secretsandhushedwhispers:
  “The demon itself isn’t the problem, it’s me. I can’t control how I feel and faking that I’m okay will only make things worse. So what do I do? Stay depressed and stressed? The only thing that would help his not being Inquisitor, but I can’t do that.” Eon ran a hand through his loose hair. His wrist rubbed up against his horn, making Eon take a moment to step back from the situation. He traced his nail along the groove in the center of his horn. They were his pride. One of the few things he liked about himself. Doing this helped him calm himself.
  Eon sat forward once again, looking at the fire for a brief moment before he looked back to Solas. “There is one other option I was considering. I have doubts everyone would allow me to go through with it though.” There was little logical reason for others to be against his idea. The logical part was the reason people hated it. Eon would no longer be Eon afterwards– the only defining parts of him that remain would be his body and his past.
  “One demon has already attempted to possess me in the past. As a mage, I run more of risk to getting possessed than others. As Inquisitor, the risk is heightened still. Since I suffer from depression, it makes this particular demon more of a threat to me. Even you could only help me so much.” Eon knew he shouldn’t even mention it to Solas, figuring the other might be angry at it. But it was still only one of his options. None of the options were optimal. At least this one had the best chance for his survival.
  Eon worked up the courage internally just to say it. After shaking his head and rubbing his head together, he let out a sigh and hoped the words would roll off his tongue.
  “I’m debating on going through with the Rite of Tranquility.”
  It was that tingle of discomfort at the base of his spine that ALERTED him to what words may follow; an atmosphere that had moments prior seemed to be LIFTING only thickened to stifle them both, like an inescapable humidity stealing away breath. Hardly the anxious type, but Solas found himself subtly FIDGETING while heeding his inquisitor’s admissions, and it was a sharp focus on the crackling flames that kept him ROOTED. He knew, without having to hear but a MURMUR, a statement upon that horizon would be the very LAST thing he desired to hear.
  He did not SHOUT. No EXCLAMATION despite the minute JOLT beneath his ribs otherwise urging a sound up his throat. In fact, void of proper ATTENTION, it would almost appear as though the apostate hadn’t a single reaction at all. The barely recognizable crinkle of his brows was visible only by the numerous shadows a campfire weaved across every stitch of his face, and even then, how SLIGHT it was. It was in long-suffering SILENCE he speculated how to REACT--not necessarily what instinct commanded, but what would best AID his friend in need.
  Likely SCOLDING him before that final breath even left his lips was rather the WORST option.
  So, calm, STOIC as he persistently PAINTED himself to be, he spoke in a lower timbre, twitching fingers closing around a knee he had propped up. “I understand you are AFRAID, Inquisitor--and for reasons only a FOOL would not be--but time has granted evidence of your rationality in situations which BEG for it; the head you carry on your shoulders is more secure than many I’ve encountered, and most of which are burdened with significantly less than you. Debate as you will, I advise you not to act RASHLY, lest you fall deeper into a hole from which you cannot ESCAPE. You are far from exhausting all OTHER options.”
  Never did those eyes venture back to Eon’s face, a resolute stare on the dwindling flames he no longer STOKED. “Inquisitor”--Solas gently shook his head--“we need you as you are NOW; I ask for nothing ELSE, because I would not have you CHANGE. Let me HELP you.”