So Gareth did his part! I have added it onto Alix's video! So just keep watching and Gareth will read his part which is a direct answer to Alix's dialogue! It is from Chapter 26: Disciples of Lust, Lies and Power
I hope you all enjoy this much as me! Happy Valentine's Day y'all! This has been a seven year long dream. I have another cameo from Alix that I will post soon, and let me tell you. She took no prisoners! Haha!
Inquisitor Lavellan-“I learned how to use my Pawns by watching you. I learned …how to sacrifice good soldiers to gain ground, I learned how to deny life to afford my own, and I learned how to stash all the guilt away by tossing it under the greater good. Because the only thing that mattered was stopping Corypheus and no one would ever dare to blame me for what I had to do.”
“But, I suppose in the end…I learned from the best."
Solas- “The Dalish and the City Elves are descended from those that I freed. History does not always remember fondly…or accurately. The louder voices linger longer and surface above the rest. If you let them in you will crumble under the edifice of malcontent they have built for you. Take pride in what you have done, Vhenan, even if it is only you that does.
You are as relentless as a hurricane and despite your ferocity, I have always admired your lightning."
That thing about Solas and the Inquisitor’s kid was going around again, so I felt like writing another one. Solas deserves to have his stupid plans be called out by children. :P
Adaia Ashalle Cyris and Tamlen
...
“What does hooey mean?”
“What does-” Dorian’s approaching voice cut off, a sigh echoing down the spiral staircase. “Spell it for me, won’t you?”
“H-u-e,” the other voice replied, serious in the particularly earnest fashion only a child could be.
“Hue,” Dorian clarified. “It means a shade of color that has not had any black or white added to it– a pure color.”
The voices were approaching the rotunda, which could only mean one thing. Dorian was trying to escape. Resigned, Solas reached for the book he was reading and slid a scrap of paper between the pages, closing it. Not a suitable volume for a very prying da’len to be looking at.
“Is blue a hue? Is purple a hue?” the child’s voice asked doggedly. Much like her words, as Dorian appeared in the archway, the small elven girl behind him was following like a tail. Perniciously close.
“Yes, blue and purple are hues– oh look! It’s your Hahren! He’s so much better at fielding endless inquiries than I am,” Dorian lightly touched the girl’s shoulder, propelling her past him into the rotunda. Solas gave him a flat look, and Dorian made a pleading gesture from behind the Inquisitor’s eldest daughter, clasping his hands together. “Well! This has been a marvelous hour, but I’m afraid I must be off to…report. To Josephine. About something I’m sure I’ll think of by the time I get there.”
The mage beat a hasty retreat.
Adaia half-turned to watch him go, solemn golden eyes thoughtful. Her expressions were much like her mother’s, pensive in rest. But behind the small frown was a six-year-old child possessed of a near-bottomless well of questions, as curious as her younger siblings were in their own unique ways. Solas folded his hands together, watching as she clutched the worn book in her arms to her chest, tucking her chin atop it.
“Are there many words you don’t know in your book today, da’len?”
She pivoted to face him, hugging the book a bit tighter. “Yes. It’s not a learning book, Hahren.”
“There are no books in this world, da’len, that do not have something to teach. What is it about?”
“Poems,” she said without pronouncing the ‘e’, approaching him with one last glance over her shoulder. Her Dalish dress of brightly patterned, hand-woven cloth was rather dusty; she’d been digging through the depths of the shelves again. “Is Dor’an mad?”
“No, da’len, he enjoys being exasperated. That means frustrated.”
She shot him a look so dubiously suspicious that Solas had to stifle a laugh. Adaia shook her head at him soberly, chin-length brown hair swinging. Her voice was dictating but patient, as if he’d said something foolish. “People don’t like being mad.”
“Everyone is different. In this case, though, I believe he likes to pretend to be mad. Do you like the poems?” He took the book as she handed it to him, examining it with curiosity. Verses of Nature; he knew instantly why she’d chosen it. Ada had a particular fascination with insects and plants. The little one leaned against the arm of his chair, arms barely able to reach to fold atop it.
Adaia rested her chin in the hollow between her arms and chest, staring up at him with a penetrating air. “No,” she admitted with a charming frankness. “I like books about bones and mushrooms but there arn’t anymore. The poemtry don’t make sense. D’you like poems?”
“Poetry,” he corrected out of habit, but didn’t correct her grammar. Solas carefully opened the aged book, holding it so both he and the small child could look at it together. It seemed to be a collection of nature poetry. “Well, it may not be about bones, but butterflies and waterfalls. Those are interesting things as well, da’len.”
