Beleth Lavellan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arlathvhen) wrote2025-01-02 11:21 am
arlathvhen) wrote2025-01-02 11:21 amCalderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan
Beleth Lavellan
voice · text · action
arlathvhen) wrote2025-01-02 11:21 am
[text] @daggerdaggerdagger
It would seem mine has gone home.
Just like another friend of ours.
@enasal
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[ Not to mention his trying to be strong for his partners. They had enough to worry about, they didn't need him breaking down on them too. ]
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Send me your coordinates. Is there anything you don't like to eat?
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Ah...anything is fine. Something light might be good. Fresh fruit or something if you can swing by a stall on your way. I can pay you back.
[ It's easy to give her the directions to their house high above the clouds. ]
[action time baby]
[ With that, she puts the bird down, and takes off. It takes some time before she manages to make her way there, but when she knocks on the door, it's with two baskets balanced on her hip. One filled with sandwiches, the other with fruit. Things easy to eat, with no prep work involved.
It's also her first time visiting the islands in the sky. It's disconcerting, but for a friend, she'll muscle through. At least he doesn't live in the underwater bubble. ]
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Apology - After Felassan's intro
But she is not there
The kitchen too, is often her place of power, but though the smell of warm milk and fresh bread lingers in the heated air, there is nothing of Beleth there but the memory of warm honey. The bedroom, then.
It will one day be a truly beautiful room, a sanctuary against the world, hidden here where none but they may enter. The curtains are drawn, and he hesitates on the threshold. He waits there, until he is sure she has noticed him, and then closes the door behind himself.
"Will you hear my apology, Vhenan?" He begins, quiet and cold. Oh, and here is the anger, once deferred. How could she be so careless with herself, "Or would you prefer to offer me your own, first?"
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She will, of course, have to find him at some point. Give them both time to cool down, let her work her frustration out, and they can speak with cooler heads. She'll have to get him a peace offering. She could use her magic to make him some peppers to add to his food, or attempt coffee beans, though she's never seen the plant in person.
He appears before she can decide, and her broom is held in place. She's already got words on her lips when she turns to him, and in the face of his chill, they freeze. It seems that his head has grown a little too cool, and as he speaks, Beleth feels her blood heating in direct opposite--and not in the way he usually did.
"Oh, you're expecting my apology?" As though she hadn't already formed it in her mind, had been planning out a gift to go with it, to soothe. It's not the point. She turns back to her torment of the litter on the floor, as though he wasn't worth her total focus. "Quite lofty expectations, I think, to insult a woman, then hound her down for an apology over it."
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This has immediately gone wrong. Like so many of his plans and ideas, particularly when it comes to her. He had thought he would... say it better. Be calmer.
"What shall I feel then, Inquisitor? How would you prefer?"
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"If I were in your place, I would have every confidence that you would be able to free me from it. That you would tear the world apart to release me. But I don't have the powers of Fen'Harel--" Look, Solas, she can do that too. "--I am no mage, I have no knowledge or skill for enchantments and their weavings. What else could I do? Live my life, knowing that every moment of it was at the expense of your pain? Do you think I could live like that?"
She turns towards him, the pretense of sweeping gone, broom slammed into the floor. "It was hard enough these past ten years to know you were out there, alone and hurting. At least by your side, I would not be complicit. I will not live out a life built on your suffering! You can't ask it of me!"
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The broom impacts the floor like the crack of a whip, and her eyes blaze as she advances on him. Coward that he is, Solas cannot quite suppress the urge to step back; a controlled retreat. Complicity, then, and the imagined suffering of another, was that the root of her objection? Was there no way out of this, then?
Or, perhaps, there was. But only by the last, ever-present road. Terrible as that path was, it neatly severed all problems, satisfying all the requirements, if only he had the courage and the will to carry it out.
"Then I will not," He says, desperately. Something must give, and Solas was willing that it be himself, "But I cannot simply accept your... to plan to sacrifice yourself in this way. I cannot. Please."
There is no other way.
