Thinking About The Felassan's Codex Entries:

These gays..

62-B x Protocol ruby

he’s pretty like a girl

but doesn’t dance

even though he can

when you grab his hand

he jerks like a fish caught

red-handed in lies

lays with her under false pretense

but not of malicious intent

„come with me” didn’t go

past his choked throat

it’s better to be a hero than happy

soft hearts don’t deserve

tender handling

only something angsty

the real tragedy

he did it to himself

but no one stayed to listen

to his grey regrets

truth doesn’t dissolve

because of hiding

lies by omission can only hurt

when binding was already done

bare-faced and embarrassed

that’s what they say

but it’s not a pain you can heal

only help to forget

Cut lines from Solas and Rook after Weisshaupt. None of these are voiced, so only text. Some are rewritten in the game.

Solas: You once told me that you would stop the gods without getting "thousands of innocent people killed."

Solas: You once told me that you would accept whatever consequences came from your battle.

Solas: You once told me that the consequences of your battle would be a problem for "Future Rook."

Rook: Yeah.

option: Don't mock me, okay? Rook: Whatever your big trickster-god lesson is, could we just... not? Solas: Why not? What makes this time different? Rook: Weisshaupt? Solas: You have seen death before.

option: I let the team down. Rook: I went to Weisshaupt to stop the gods... with a team of people I'd recruited.

Rook: Davrin, Lucanis, all of them... I convinced them to join. I told them we could win. Rook: And right now, it feels like I lied to them.

option: I was in command. Rook: But I've never been in charge. And this time...

Rook: I punched the First Warden in the face and made everybody listen to me.

Rook: I got the First Warden to listen. I got him to believe in me.

Rook: And then I... I couldn't get it done. I failed. And Weisshaupt fell.

option: This time broke me. Rook: This time, I feel... nothing. Solas: And still you hide your feelings.

Rook: No, I mean... I try to think about what I'm feeling, and I just... there's nothing there. Rook: If I think about what happened at Weisshaupt, I just... stop. Like I could go to sleep and never wake up. Rook: And I can't afford to do that. Solas: Why not? Rook: Because I let everyone down once already. I can't do it again.

Solas: There it is. The grief of having not lived up to the trust that others placed in you. Solas: It is a pain worse than any Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain could inflict, and if you let it, it can help you. Rook: How?

Solas: There are those who hold their emotions at a distance to avoid the sting of failure. Solas: To defeat Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, there can be no distance. You must be committed. Rook: What, you think we failed because I didn't want it enough? Solas: I cannot say. But you chose this battle, and in so doing, you chose these consequences. Solas: Regret is the price we pay for acting when no one else will. Solas: Without regret, we would not be driven to correct our mistakes, to improve. To get it right.

option: I'll get it right. Rook: Next time, we won't miss. Solas: I believe you. Solas: And I believe that if you listen to me, then Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I don't want to feel this. Rook: It still hurts. Solas: I have lived thousands of years and made countless mistakes. It always hurts. Solas: If you listen to that feeling, perhaps you may never need to feel it again so keenly.

option: I'm not here for this shit. Rook: I didn't come here for your philosophical bullshit. I came for help! Solas: What did you think my help would look like? Solas: I cannot promise that our talks will be easy. All I can promise is that if you listen to me, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I need some support. Rook: Could you be hopeful Solas instead of smug Solas right now. Rook: I don't need you to convince me how bad things are, okay? I get it. I really, really get it. Solas: You have finally met the Evanuris in battle.

option: I have to act confident. Rook: Yeah, we met the gods, and now I have to act like we're not completely screwed and this was a good step forward. Solas: Why? Rook: We lost a lot of Grey Wardens. We lost Weisshaupt. If we lost all of that, and I didn't accomplish anything? Solas: Then what? Rook: Then there's no way I can win. I should just start running now. Rook: But I can't. I have to keep acting like there's some way to win. And that's... terrifying.

Solas: Good. There it is. The fear. Solas: You finally see the consequences. You know the stakes. That fear, the terror of what you face now, can help you, if you let it. Rook: How does admitting I'm terrified help?

option: And I'm in charge. Rook: And somehow, I'm supposed to go up against them again, and everyone is looking to me for a plan. Solas: The plan will come. Once you have marshaled your forces...

Rook: I had a legendary assassin, a dragon hunter, and an army of Grey Wardens, and we still failed! I still failed. Rook: People keep asking me what we do now, and I have no idea. And that is... terrifying.

option: They're too powerfull. Rook: Yeah, and it turns out that when you're fighting a god, terror is a perfectly rational feeling!

Rook: And don't give me that "Evanuris" crap. You can turn people to stone with your eyes! Solas: Yes, and yet I wield far less power than Ghilan'nain or Elgar'nan. Rook: The world is going to end up a blighted wasteland unless I stop them, and... I don't think I can.

option: This is your fault! Rook: No. You don't get to come in here all superior. A whole lot of people just died, and that's on you! Solas: I have made many mistakes, but I did not free Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Rook: Fine. Whatever. Solas: No. This is important, Rook. Solas: Your fury is real, but you can only defeat it if you identify its source. Who are you truly angry at?

option: Everyone! Rook: I'm trying to save the world, and everybody's kicking me in the shins while I'm doing it!

Rook: Tevinter and the Antaam would rather fight each other!

Rook: The Grey Wardens wouldn't listen until I punched their leader in the face and took over!

Rook: The First Warden wouldn't listen until the enemy was stomping all over his courtyard!