“Where are the butterflies?”
“In the poem it says they are on the flowers, do you see?” Solas asked, pointing to the stanza.
“No.” Frustration touched her voice and expression, and the little one gave a small huff, lips pursing mulishly. “Not no seeing. I see it. The butterflies are dancing on the– the…”
“Roseate,” Solas supplied. He took a moment to consider his audience, and then chose his explanation. “Which means pink. Pink like the dawn. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
“Yes,” she dismissed. Still, she repeated the word as if imprinting it on her memory. Which, knowing Adaia, she was. “Rosey-ate blooms. Blooms means flowers. Pink flowers. It don’t say where.”
“You wish to know where the butterflies can be found?” he asked, understanding dawning. When she nodded ferociously, he smiled. “This is a poetry book, da’len. It is for learning about feelings, not learning where to find butterflies.”
Owlish amber eyes stared at him with a gaze as penetrating as a dagger. “Why?”
Once again faced with the eternal question, Solas sympathized with Dorian’s hasty retreat. He knew the Tevinter mage was exceedingly fond of the serious, inquisitive girl, so she must have been at it for quite some time. “Do you remember when your siblings were babies, da’len? Did they often cry?”
“Mamae says babies are learning the world. It’s scary an’ new. That’s why they cry.”
“What an excellent way to put it!” he agreed, not surprised that Inquisitor Mahariel had so concisely explained things to her daughter. He had watched the way she spoke to her children, and it was much the same way she spoke to adults– simple, concise, and to the point. “As we grow older, we learn there are many, many more things in the world than we ever knew. There will always be new things to learn.”
Ada shot him a dubious look. “Even Hahren?”
“Even Hahren,” he reassured her, finding that more true by the day. “When you learn something new, do you like to share it with people?” He asked, already knowing the answer that her sturdy nod affirmed. “When people feel things, they also like to share them. That is what poems are for.”
“An’ babies?”
“When a baby is born, it only knows to cry when it is feeling new things, yes?”
“Yes,” Adaia said with a tinge of disgust. She shook her head with a roll of her eyes, in a rather impressive mimicry of her father Darian. “One time, one time Tamlen fell, but he wan’t hurt, an’ he cried anyways. Cried an’ cried.”
“What did your parent do?” he inquired, rather than drawing her away from that tangent.
“Papa,” she corrected him firmly. “He picked up Tamlen an’ he threw him in the air.”
It wasn’t the point he had been intending to make, but the da’len was, after all, only six years old, and there were limitations to a child’s comprehension. “By throwing him in the air it made him happy. Does looking at butterflies make you happy?”
Adaia’s lips pursed into a line as she seriously considered his question. Her hands reached out, and she took the book from him again. Solas relinquished it in silence, the pages rustling as Ada flipped through them. He could practically see her putting together thoughts in her head, fitting together the pieces of their discussion into a wholly new conclusion. It was a fascinating thing.
Granted, often the conclusion she came to…
“Poems are for reading when you crying,” she decided.
…was vastly different from the one he would expect.
“At times,” he agreed, fighting back the urge to try and explain the nuance to her.
“An’ you cry because things are un’aspected,” she finished.
Well.
That was a more insightful statement than he was anticipating. “Yes. When you feel new things, writing or reading a poem can help you learn about those feelings. Do you understand?”
“I already know butterflies,” she decided, closing the book emphatically. “It’s not un’aspected.”
“But do you know how to say how you feel when you see a butterfly? Could you write a poem to tell me how you feel about butterflies?”
“Happy,” she said, closing the book emphatically. “There!”
“Hmm?”
“There I said it,” Adaia declared, standing on her tip-toes to drop the book on his desk. She dusted off her hands, and then thumped her fists on her hips. “It’s easy, Hahren.”
Solas chuckled, amused. “But could you say it in a poem, da’len?”
Ada stared at him, and then abruptly turned and bolted out of the rotunda, bare feet slapping across the floor. In confusion, he watched the colorful little blur disappear. Well. Perhaps she’d tired of the conversation. It had never happened before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.
With a glance at the book of poetry, he went back to his own reading, shaking his head lightly.
He could not help but feel he’d done a poor job of explaining himself.
Solas had thought that was the end of the conversation, but after dinner a messy, wrinkled piece of paper had been left on his desk. It appeared to have been written in charcoal, and a great many words had been smudged by a small hand. Still, it was legible enough, and all the words were spelled correctly– likely someone had helped her.
