of disapproval and pulled the papers further away, blinking rapidly.

"These must be spelled," he murmured, "to protect the contents. It must be important."

Tutu gave a quiet mrow in protest as her hand slowed to a stop.

"Sorry," she whispered and resumed her scratching.

But still she kept an eye on Solas as he moved the papers back and forth, squinting, until he found the ideal placement to read. He let out a satisfied ah and read in silence. Yet as his reading went on, careful to keep the paper at a specific distance, he frowned.

"This is a pointless account." He shook his head. "Nor does it look coded. Strange."

Tahmina picked up Tutu and set him to the side, then flipped onto her stomach to watch Solas read. Determined, Tutu stepped onto her back and settled there instead.

Solas set the parchment down in his read pile and picked up the next bundle from the stack to his left. Again he performed the little dance: too close, too far, squinting, not squinting.

"Arasha," she said, picking herself up onto her elbows, "are you alright?"

"Quite fine," he lied as he pushed the paper away and tilted his head back.

"You seem to be struggling with your reading."

He pulled it closer. "It... is fine."

"Why are you pulling it back and forth?"

Solas sighed and shot her a dark glance. "Do you not have your own reading to do?"

"Well, yours involves me, so tell me." She propped her chin in her hand.

This was wrong, of course. He was already irritated. It was certainly a serious matter -- the Anchor was developing more quickly than they had anticipated, and it was imperative he uncovered its secrets so they could remove it or at least slow down its growth. But there were too few moments where she felt she understood what was happening and he didn't.

"There is nothing of value yet," he sighed. "It is... meaningless drivel from the scribes of Corypheus -- back when he was a magister, that is."

"I see," she said. "And the back and forth motion you're doing?"

"I -- it seems to be enchanted," he said, matter-of-factly. "I see no reason why. Most of it is, as I said, drivel. Irrelevant to the focus itself."

"I thought this was a translation."

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps the translator thought it important to--"

"Arasha," she said again, gently, with absolutely no laugher or amusement, "is it possible you might need spectacles? To read better?"

He flicked the parchment down noisily and glared at her. "Spectacles?"

"Yes, they sit across your nose and provide --"

"I know what spectacles are, Tahmina."

Tahmina. Not vhenan. Bad news. She had pushed his poor mood and now he was angry at her. She had hoped to lighten his mood but alas.

"I do not need spectacles." The word was loaded with disdain. "That would imply I am..." His eyes trailed around the room until he settled on a word. "Sub-optimal."

"You are at an age where many start to lose their vision up close," she pointed out, regretting it even as she said it. She meant to indicate it was normal. That was not what came out.

Solas pushed up onto his elbows. "My age? I traipse around with you in the Fereldan and Orlesian countryside. Sera tires before I do. I am more than capable of reading some paper."

She sighed. "I am not saying this to upset you but you would have an easier time if you wore--"

"I can read just fine."

"Alright!" She raised a hand from the bed. This would be like the fade-tongue thing, apparently, which they still did not agree on. "Go on, then. Read me a line."

"This is dense material-- "

"You just said it was drivel."

"Ach!" He sighed. "Very well."

And then he did it again -- his back-and-forth dance, trying to align the paper just right, squint his eyes just so.

"Oh, this is ridiculous to watch," she sighed. "My father needed a pair, you shouldn't need to --"

Solas pushed himself fully upright and glared. "This is a gross misreading of the situation."

"At least I can read it!"

"Your presumptions are why it took so long for us to --"

"Solas, please," she cut in. "Why are you so against this? It's a bit of glass. It's nothing."

He stared up at her. There was something in his eyes that she recognized only from the mirror after she examined the Anchor. A sense that the end was near, that a consumption was happening. Why a pair of spectacles would agonize him the way the Anchor did her was elusive.

Tahmina nudged Tutu off her back and came to sit beside him. Carefully, she plucked the parchment from his hands and set it aside. She took hold of his hand -- dry, warm, not unlike parchment itself. Hers were always sweaty at the palm and dry at the knuckles. Bad for old texts, Deshanna would say.

"I want to help you," she said quietly. "Selfishly, it helps me, too. If you read faster, we find out what to do."

The mood shattered. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "A vanity. I thought I had more time."

"We have what we have." She squeezed his hand. "I'll be where you are soon enough. Hopefully."

He blinked at her owlishly, then looked back at the stacks of parchment. "Yes. Yes, we want you to have the privilege of spectacles."

"Ideally," she agreed.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I apologize."

"There are others in Skyhold who wear them," she said. "I will ask for a set. You need not wear them anywhere but here. If you find them useless, I will eat raven. If you like them, I will not say a word to anyone."

He inhaled deeply and scowled at the fire. Tutu stretched once again and dropped down to the floor. Establishing that it was safe, he crawled back into Solas' lap, who mindlessly scratched his chin.

"I will try them."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Thank you. Stop yelling at Tutu just because you can't see shit. He loves you."

"I -- " He sighed and looked down at the vastness of fur. "I will do my best."