Rook: I can't do this alone! I need people to shut up and do what I tell them for once, or I'm going to fail again!

option: Ugh. Myself! Rook: I know who I'm angry at. It doesn't matter. Solas: Of course it matters. You must learn who you are.

Rook: The whole world is gonna know who I am! They're gonna make statues of me!

Rook: "In honor of Rook: He/She/They almost saved Weisshaupt!"

option: Bad luck? Rook: I don't know! Fate, luck, something! This whole mission has been one disaster after another. Solas: And how would luck help you? What is it that you need?

Rook: I need a break! I need one damn thing to go right for once! Solas: Because you deserve it? Rook: Because I can't do this! Rook: But if I don't, nobody will. So I've gotta keep banging my head against this wall like an idiot hoping for a miracle!

Solas: There it is. The anger. The frustration at having failed. Solas: Properly channeled, that rage can flare hot enough to burn away any impurities. Rook: Fine! I'm angry! How does that help?

option: We made progress. Rook: I'd hoped we'd take down Ghilan'nain, but we did kill her Archdemon. That's a good start.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if your fellow Wardens would agree.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if the Grey Wardens would agree.

Solas: Does this truly feel like even a partial victory, or does something uncomfortable lurk behind that easy smile?

option: No. But being sad won't help. Rook: No, of course it doesn't feel like victory. But that's what leadership is. Rook: It's putting your own feelings aside so the team doesn't collapse. Solas: And what is so dangerous that the mere sight of it would destroy your team? Rook: That I was wrong.

option: I'm tryung to believe. Rook: It has to feel like a partial victory. If it doesn't...

option: I need to seem confident. Rook: How do you think I feel? But the team needs me to look like I know what I'm doing. Solas: And what do you need?

option: Thanks, Past Rook. Rook: Sounds like something Past Rook would say. He's/She's/They're kind of an asshole.

Solas: (Chuckles)

Solas: You use humor a great deal.

Solas: "The elven god of sarcasm."

Solas: "This is the reason nobody likes you."

Solas: "Killing an Archdemon is the easy part."

Solas: Is all of this really so amusing, or is that wit the blade with which you keep less comfortable feelings at bay?

option: It's that or cry. Rook: I'm doing the best I can to hold it together. Sometimes that means stupid jokes. Solas: And when those fail? Rook: Then I probably start ugly-sobbing. Snotty nose, blotchy face, the whole deal. Solas: Why? You are no stranger to death. You have seen warriors fall in battle before.

option: It's that or panic. Rook: Well, I don't think uncontrollable screaming is gonna help anything, and that's the only other option. Solas: Uncontrollable screaming at what?

option: It's that or rage. Rook: Yeah, there's a pretty good chance the jokes are how I cope. Solas: And beneath those jokes? Rook: Why does that matter? Would me yelling right now help anything? Solas: It might help you know who you are.

option: It's a lot to accept. Rook: I was thinking I'd be accepting hurt feelings, not a whole fortress falling to darkspawn. Solas: Sometimes the hurt feelings are worse.

option: I guess? Rook: Weisshaupt could've fallen without us killing Ghilan'nain's Archdemon. That would technically be worse. Solas: Technically.

option: That's still true. Rook: And I stand by that. Solas: Truly? You watched a fortress fall and Wardens die, and it touches nothing within you?

Solas: I expect that you call it professionalism.

Solas: No hesitation. "We stopped you. We'll stop them."

Solas: No concern. Just targets. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Solas: What are you so desperate to avoid feeling?

option: Numb. Rook: Nothing. Solas: So no fear, no anger, lurks beneath the surface?

option: Terror. Rook: Ghilan'nain was so much worse than anything I expected. She's a god.

option: Fucking furious. Rook: I am so fucking tired of being the one who has to do this while the rest of the world ignores the problem!

Solas: And while your grief is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your fear is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your frustration is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: You have slain an Archdemon, a feat only a few have accomplished over the centuries. Solas: Ghilan'nain is now mortal. If you can find her and catch her unprepared, you can kill her. Rook: So how do I find her? Solas: Your team has ties to organizations with connections you lack. The Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan, and so on. Solas: Strengthening your team will strengthen those groups. Prove your value as an ally, and they will give you the openings you seek. Rook: Okay, I'll see what I can do. Solas: Good. And Rook... I am sorry for the necessity of this lesson.

option: No, I appreciate it. Rook: You don't have to apologize. I know you're trying to help, so... thanks. Solas: Don't. Don't thank me. Solas: Our talk today will lead to Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain falling, but it is not a kindness. Solas: Good luck.

option: It's not wholly unexpected. Rook: You talk with the Dread Wolf, you gotta be prepared to bleed a little. Solas: A painful assessment, but more than fair, especially today. Solas: If I knew some other way to prepare you for what lies ahead, I would do so.

option: Whatever. Goodbye. Rook: We're done here. I'll talk to you when I know something. Solas: Of course. Then I will simply wish you good luck.

lovely character. i want to watch him drown in his shame

One would think that after a whole night of worship she would have enough. She never does and he doesn’t mind.

*SCREECHES INTO THE PILLOW*

I can't believe how anxious I can be about my writing one day and then another I'm like:

-> holy fuck i wrote this? ME? lil old me? highfive babes, we rock

Some Solas photos I took in Veilguard recently.

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."

“…But the hedge mage…What do we truly know of him?”

was getting some Miraak screenies for @lathez, but they held me at gunpoint and told me to post these to tumblr instead.. >.>