It read:
There are butterflies in Amaranthine
They are white and some are blue
Daddy and Papa took me up up up the mountain
The butterflies are not here
The sky is blue
The clouds are white
I am only a little sad because
I can see the butterfly colors in the sky
There are no fireflies in the mountain
At night there are stars
So I will not cry
Solas read it over several times. Strange, the sudden uneasiness he felt from the child’s simple, bare words. It was an echo of the pain of many a long and sleepless night, thinking of what must be done, and what was to come for him, for this world...
And for the shadows that remained.
A child’s innocent verse about missing butterflies should not rouse such emotion within him. Unwilling to examine his own feelings, he put it away. Still, it haunted him, and he went outside to clear his head in the night air, he stared at the stars that flickered in the darkness and thought of the shadows. The echoes.
I did it again. Alix and Gareth read their parts expertly. I am well...shocked at their proficiency with the little direction I was able to fit into the text box. I think writhed on the floor for a solid 30 minutes and sobbed with happiness. I never thought one day I would hear my lines stated back to me from the voice actors I greatly admire and respect. I think this actually made my entire year. To be honest, I was a little nervous sending in Gareth's line. It was and probably still remains the most controversial Solas line I have written. I am a dark!solas kind of gal and I like to explore the darker side of him. These lines are not direct replies to each other but they are from the same conversation in the same chapter. If you wish to read in full I will post a link at the bottom! :)
Inquisitor Lavellan-
“It’s an excuse. A lofty ideal you can hide behind. Freedom is just the curtain you’ll pull over your malformed face. Tell me, Solas, for it will only make it easier for me---”
“Are you to become just another creature I put down? Dragons, Titans, and Would-be Gods.”
“Should I add you to the list? Is that what I should do with my freedom ?”
“I have nothing left to lose. Not even you .”
Solas-
"I've explained this countless times, yet the content relayed did not suit the palate of your ears. I will confide in you this wisdom, for it is as true as it is harsh, and perhaps this time, as we stand on the precipice of this new world, you will understand. So, listen well.”
“It's not genocide if they're not real.”
“Those that die are only the hollow mimicry of once was. Your hesitation stems from the very fact that you have not known anything else."
“Solas and I were…its complicated.” Moon’Hwa stared off, her eyes piercing a hole through the wall behind Elle, and her expression subdued into a distant and haunted look. But Sahma’el understood what wasn’t spoken. She had seen enough escorts in the brothels fall for people they could never have, and they too carried the same features of hopelessness.
Sahma’el sent a scathing glare to Varric, “You cast me in the middle of this to settle their domestic dispute?!”
“Listen Elle—” Varric reasoned.
“I have a grand idea, why don’t I drag you to his lair, present you to him with my knife pointed at your dainty little throat?” Sahma’el pushed her sheathed dagger under Moon’Hwa’s chin, “This will get’ him to think twice about tearing the veil down.”
The former Inquisitor’s mouth raised into a smirk, a spark returning to her violet eyes as they swung up to meet Elle’s,
Sundered under the coifed cloud bank, the moon never made an appearance. But one could still feel its luminant presence, faintly pressing against the stained-glass windows. Afterall it was still in its rightful place high up in the sky. Not too dissimilar to how Leliana had described my predicament. Rightful place. I hugged my knees, seated in my overwhelming armchair by the churning fire. This is what my rightful place looked like. Tormented in all this grandeur, all to preserve the façade that I never left to give birth to a bastard.
I was a mother, but I couldn’t be. Not today, not yesterday, not three years down the line. Not Andraste’s Chosen, she could be afforded no blemish, for she was devoid of mortal temptations. I saw it in their faces, the measured disappointment, barely concealed by the shadows of their veils, for the sisters of the small chantry down the mountain knew of my mistake. They pulled her out of me screaming and kicking. The Herald was undeserving of the title, of Andraste’s blessing, for the beloved Herald was more mortal than divine.
Three days later Leliana dragged me back to Skyhold, to my Rightful Place.
To dry up, slim down and act like nothing was amiss.
Two weeks later I had hardly moved from this spot. I allowed the weight of my head to descend to my knees and tightened my grip around my legs. The binding around my stomach pinching and digging into my organs. I didn’t care. I felt so empty.
Reports stacked on my desk untouched, requests for help overflowed from my drawer, summons from Divine Victoria were delivered to me over and over unread, but I just didn’t care.
I should be with her, nursing her myself, holding her, bathing her. Instead, I languished here with achy leaking breasts and suffocating bindings, while Leliana and Josephine devised a plan for damage control.
