this town is only going to get worse.

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil and Solas / Adalia / Finch / Loki
WHAT: Catch-all log for July.
WHEN: Current, slight backdating to pre-negotiations.
WHERE: Various locations among Kirkwall, Skyhold.
NOTES: None applicable.

Comments

[rowancrowned]

"You have the Inquisition at your back," he says, which it true and very different from having it at his command. Beleth Ashara wields more effective power than he does; he is under the authority of three different people, including Thranduil himself (who chafes, occasionally, at being under the command of Skyhold). But it is not at cross-purposes, even if it is occasionally slow.

"We will speak of it later," he says. Let the thought sit. They can refine it at their leisure.

He stands, a slow unfolding of his height, and goes to the windows, to peer out at the harbor around his curtains.

"I leave in the morning for Minrathous."

[dirth]

"For now," Solas admits, low and quiet. "They are not my friends. I know well enough that the Inquisition sees me as a means to aid them in their ventures. I am useful to them, for my knowledge, for what I can give." He's well aware of that. They don't question him as long as he is managing to help them, as long as he is useful, and that's what Solas uses as a means of protecting himself. He keeps himself safe by being exactly what they need.

Solas watches as Thranduil stands, tilting his head, watching. His friend is weighed with as much as Solas himself is, and he knows it.

Frowning, he shakes his head, tense.

"I will not be joining. I have no desire to see what became of the People in Tevinter."

[rowancrowned]

Thranduil turns to look at him, fingertips pulling the curtain back to reveal the night sky, the stars.

"Instead you will see them at the Arlathvhen. I am very nearly jealous."

But there is the matter of Gwenaelle, and the upcoming conversion. Still, he would have liked to see it once, and been comforted by it.

"I fear I will sleep poorly tonight," he admits, letting the curtain slip past his fingers, and coming back to stand before the fireplace. "Will you be able to find me in the Fade, even when I am in Tevinter?"

[dirth]

"Those are not the People. They are the Dalish."

It's what he does when he is cornered and whipped with our people or your people. He is not of the Dalish, he is not of their world, not of their ilk. He is of the People, beyond anything the Dalish could hope to achieve without his input, his stories, his power. They are adrift, blaming their sins on the shoulders of the one who freed them, and Solas loathes it.

He breathes out, focussing, forcing himself to be calm, to relax, to settle.

"I can come to you, if you wish it." It wouldn't be the most difficult thing and Solas knows his powers in Dreaming are beyond that of anyone's estimation. "I could find you anywhere, my friend, no matter how far you go."

[rowancrowned]

"Come to me," he says. "I will not beg for your attention for more than one night of all the time we will spend there, but I will see things that will horrify me, and I will not sleep easily."

Thranduil favors him with a smile, leonine in its contentedness.

"There is no one I would rather have at my back." He walks back to the chair, leans against the side of it, rests his hand on Solas' shoulder, the shard bright in the fading light. "If I am ever lost, I trust that you will find me and bring me home."

[dirth]

"I will come," Solas promises, his voice careful and gentle, never pressing nor demanding. "If one night is all you ask then I am more than able to give it. I would not deny you that."

The return smile is as soft, calming. He would not deny Thranduil much, he thinks, given their roles, their positions.

His own hand lifts to touch his, resting over the Anchor. He does not try to soothe it this time, only feels the light of power that should be his own, that is a curse and a blessing to so many.

"And I shall find you," he promises, careful, gentle. "If you call for me, my friend, I shall find you."