arlathvhen | Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

[ They were lucky that there had not been more damage from the earthquake to their house -- roofs are easy enough to repair. Not that Beleth had much knowledge of it. But Felassan is as helpful as ever -- when he's not lounging, at least. But there's no rush, so she's lounging too. She's been allowing herself more of that, in Caldera.

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. ]

[ Having had a few months with her, Felassan is not surprised that Beleth does not name the things other people might. Nothing related to the security of knowing the way the world works and understanding your place within it — of course not, no. From what he has heard her Thedas was never secure and her place in it always precarious and hard-won, anyway. And not her authority and influence, not even for their use as tools for progress or for safety. Not the entertainment or luxuries her position has to have afforded her.

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.

Really?

[ 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.

[ Protesting that not all people get lonely, and he's gone decades barely speaking to anyone while hardly noticing at all — Felassan knows that would in fact be a very lonely-sounding thing to say, so he doesn't. ]

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.

I have an ancestor that was an Emerald Knight. My mother was quite proud of it.

[ Many Dalish can do that, though, of course. Especially ones who have magic still heavy in their blood, like Beleth. Such blood lines had to be cultivated carefully, ancestry followed far more closely than just any random elf.

She'll think about the halla. Maybe a doe or three to start out. A buck could be added later, once Beleth felt confident they could breed here. But she'd have to look over her bones and plot that out at another time. And there's another question, one that's been hovering in her mind since quite near the first time Felassan showed his face at her house.

She pulls herself up on her elbows, looking over at him, head tilted as she considered it. There's a reason why it's taken such a long time to ask it. It could be taken poorly, it might even be rude. But after months of getting to know Felassan, she feels like they've gotten to know each other well enough that he won't misunderstand, or think that she's trying to be pettily jealous. ]

Felassan. Forgive me if this is... unkind to ask. If you don't wish to answer it, you need merely say so, and it will never be mentioned again, and I will beg your forgiveness. But -- Felassan, what were you and Solas, back before Arlathan fell?

I'm not trying to sound like some petty partner, upset at the idea that someone could have held Solas' affections before me. I just --

[ She had seen some of the way the two interacted. There was the hurt and the careful steps around each other that she could recognize, the results of a deep betrayal. But there was something more there, underneath it all. Maybe she just didn't understand what friendship looked like, when it was thousands of years old.

Or, maybe, there was something else. ]

I know, [ he drawls — though it isn't much of a secret worth being smug about. ] I mean, I didn't know him personally, but I could have picked him out in a crowd.

[ Not everything had been lost then. Not the eluvians. Not their sleeping kin in uthenera. Not so much of the truth about Fen'Harel. The Dales were no place for Felassan and his ilk to stay, watching their descendants slip swiftly past them like leaves in a fast-moving river, their opinions on politics and practices as useful as a parent's opinion on a teenager's love life. But he'd had a look, full of wary hope.

The hope was, of course, swiftly dashed on the rocks and set on fire. But Beleth knows all about that, if her mother was Keeper, so no need to be depressing. Instead he grins around the threat: ] Maybe that is how I will charm your mother when we meet.

[ And her question he guesses before she has quite reached it, in the thick of the apologies and prefacing. He keeps looking at the clouds (tree, snake, Orlesian mask) until she trails off, then turns his head to grin at her. ]

You heard him. I was his agent. [ Tongue in cheek, from agent to associate. More seriously, ] No, we were friends. And I was his agent, but we were friends first. Nothing romantic, nothing sexual, and you don't sound petty.

[ Maybe that's enough to put her off the scent. If not, he could say more. He could take the condescending immortal route: how deeply they felt things, how closely they knit themselves together over the ages, you can't possibly understand. But he remembers how cross she was about being lied to when he first arrived, and they're in a world where memories of the past and visions of the future might both be unspooled before an audience, and sometimes he sleeps in her house, and she is not some mortal girl best spared from being troubled with things she ought not waste time worrying about. She's the Inquisitor who held the whole world together. She's Solas's partner. She's canny enough to be asking. And if her vision has any truth to it, she may have forever, and Felassan might be around to see it. That's a long time to hide anything.

So. ]

Why? Am I obvious?

[ Painless, mostly. Shameless, entirely. ]

You know what? I should let you charm my mother. You deserve what happens when she's charmed by someone.

[ She wants to ask about this vaulted ancestor, the one that her mother had been so proud of, that her ancestors before her were proud of. One that Felassan could have shared a drink with, picked out of a crowd. Fought with. Not to even consider the ancestors that stretch back even further -- it feels weird. Feels a little too personal. She doesn't ask.

And she has his answer to what she did ask to consider. What he's said, and what he hasn't said. His answer was quite forthcoming, and that little am i obvious says more than either of them need to elaborate on.

She didn't want to sound jealous, though she was fearful she might feel it, if she knew for certain. It's a relief that when she examines her feelings on this information, she feels none. More a sense of comradery. A bond over seeing someone that so many people could dislike, even hate, and seeing past that. Seeing the gentle smile and the eagerness to teach, the quiet kindness and the eyes full of regret. And feeling your heart reach out. ]

No, you weren't obvious. And he doesn't take a hint, unless you are.