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Her anger is beginning to fade--it's hard to hold up in the face of his distress. If he would just listen, if she could just make him see.
"I--I can't just go live a normal life without you. It hurt more than any wound." Especially not now, not after she had made that promise, that bond to him. But she's afraid what he'll do, if she tells him that. If she outlines what it meant, when she promised that any path he walks, she would walk as well--They are speaking of the past anyway, before the promise was made.
Though that's not the past for him, is it?
"Listen--I won't sacrifice myself, because no one is going to trap you. You're going to leave with me into the Fade together. The Fade proper, where we'll be free. Both of us. Alright?" No traps, no sacrifices, no imprisonment. It was denied to her by Caldera, but she had achieved it, even so. "I have no plans to stick myself in any prisons, and no one has any plans of doing it to you."
Unless the Veilguard has decided--No. They couldn't do it here. And surely the leaders wouldn't allow it. They needed Solas, he was always away questing. They would not allow the torment of a valuable asset.
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A note left on her vanity
shall blossom here from thee to thine
and wisdom turn from dream and rhyme
to reason's arms and hope entwine
Let then the solemn voice awake
and in this solace I partake
of love's sweet dream
and love's bright wake
(Your enthusiasm is more beautiful than any ancient poet's words could ever be. I have always been a mediocre student of the art, but I find you move me to try.
-S)
At Home, After the Vesper Event
He has done good deeds and made of himself the mild-mannered victim of cruel fate. He has showcased magics of helpful and kindly nature, and gone to great pains to make himself seem... small. Humble. Below notice and above reproach, both; there are very few exceptions.
But his reputation is a lie. One that Beleth and Felassan alone know the fullest truth of. One that Rook and her companions have the shadow of, and know it to be that of a vicious reality.
"Vhenan," He says, from the doorway. His hands are poised behind his back, his face a mask of calm that he knows will not fool her; as clear a warning of danger as any, "I would show you something. Come."
He leads her across their home. The garden is in its first bloom, early lilacs perfuming the air above delicate upshoots of new grass, and tiny spring violets that wink purple and blue amongst the turf. It is soft underfoot, green and alive, beautifully young and vibrant; he opens the door to his workshop, and it is dark within.
Until he gestures, and then it is brightly-lit, with veilfire.
"Some weeks ago, you extended to me a gift of your trust in me," He begins, strolling into the room with careful steps. Here and there are stacked small projects, and large; the forge smoldering redly in one corner, the pipes grumbling vaguely overhead, an eerie glow from within a small box. A set of magnifying lenses of many sizes is racked neatly against the wall, "I had not anticipated that you might do so— but you are forever surprising me. I... Have been contemplating my answer, and have come to the conclusion that there can be only one."
He stops and with no small drama, and a brief flare of fire, reveals that there on the workbench is a neatly-piled, stacked and counted, horde of Bones. There are more than a thousand there, even after the purchase of the Dread Wolf's power... enough wealth to buy any favor in Caldera, even an audience with one of the gods.
"I have often hidden my plans from you, lied and obfuscated. But now, I would offer you the same in return. Trust. Honesty. If you can accept it, even now, after so long."
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The house they found is slowly turning into a home, and it usually brings Beleth great pleasure and peace to walk through the garden, admire what they have built thus far. But her worries flit around her head like fretful bees, and she can only think about what Solas will show her. Something, she knows, that will be nothing inconsequential.
Stepping into Solas' workshop, a place she'd been thus far avoiding -- easier to deny involvement, went the line of logic, if you don't actually know what's going on. Stepping from the bright light of spring and into the dark left her blinking, until the strange green glow from the veilfire throws everything into focus, casting strange shadows on the stranger objects.
She spends a few moments hesitating, wondering if it would be better to not see. But no, she'd stepped over the line that she'd spent so long trying to balance, hadn't she? Even if only Solas and Beleth knew it know, she'd chosen her side, and now Solas was treating her choice with the respect it deserved, as he always did.
