arlathvhen | Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

Could be nice.

[ For the moment his voice sounds a little rough. Thick. It's a lot, is all, to think of Solas in the Lighthouse, once so full of music and debate and fervency, alone with a hundred regrets and reviving the dead dream of fish. And it's a lot in a different way to hear the quiet peck of Beleth's mouth when her kisses pass within the range of the little bird, and her voice right beside Solas's, and have a solid hope that neither of them will again ever be alone, whether or not Felassan gets to have a hand in it in the end.

His throat has cleared by the time he continues, ]

If you're going to begin keeping animals, though, I still like your idea about the halla. [ As if to ward off a protest, even though one might not be coming: ] Halla cheese, Solas.

[Primly, despite Beleth's very best efforts at disheveling him:]

Animal husbandry is not within my realms of expertise.

[That's the nice thing about wolves: they handle themselves, and you can simply admire them without having to worry about it, more or less. But even he can acknowledge the importance of Halla to the Dalish, and to Beleth in particular; even Ghilan'nain can do something good, every once in a very long while.]

I have never eaten Halla cheese, emma lath [Said with a deep, longsuffering sigh. You're going to make him eat the cheese.] Though I am sure it is as good as any.

[Though it doesn't sound like such a trial, and nothing can be too daunting when Beleth is settling herself against his side, and pillowing her head on his shoulder. Content, Solas returns her favors, turning his face into her hair and pressing a kiss there, lingering in the scent of her soap and perfume, and the warm softness of her touch. It is strange, and becoming less so with every passing day, how easily she brings him to the sense of security, a place where the greatest worry he can summon is about the taste of milk or the keeping of dairy-animals.

Ar lath ma he whispers into her hair, and thinks Felassan might hear it too. Just as well: in this moment, there is only love between them.]

Edited (kisses) 2025-09-25 05:36 (UTC)

[ Beleth isn't too sure what's caused the change in Felassan's voice, either -- she wishes that he were here, that she could pull him to her, lay his head on her her lap, twist his hair into a dozen little braids as they spoke, and feel any tension leaving him. She'll have to wait until the next time he comes over. ]

My brother is the Second -- that means that he's in charge of the halla. It's a little different of a task in Wycome, of course, but he's assured me that it's no easier. I'm sure he'd be a better hand at it than I.

But halla also live free in certain areas -- Do you remember Hanal'ghilan, in the Exalted Plains, Solas? So maybe they could manage well enough on their own. They are wiser than some of the Visitors we share Caldera with. [ Not gonna name names though. ] But then there are hunters, and people who would see the halla as a new prize...

[ Many thoughts to think, things she's already mulled over several times. Each time, kicking it down the road to a later Beleth to decide. And she feels no rush right now, curled up against Solas, with Felassan in her ear. It is an ideal way to spend her time, and she feels no rush to do anything, when so thoroughly content and pleased. There will be more days like this, stretching out for as long as bears consideration. If not in Caldera, than in Thedas, in the Fade, where Solas and Felassan can rouse the dreams of halla for her.

It is with this pleasant idea that she closes her eyes, murmuring a reassurance that she adores both men just as much. ]

[ Felassan is about to become mildly indignant. His eyebrow raise is practically audible; the beginning of the first syllable of you is audible in fact. He would say: You have had him awake for how long, vherlin? And you didn't give him halla cheese? What kind of Dalish —

But the endearment, however long-sufferingly it's sighed, catches him by the jaw (pleasantly) and everyone is spared. He stays quiet, and lets their peace seep through the little device to him, where he's resting held by the trunk and roots of a great tree and the cool earth that grew it. ]

I suppose I could just ask for the cheese.

[ He loves them too. ]

We must be sure, then to reserve some on your behalf. If we are able.

[An invisible threat: he will eat all your portion. But then, it was hardly an urgent ultimatum. They hadn't even requested the halla yet, after all.]

I do remember her. The golden Halla; a variation that never would have been permitted in Ghilan'nain's time. They were once thought the pinnacle of her creative prowess, and revered as such— but I am glad, to see them growing beyond her plans, at last.

They are our greatest ally. There would be no Dalish, without the halla. [ Her voice is quiet, wistful. She's a little sleepy now, curled up against her beloved. ] They are our partners, as much of a part of the clan as our Keeper. We celebrate their births and deaths like we would for any of our clan. I wonder what it would be like to get to hear them talk...

[ It then occurs to her, almost like someone had chucked a cold glass of water over her head, that she's probably talking to the two people least interested to hear about the Dalish in all of Caldera. Including if she went and fetched the woodchuck out of the garden to ask his opinion. ]

...But I'm sure it was different, back in Arlathan. Felassan mentioned riding them, once. Like an Emerald Knight.

They were bigger,

[ is both agreement and disagreement, and mild in either case, a little detail not meant to interrupt the two of them from continuing as they might have if he hadn't said anything at all. ]

[ It's probably not a big deal. He probably doesn't mean anything by it. But bitterness at her own thoughts, at thinking they wouldn't care about the Dalish, at Felassan mentioning they were different back then -- maybe it's a stupid thing, to feel irritated at it. Definitely stupid, to snap: ]

They're fine now. They're not horses, we don't choose which ones mate, and which ones to geld. The size they're at is the size that worked out for them.

[ Knowing she's being stupid is enough for her to turn her face from the bird and puff out an irritated sigh. It's not enough to make her take it back. ]

[ If Felassan were there, it would be simpler: he would tilt his head, a tic Briala liked to mimic to his face when trying to get one over on him, and slide around to ask what just happened with curious eye contact rather than having to say it out loud.

But he's not there, so he's left tilting his head at the silly little bird instead, which only translates as a pause before he says, ]

They are fine,

[ more like a question than an attempt to mollify. ]

Peace, Vhenan.

[And a kiss upon her temple to try and deliver it to her. A not unfitting metaphor, that of ancient and modern Halla, but still.]

It was Felassan who recognized that fact first, long before I.

[ Beleth, sure enough, does not feel particularly mollified. Nor peaceful. But she can only get so upset over what would be nothing to anyone else. She already is upset enough over getting upset, that she just turns to press herself in Solas' shoulder.

She's being stupid. What else is new. ]

Ir abelas. I'm sure the halla can defend themselves, if they feel slighted.

[ That Solas doesn't scold him — no friendly, arch look what you've done, no explanation on Beleth's behalf for whatever obvious misstep Felassan made — is comforting and unsettling at the same time. So is Beleth's quick contrition. Felassan is just as quick to say, ]

Nothing you need to be sorry for.

[ But then he inhales as if to speak and is instead quiet for a long moment, frowning at the frozen, unexpressive, unhelpful face of the little bird in his hands.

He doesn't like it. He needs to see their faces. ]

It's getting late. I'll come around soon.

[The rush of emotion Solas feels at that promise is unexpected, and yet profound. These misunderstandings come from distance, in time, in place, in perceived alliance. Beleth is defensive of her people, and she has had reason to be.

Another thing he might mend, if he tries.]

Good. [He strokes her hair, soothing, grounding. It is enough, it is always enough, but still it would be better to have they three together properly, at least for a night.] That is good.

Calderas Inbox for Inquisitor Lavellan

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