[ She'd had to grab him, on several occasions when her feelings needed to be established, re-established, and kiss him silly, for him to get the picture. Failing that, she could easily see it taking centuries -- or more, if you weren't inclined to make those feelings clear. ]

Though I've told you before, you have a quite a nice face. I'd have been tempted by it, if you were my agent. Or even associate.

[ Which is to say, that she's pretty sure Solas might have even agreed, if Felassan had approached him. Not that she knows for sure, but -- if Felassan had approached her -- Wait. No. There's a twist in her stomach there, and she turns it aside. ]

Not if my mother found you charming, though.

[ A counter-threat. Felassan turns his head to look at her, mouth shaped into a silent oooh. ]

And what is that?

[ He doesn't doubt he deserves it, regardless. First he lies to her, then he teases her at every opportunity, now he makes things weird —

Except it isn't weird. She's taking it in stride. She's reassuring him. Flirting with him, too, in the same friendly way as before. He hadn't expected her to overreact, of course — good head on those shoulders — but he wouldn't have been surprised by some discomfort, some unwanted pity, some need for assurances. None of that, though, and Felassan smiles at her with amused affection and a pinch of wonder, even as he's shaking his head in silent disagreement with her silent implication.

Hierarchies, wars, Mythal, Mythal, Mythal. Felassan knows he's smoking hot; that doesn't mean there was ever a moment bravery might have made the difference.

The conversation they are having out loud is much less of a downer, fortunately. ]

Not if your mother found me charming, [ he repeats, faux thoughtful. ] I see. Change of plans. I'll spit on the ground at her feet and tell her I have seen better-kept aravels in Orlesian theaters.

She starts getting friendly with them. I think you'd hate that.

[ She could see it already. Felassan's smile freezing in place as her mother spoke to him as an equal, but slightly above others. It'd be quite funny.

She does wonder at the head shake. At what could have stopped someone as brave as Felassan -- Does he think that Solas would have turned him down? She wondered, vaguely, why he'd think that, or if it were even true. But, probably, Felassan knew better than she. Still. She wondered.

--And then that wondering is replaced with loud, startled laughter. How he always manages to do this to her is impressive, but she can't help but break out into loud peals of laughter, a hand going over her mouth. She should feel guilty, probably, and like a bad Dalish, and a bad daughter.

She feels neither of these. Just a fondness for the man next to her. For whatever reason Solas was unable to accept Felassan's feelings... Well, sometimes the smartest man she knew could be an idiot. He'd nearly fumbled her just as badly, hadn't he? Only Beleth refusing to accept his refusal had gotten them where they were (which sounded worse in hindsight).

Still giggling with mirth, she reaches over, running a hand through his hair. ]

Incredible. I'm glad to see that a couple millennia is all it takes to teach someone how to smooth talk a woman.

[ Friendly could mean a few things, but most of them would be terrible, says the face Felassan pulls in response. And if that weren't enough to put him off the idea of charming Beleth's mother, that loud, bright, unguarded laughter would do it. Felassan grins at the sky, listening to it, until she touches his hair and his gaze shifts to her face, freckled cheeks, eyes as big and as bright as any seen in Arlathan, and for a moment he goes soft-eyed in a way that someone less emotionally obtuse than Solas and less generous than Beleth might tell him is in fact very obvious.

But he's not ashamed of that, either. She may as well have an idea. He thinks Solas has to, too, on some level — so it's only fair. He's still grinning. ]

Oh, no, I've always known, [ cocky, and now hyperbolic: ] but it's only every couple of millennia that someone's worth the trouble. Just my luck.

[ Like it's funny. It is funny. They can joke. He unfurls his arm into the space beside him and behind her, offering her his shoulder as pillow, the kind of contact he’s had a great deal of experience cherishing and letting be enough. ]

There. That one looks like you.

[ The cloud he is pointing to is unmistakably shaped like a cat. ]

[ Beleth is not oblivious, but she's more careful than she was, back when she was young and reckless, and grabbed a man she thought fancied her and kissed him senseless. She can't do that anymore, of course, but when she turns to look at Felassan, there's a moment where she stops, and thinks --

Would it be rude, to think she knew what that look meant? Would it be egotistical beyond measure, to think that someone else aside from the man she'd chased down (wow, that sounded unfortunate) would look at her in such a way? Was it selfish, to want him to? Was it a betrayal most dire of her heart, the man she had sworn a bond to?

It's easier to simply accept the contact he offers, head in a whirl as it tried to put together the puzzle pieces, even as it rested against Felassan's shoulder. It's easy to turn and examine the cloud, and give an annoyed, but unmistakably amused huff. Easy to turn her head to scold him--

And then, suddenly, not so easy, when she realizes how close their faces are, like this. Her face begins heating, and doesn't stop, even when she turns, the mutiny of red spreading from her cheeks to her ears. Very suddenly, she makes a handful of vital realizations, all tumbled together, the top one being that, no matter if she's a delusional, selfish, egotistical idiot, that she's going to have to speak to Solas. Even if he can't forgive her for what she'll have to tell him.