"I understand why you did it. You were trying to keep me safe, from trying to oppose you. Or trying to help you." Both were things that led down their own paths, and it was no surprise Solas relished neither of the ends. "But... Thank you, Solas." She turns to face him, slipping a hand into his. She doesn't know what he's about to tell her, and it frightens her a little -- she is aware, more aware than nearly anyone else, that Solas still has his goals, and what he will do to achieve those goals is... well.
But he's trusting her. As long as they're together, and trust each other, she's sure that they'll figure it out.
"I'm listening, Vhenan. Whatever you give to me, I will accept gladly."
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But it's too late: he is committed, and she forewarned. And... it is mutual, again. They can only betray one another, or hold true, now; in truth, he cannot blame her, were she to do it. The stakes were as they had ever been, after all.
But her hands are small and gentle in his own, cool, dry fingertips, and the gentle chafe of his thumb against her knuckles. Once the initial panic begins to fade, he feels...
...he feels...
lighter.
For all the terrible risk in this admission, in this moment, he is free, even if only for a little while, from the terrible, weighty burden of being alone, and of the lies that uphold that loneliness.
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Her hand squeezes his unthinkingly, and she would swear that there was a pang of pain from where her left hand had once been. The orb -- she remembered the brief flash of it that she'd seen, when the Divine knocked it from Corypheus, and Beleth, unknowing, had scrambled to grab it before he could retrieve it.
An act that had reshaped her body, her life, and Thedas itself.
But this is different. The orb won't be a weapon that Beleth will have to wrest away from a monster, it will be--Hmm.
"What are you going to do with them?" If she's going to be in it, then she must be in it all the way. It's too late to walk any of this back. She's chosen her side, and Solas has accepted it. Him standing here, telling her this, is him accepting her decision. And if that's the situation, then there is no more willful ignorance -- nor allowing anything to be hidden. "Will they even allow it? With your full magic, and both of those implements, you'd... probably be able to rival any of the faction leaders, wouldn't you?"
With that much power... there was a lot that he could do. That they could do. It almost frightened her, the idea of it.
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And if they do not, if they deny him, then Solas shall simply have to look elsewhere to satisfy his plans. What is needed here is perspective, as much as the power itself. And with his orb, and his dagger, Solas would have both.
"We were brought here against our wills," He begins, gently, a small shake of their joined hands emphasis to the point, "To be returned home so unceremoniously is... the best we can hope for, from these so-called gods, these Leaders of Caldera. I am yet undecided as to whether they are to be opposed, or if their purpose is acceptable— but when we leave, it should be on our own terms."
He lets go her hand, his own sliding up, to grasp at her shoulders, gentle still, but insistent, bending towards her with the intensity of his sincerity, and passion of purpose. Solas realizes, abruptly, that he has come not to inform Beleth, but also to ask for her blessing. That she would approve of his path has become important, somehow— important to him, at least.
"The Orb and the Dagger were made to breach barriers, and to create them. With their power, I will— I will attempt to bring Felassan with us, to our place in space as well as time. We are already displaced, the damage half-done, and I would not see him discarded if he can be saved. Vhenan, I must try."
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Her first instinct is that these leaders should indeed be opposed. That they should be fought against, if possible, forced to release the hostages they'd taken captive, that have been forced to bleed and even die for them. But then she thinks of Finn, of Barcus, and Ashton, and the other people here. They would not want the leaders to be cast aside, when it could risk the entire world.
She had thought about attempting to get everyone to come together, to leverage their aid in exchange for better circumstances. But even that would be no small task. Most of the Visitors were obliging enough, friendly on the surface. But she felt that attempting to point them all in one direction would be... difficult. Maybe if things with Triton shook out just right... She knew better than anyone how having a specific danger to rally people against could raise an army.
But Solas is grasping her, and she thinks, vaguely, that if anyone else that she had ever known in her life had held her in such a way, she'd be lashing out. But Solas, she trusted. She understood. Whether or not she agreed--
But then he mentions Felassan, and suddenly, Beleth recalls the vision in the orb, bought for a poem written for love. Of the three of them, standing in the Fade. And a fourth -- and that's when she makes her decision. She has enjoyed her time in Caldera, enjoyed the people here. But there will be no infant, not if Beleth can avoid it. Their future does not rest in Caldera, but in Thedas, and it must be all three of them.