Leliana wasn’t sure I should keep her. She suggested I let a small chantry in the ass-end of Orlais take her in. Then no one could prove her likeness to me. We argued, we fought, we debated, we both begged. But I couldn’t give up the last piece of Solas I could still cling to.
“I once knew of a gifted archer that trespassed into power she wasn’t prepared to inherit. The impact of her greed still afflicts this world.”
“If only you could see her now. The search alone will ruin you. I welcome you to it.”
“You may be mad, Nightingale, but you are not under its duress. At least, not yet. Pray to your Maker it remains that way.”
In my vision for DA4 I had always dreamed of a scenario where Leliana and Solas faced off, two brilliant minds pinned against one another. In this version, Leliana has been hardened and she leans into her more ruthless attributes. Thus she hunts the Red Lyrium Idol. In so doing Solas compares her pursuits to Andruil.
Gareth read this off beautifully. It was wonderful to receive it on my Birthday.
"You are a mere babe suckling upon the teat of self importance, all invented by Mythal. What is a dog without a master?"
Solas met Elgar'nan's stormy gaze with his own.
"Free."
But the God above swiped at the air with measured fury, a single finger peaked from a closed fist as he accused the man beneath, casting a long shadow over Solas's face. "And any stray foolish enough to entertain ambition, becomes a wolf. What does one do with the wolf? Kill it." He sneered with grinding teeth.
Lavellan- “I thought you said the Vallaslin is the mark of a slave? To which god do you worship in this graveyard of stars?
You are a slave to your purpose, to your pride, to your wolf you keep shrouded in the Fade. Am I the one pretending? Or is it you?”
Solas- "I am bound to no one. This act you parade. It is unbecoming of the one who gave my wolf shape.”
You didn’t fool me with the sex, Moon’Hwa, nor with your false concern. Tell me, when you failed to kill me with the scissors, was that merely cowardice or did you drown in your own facade? I am not the fool here.”
This was rearranged from the original for the voicing and for convenance sake. An excerpt is posted below.
“Enough pretending.” Solas admonished, his voice was composed of bitterness and spite.
I observed his profile with measured confidence and asked again, “Who am I trying to fool? The god who knows everything?” I reluctantly lowered the jar of honey to rest on a nearby shelf, the last thing I would want to happen is to drop my father’s labors, lest a confrontation erupts.
Solas released the amulet, glanced at his hand, specifically the constellation he had embedded into it, and flexed it.
“This act you parade. It is unbecoming of the one who gave my wolf shape.” He grabbed my right hand and pushed his marked palm into mine. He searched my eyes, “A curious finger trespassed into crimson paint. One which did not belong to me.” He withdrew his palm methodically, his long digits lingering on the fold of my index finger. “I did not know you had an affinity for murals as well.”
“No,” I affirmed. “I don’t know.” I had nothing left to lose. Lying felt easier than cowering to the truth. I wouldn’t allow him one more win. Even if the biggest lie was made to that of myself, I would throw it back in his face and rub it in for good measure.
As he pulled away, I dug my nails into his wrist and held it aloft. “I thought you said the Vallaslin is the mark of a slave? To which god do you worship in this graveyard of stars?” I sneered, shaking his arm for emphasis.
"I am bound to no one.” He growled, yanking his arm back.
“You are a slave to your purpose, to your pride, to your wolf you keep shrouded in the Fade. Am I the one pretending? Or is it you ?”
“You didn’t fool me with the sex, Moon’Hwa, nor with your false concern. Tell me, when you failed to kill me with the scissors, was that merely cowardice or did you drown in your own facade? I am not the fool here.”
All rebuttals fled from the vengeance of my mind, and any words left behind clotted in my throat, instead I was left with a stewing pot of rage with nowhere to direct it. I could only offer him my quaking closed fists.
Solas waited, expectation pulling at his stony frown. He wrapped the excess of the blindfold around his arm and held the other end with his left. “There are…concepts that should remain unknown to you. For your own sake, and for mine .” The last word framed with a fragilely constructed sigh.
“What is left out there to maim my opinion of you?” I murmured, biting my cheek to suppress anything else born out of my rage.
Anyways having them read lines from my story brings forth the absolute joy. I am so grateful to the both of them for amusing my little dreams. These two have no idea but they are my guiding light out of this prevailing dark tunnel. I never knew grief could be so overwhelming. But these little lines remind me of what I could be again. That there is still joy to be found in all this ruin and darkness.
