( CLOSED ) i am tearing in revolution

[dirth]

WHO: Solas and Thranduil
WHAT: Elfy stuff
WHEN: After the leadership meeting, before the mod plot
WHERE: Thranduil's office
NOTES: Sad elves

Solas had not expected the pain of the mission.

He had not expected the Sentinels any more than he had expected the Crossroads to be as beautiful as they are. His memories of them are brighter, broader, of course - they were his home, his pathways, his life before the Veil had come and separated Thedas from the Fade - and he misses them with an intensity that must have been painted on his face the entire time. There are knots in his stomach and he is well aware that agony must be painted on his face; he cannot disguise how much this pains him.

Surely the others must be able to tell, but they must think it nothing more than the pain of an elf who adores his history - the true history, not the one the Dalish cling to with messy attempts at reclaiming their culture. A sour part of him is glad Sorrel was there, able to witness some of the truth of the world.

He does not knock as he steps into Thranduil's office - the other man will surely be expecting him now. Instead, he slips inside and closes the door behind him, locks it, and comes to sit in a chair, wilting and tired now that he is in private, now that he must not pretend to be simply Solas. Fen'Harel beats in his chest and he cannot deny how much it hurts now, to see what has become of the People.

"I know them. In my heart, I know them."

Comments

[rowancrowned]

“It was beautiful,” he says, and he sinks into remembrance so easily, something falling over his expression like a curtain settling after being blown by the breeze. “My lord’s kingdom had rivers cutting through it full of fresh, clean water, and the trees grew so tall as to touch the heavens. I was born there, as were my mother and father, my sister and my brother, and we knew peace, and comfort, and safety. I would have not—I was to become no more than a steward, a musician if I showed an inclination to it. I did not know of Men, for they were not yet discovered.”

He does not drink. His hold on the glass is tight.

“And then everything changed in the span of a century. Dwarves murdered my lord king for greed, Galadriel’s kin slew the next and his wife and children, then came after the survivors of that massacre. With my lord king dead, his wife who had held our realm in safety crumpled in her grief, and evil invaded. To stop that, armies came from the West to fight him. They sank the whole of Beleriand under the sea. All I had known was gone.”

He tips the glass, emptying the contents out the window. He has lost his taste for it.

“My father had fled with his household, else we too would have died. He had lost his wife and one of his children, and had no desire to expose those remaining under his protection to either the Noldor or the evil that yet lurked. So he found others of the same persuasion and Eryn Galen rose out of all that ash. We rebuilt, and we learned from our mistakes. You have the same chance, Solas."

[dirth]

Solas sits and he listens and he feels the agony of something familiar and dangerous, pressing against his heart and making him feel old and tired. He is too far gone for this place, too many years pressing on his shoulders, too much making him feel as though he cannot breathe sometimes. It's too much for Thranduil to understand, surely, even if he has felt something similar; the guilt does not compare, he thinks. It cannot.

He stares at his own wine.

"I understand the feeling," he admits quietly, voice soft and quiet. "The world before the Veil was more beautiful than you could imagine. The anger between myself and the Evanuris was something intense, something that spanned the world itself, but... It was something that had to be done. I would not see my people in chains any longer. The markings, the servitude, the worship..."

Bowing his head, he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I would not have that be repeated."