The Truth
“You know Abelas, don’t you? Or knew.”
His brush hesitates, the stroke faltering, “Not quite”.
“… Too many things clicked in that moment. When he told me that I am not one of his people. He reminded me of you.”
Solas turned to them, the words dying on his lips when he saw they did not wear their Keeper robes. His vhenan looked small, almost curled inwards. Their eyes guarded.
“Why can’t you just tell me…”
“… The truth.”
He could see the hope in their eyes, the fingers clasped with his gently nudging him on. After a moment, they gave a small nod, wishing for him to continue.
“The truth…”
His words hitched, guilt tripping his tongue.
“About your face.”
They did not move, still as ice.
“The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade -” He steeled himself as their eyes closed, lips drawing tight as they recognized the lie “- I have seen things, I have discovered what those marks mean.”
After a deep breath, they faced him again, their face a mask, “They honor the elven gods.”
“No. They are slave markings. Or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”
Anger flashed, brittle. “So this is… what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong? Another reminder of how we cannot get anything right?”
“Don’t say that. For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right.”
“And what would that be?”
“They made you.”
Realization struck as they looked down, something close to exhaustion pulling them away. He had to fix this, perhaps maybe…
“I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell… I can remove the vallaslin.”
Their eyes snapped back up, a glint of determination.
“You just don’t understand, do you? These markings are a part of who I am, what the Dalish are. You’re asking me to take away a part of… well, me.”
“…”
Measuring each word carefully, “I did not mean to cause you pain… it was selfish of me, to assume that… I just see what you truly are…”
“That I am Dalish. These markings mean something else now. And maybe that, someday, you can see pas-”
“Stop.”
He smiled as confusion swept over their features, lips parted slightly. Leaning forward, he rested his brow against theirs, the anvil of June before him, eyes slipping shut.
“You are perfect exactly the way you are.”
For a moment, he forgot everything. He focused on how his breath mingled with theirs, the warmth that entered his being.
That maybe he could…
No.
He felt heavy.
“I distracted you from your duty.”
They stiffened when he drew back.
“It will never happen again.”
“Wait -” He barely managed to avoid flinching at the sharp edge. “I say no to you altering my face, and just like that, we’re done?”
“It’s not tha-”
“Then what is it?”
He shook his head, “You have a rare spirit, lethallen. In another world-”
“Then why not this one?” Their words were jagged, buried themselves deep.
“… I’m sorry.”
Somehow, he turned on his heel. Began to walk away. Eyes never straying, trained forward. But the silence…
He risked a glance back.
They stood at the edge of the lake, shoulders hunched as they hugged themself. Just like back in the rotunda, only smaller.
