[ Felassan watches her worried face with a faint smile, worry of his own tucked into the edges of his otherwise placid expression — until she says hoping, and his eyebrows twitch for a momentary narrowing of his eyes.

He's not so old and so wise that people can't surprise him. They surprise him all the time. She's surprised him now. But there are things about her that he feels quite certain of. One is that she's no more inclined to hurt Solas — her heart, her fate — than Felassan would be. The other is that she's not so cruel as to want his affection only for vanity's sake. ]

You're not delusional. You are overthinking.

[ He looks back at the clouds. Eliminating what can't be possible — betraying Solas, toying with him — leaves a small array of options, none all that shocking or scandalous to someone who acquired a body at the height of Elvhenan's hedonistic excesses. But none that he can muster up hope for, either. ]

You could let it rest anyway. Sometimes nothing comes of these things, you know. They just are, and that's all right.