Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

[arlathvhen]

Beleth Lavellan

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[arlathvhen]

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.

[loosed]

[ 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. ]

[arlathvhen]

[ 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. ]

[loosed]

[ 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.

[arlathvhen]

[ 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. ]

[loosed]

[ 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.

[arlathvhen]

[ 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.

[loosed]

[ 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?