It's not an expression Solas can deny recognising; he knows how it feels, to choose to walk a path that will end in danger, destruction. He has been preparing for that path for a long time, aware of the price that he might have to pay each time he makes another step. Plan after plan falls around him and as he goes he recognises that the only options left to him might be drastic indeed.
"Time is all we can ask for, with the Inquisition as it is." Solas sees the Anchor shards and feels pained, knowing them for what they are, sparks of power that only he can control. It's good that few question why he has the knowledge, or consider it part and parcel of his understanding of the Fade, not considering the depths of his link to each shard that comes under his hands. "That Rifters are not recognised as people is a shame indeed, for I've seen better from them than I have many people born to this world."
It's something that he's still struggling with himself all the same. Rifters... To consider anyone of Thedas 'people' when they are so cut from the world, so different from what had once been, so very far from what Solas remembers... Personhood is not something he would be entirely willing to grace them with, even now, even with Thranduil and Galadriel and Adalia resting close to his heart.
"The Dalish have no love for me," Solas shakes his head, frowning. "They do not see the truth and deny their histories, their heritage. It does not come as a surprise that they deny you, too." The idea of the wedding, of conversion, of it all makes Solas frown, an intensity to it, something frustrated and uncomfortable, but... Thranduil has chosen his path. Solas knows well enough that he cannot likely dissuade him, no matter how strongly he disagrees.
"You are making many grievous choices." It's all he can say for a moment, back shifting to straighten, face tight. "But..." But. He breathes, bowing his head, eyes closed. "Remember your goals and do nothing that does not further them."
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"Time is all we can ask for, with the Inquisition as it is." Solas sees the Anchor shards and feels pained, knowing them for what they are, sparks of power that only he can control. It's good that few question why he has the knowledge, or consider it part and parcel of his understanding of the Fade, not considering the depths of his link to each shard that comes under his hands. "That Rifters are not recognised as people is a shame indeed, for I've seen better from them than I have many people born to this world."
It's something that he's still struggling with himself all the same. Rifters... To consider anyone of Thedas 'people' when they are so cut from the world, so different from what had once been, so very far from what Solas remembers... Personhood is not something he would be entirely willing to grace them with, even now, even with Thranduil and Galadriel and Adalia resting close to his heart.
"The Dalish have no love for me," Solas shakes his head, frowning. "They do not see the truth and deny their histories, their heritage. It does not come as a surprise that they deny you, too." The idea of the wedding, of conversion, of it all makes Solas frown, an intensity to it, something frustrated and uncomfortable, but... Thranduil has chosen his path. Solas knows well enough that he cannot likely dissuade him, no matter how strongly he disagrees.
"You are making many grievous choices." It's all he can say for a moment, back shifting to straighten, face tight. "But..." But. He breathes, bowing his head, eyes closed. "Remember your goals and do nothing that does not further them."