She'd promised him.
"Yes," She finds herself agreeing, the hand that had been grasping his reaching up to cup his face, a thumb swiping over his jaw. "He deserves as much. Rook and most of her crew have already been removed from Caldera. Only Davrin knows what you are capable of, and he has not seen fit to involve himself. I will keep an eye on him, anyway. I can't do much to help you, but... I'll do what I can."
This was the way it had to go, wasn't it? If this was the path before them, then she would walk it with him, without half measures.
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whenever. ✌️
What do miss the most? Aside from the people.
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It's nice.
Then he asks, and she stops to think on it. The people would have been her first answer, but Felassan has already ruled that one out. What else does she miss...? The length of time it takes to think on it is probably longer than it should be. Thedas was rarely kind to her. ]
Halla, I suppose. Not many of them in Val Royeux, but I could see them now and then, especially if I visited Wycome. I thought about asking for some, but -- introducing new animals to a place can be such a problem. And what if they don't like Caldera? What if people try hurting them?
And... some of the food. Stuff I didn't know how to make, but tasted good. Some of the recipes are in Caldera, some are not. I suppose I could check the library, see if it has any cookbooks. But even then, there's nothing like someone who made Eggs à la Val Foret every day. Or Llomerryn red sauce on salmon... Halla cheese, to tie back in with halla.
[ Great, now she was kind of hungry. ]
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Halla. Eggs. Red sauce. Cheese. Not surprising, but still pleasant to hear. Like the ending to a story that’s satisfying because it’s earned and natural. ]
There is nothing like it, is there?
I think that was the most astonishing thing to me. We could see the world before. We could hear it. But we couldn’t smell it or taste it. I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of it.
[ — if the world couldn’t tell from his eagerness to put whatever in his mouth. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, from a practical standpoint. But it was the last thing he did before his last dream. Eat, and inhale the forest. ]
I think halla would do well here, especially with someone looking after them. You would have to make sure they didn’t bully the local deer too much, that’s all.
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[ That was something she hadn't expected. Not that she'd ever seen a spirit eat anything, of course, but it wasn't like there were a lot of opportunities. Had she ever seen Cole eat anything--? She's getting distracted. ]
I can't imagine what that would be like. Maybe that's the real reason spirits started taking flesh. They wanted to try food.
[ She gives a noncommittal hum, turning back to the sky thoughtfully. ]
I could ask them nicely. I'd want to be able to have enough bones to bring in enough for at least three or four. They're herd animals, they aren't meant to be alone. They're like people, in that respect. They get lonely.
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Start with a few of the same sex and you won't have to worry about offspring until you see how they do. I'm biased, of course. I would like to see them again. You should do what you think is best. But riding a halla with a wolf at your side — you would be an oath away from being an Emerald Knight.
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Gadriel's armor is a reference point. Beleth will not, he assumes, want a Black Carapace or ports that plug into her nerve endings, even if that was something he was capable of creating, but ceramite has astonishing potential. That, plus his new ability to create what would be called lightning stones in his world, to be used as a power source, means he's made something light, strong, and far more resistant to heat, cold, and electricity than solid metal ever could be.
He's asked her to check the fit of the cup at the end of it a few times, but not until the piece is truly finished does he send it to her in its entirety. The weight of it is carefully balanced to match the center of gravity of her other arm, and it will respond to the movements of her shoulder and stump that remains, sensitive to the motion of muscles and the pulse of nerves. Just that much leaves Barcus extremely proud of his work, but he's put forth an effort to make it beautiful, too. The overall shape is naturalistic, but rather than match her skin tone, he's etched lines of silvery-white along the forearm, in the shape of a halla's horns--the image taken from design motifs in her and Solas' home. And on the underside of the wrist, inset in ink-black enamel, are six almond-shaped ruby cabochons: a deliberate echo of the Dread Wolf's eyes.