They said no more secrets. They said they would trust each other. That will have to include things that she had only discovered, just this moment.

Should she -- should she say something? Should she speak to Felassan first? Confirm suspicions, or make confessions? Would that gentle, handsome smile turn harsh -- or worse, piteous? Or would he realize what Beleth has occasionally felt, in the dark corners of her mind, when old anxieties begin to pile up: That she is, in truth, something terrible, unworthy of any consideration? ]

Better than a dog, I suppose. I wouldn't want someone to think I'm Ferelden.

[ Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ]

[ Felassan watches her face turn red with some regret. Some. Not too much. He's very old, is the thing; in a way he's older than Elvhenan ever could have made him, not even over ten or twenty thousand years. His dead friends out number his living ones a hundredfold or more. He's learned what pains are temporary and what hurts are survivable and what sharp edges will be blunted by time into something he can eventually touch again without bleeding. And he's learned what parts of his reputation are worth actually giving a damn about, to him. What's worth embarrassment. This is honest, and complimentary, and harmless — he'd say he'd die before he'd betray Solas, but evidence suggests he might instead betray him and then immediately accept death afterwards — so he smiles, tattoos crinkling around his eyes, and says, ]

Maker forbid,

[ in a perfect Orlesian accent. He refocuses on the clouds. She's near enough to nudge her leg with his knee, a friendly jostle to say nothing's different as best as he silently can. Less silently: ]

I was so pleased I had not made things awkward already, I got arrogant. Don't let me trouble you, holmelan.

[ Slowly, Beleth's tension seeps out of her muscles, relaxing just a little more. While she was a mental wreck, Felassan wasn't judging her, wasn't frowning, or pitying. He was trying not to make things awkward, bless him. Though -- Did he know? Was it obvious?

How could he remain so calm? How could nothing be different? ]

Orlesians are worse. I lived with them for so long.

[ There were too many questions in her head. And Beleth may not have Felassan's years, or the wisdom that came with those years. But even in the midst of self hatred, of feeling like she's the worst person in the world, she can come to a decision. She can spend some time staring up at the sky, think on Felassan's words, and then figure out... something. A work in progress, perhaps. But it starts with a first step. A mortifying first step, if she's wrong. ]

You're not troubling me. What's troubling me is if I am the one being arrogant. If I have misinterpreted you.

[ She turns to him, expression... worried, but determined. Her lips press in a thin line, and she looks for a moment like she might give up -- but no. She's faced worst than her own feelings. ]

Tell me I am not being delusional, Felassan. That I am not sitting here, overthinking this, and hoping for something that is not true. Or tell me that I am an idiot, and I will let the matter rest in its entirety.

[ It feels risky. Stupid. And probably, poorly worded. So many ways for everything to go wrong, and yet. She's beaten worse odds, probably. And unlike Felassan, she's not content to spend the rest of forever wondering. ]

[ 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.

[ She can't help but give a quiet, self-depreciating laugh at you're overthinking. Maybe she was, but how could she not?

It was, she thought (overthought), probably not the confession of feelings that most hoped to give or receive. It's not how she did it the first time -- and certainly, she could grab Felassan and just kiss him silly right there. But it wouldn't be fair to anyone. Solas, in particular, of course. They had made a vow, together.

She listens to him speak, looking up at the clouds with him. It's a beautiful day, really. The house lies peacefully, and the sky is calm above. Maybe that's how he can be so calm -- he almost lost being able to enjoy days like this, permanently. But if Beleth could do nothing else, if nothing else could be said of her, it was that she had hope. For Solas, for herself, and now for Felassan. ]

You're right, some things are. I thought that for ten long years. That some people can care for each other, but it doesn't matter. That it isn't enough, in the end. I even thought that I could accept that. [ She reaches, gingerly, and slides her pinkie finger against his. It isn't much, but she hopes it's enough. ] But sometimes, you have to wonder: what if? What if it could be better? What if it could be enough?

[ Gentle, she nudges her shoulder against his. ]

I'll talk to Solas.

[ Ten long years, she says, and he grins, but a moment later he adds a wobbly sort of nod. Ten years is long when you should only have eighty; this is no time to pick on her for being mortal. The grin recedes back into a smile. In a philosophical mood he might argue: caring matters on its own. Love's never wasted. All of that shit —

He does believe it.

But it is a beautiful day, and it's nice to be here, and whether anything might change or not it's nice to know she cares enough to touch his hand and want them to, so he lets it lie. ]

Of course.

[ He hadn't expected her to keep secrets from Solas, whatever her motives. ]

But first you have to tell me about Val Royeaux. Did you get to embarrass any of them? No, of course you did. Which humiliation was your greatest triumph?

Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

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