Leliana:
The Nightingale knows the sting of love and betrayal all too well. She doesn't say anything, and she doesn't judge. The Inquisitor has enough people judging her already. She doesn't even give any indication that anything has changed, putting aside her wounded professional pride. Sometimes it's best to offer the illusion of comforting routine, even if it's just a lie. And she can tell that Lavellan appreciates it when she starts spending more time in the rookery, away from all those pitying, sympathetic gazes.
Varric:
He has no right to judge; hell, he and Bianca are just about the worst example of how to handle love. It doesn't stop him from wanting to punch Solas every time he sees him in the rotunda, buried in his books as though nothing's happened, as though he didn't just put Lavellan through months of hell. All the pent up stress does lead to some great chapters of his next serial, though. He should probably thank Chuckles for that. He doesn't, putting pen to paper as though the pages themselves did him some great disservice.
Vivienne:
She has made her disapproval clear to Inquisitor Lavellan. Solas has again put them all in terrible danger, and should be punished for his transgressions. But privately, she has to concede that she and Dorian would be hopelessly outmatched trying to piece together bits of elven ritual and knowledge that come to the trickster as easily as breathing. Inquisitor Lavellan asks her to keep an eye on Solas as he works, and that she does, silent as a statue, committing everything he does to memory. She doesn't say a word to him. She doesn't have to; they both know what she would say if she deigned to spare the breath.
Dorian:
He is careful to hold his tongue around Solas after Lavellan's furious outburst at the two of them; the Maker can take him straight to the Void if he contributes to her pain on top of whatever Solas has already done. He distracts her gamely, and is relieved to see that she can still genuinely laugh and smile despite everything that's happened. Despite knowing he'll be rather rubbish at it, he offers to teach her Tevene, and she throws herself into the task with such enthusiasm that he can't help but try harder for her sake.
Lavellan:
She plays chess in her head against an imaginary opponent. Runs through Vivienne's etiquette lessons for the thousandth time; practice does make perfect. She even recites the Chant of Light in her mind, though her ability to put the words to the chanted song is rudimentary at best. It quickly becomes tedious, but it helps to hold her together for those few seconds where she has to talk to Solas each day. She wants to scream at him, embrace him, shake him and demand an explanation, but she knows it's no use. What she wants isn't important, has never been important in the grand scheme of things. She is Inquisitor, and when she talks to him in that calm, practiced tone, it's all she has ever been.
Solas:
He had braced himself for her anger, her disappointment, a barrage of questions he couldn't possibly answer to her satisfication. But looking into those bright eyes and seeing nothing at all was infinitely worse. He knows the girl he still loves is in there, hiding behind the porcelain mask of courtesy. He can see glimpses of her when she laughs at Varric's jokes, or teases Dorian for singing his armor. But as soon as she catches sight of him, the walls are back, and the brilliant spirit that drew him from his solitude vanishes. It kills him by inches, looking at that polite mask over her face, knowing he helped put it there.
Cole:
He doesn't understand why they won't speak except empty, hollow words. Solas hurts, so badly it feels like coming apart at the seams, longing for light even as he drowns in darkness. He counts birds against the sun though it blinds. And Lavellan hides, her mind an endless maze that keeps her safe. The bright part of her wants to touch him, tugging against the fear that traps her inside. He wants to help, and he doesn't know why it won't work.
Retour en haut
Well, work in progress.
