Dread Wolf Walking

RIP Rook 🤣

Headcanon nonsense:

Seeing as Rook’s trouble with bells on, and Lucanis has a pretty great sense of humor himself - These two make a longstanding game out of teasing the absolute shit out of one another. The more ridiculous the reaction, the better. So, goofy shit like this happens frequently. (You won this round, Dellamorte .)

Solas: You did what?!

As he was listening to a tale that had made Thedas what it was, he noticed how vulnerable Solas was, from the eyes down, from his hands so tight he thought he was going to break the table. This was not the man he had first met 10 years ago. This was someoen who never had a chance to live, only served and tried his best to fix behaviours that weren't his to fix.

There was a beauty in the tragedy that was spoken before him. His heart tightened. Old longings were coming back. He wanted to hold him, he wanted to show him that he was not alone , in a way he knew how. Dorian , however, did not move. Scared to scare a delicate creature away. And he did not hold Solas' heart. As Cole told him - in passing - Dorian did not have the right ears. So he never pursuit whatever brewed in his heart, despite longing to . So , he simply always engaged in highly technical magical questions and debates. So he could enjoy how animated and with a hidden excitement Solas explained his views of the world.

There was no excitement at all now. Only a bitterness for all involved. At the end of his explanation, Dorian rached a hand to put it on Solas'. " Solas, you were faced with impossible odds, and tasked to find a way to fix it. You did the best you could with what you knew at the time. " The mage licked his lips. "Do you remember, when I apologized for Arlathan...what you said to me ? " he asked. His blue eyes were still on his friend, warm, still not seeing him as an opposing force. "Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more innocent tan your own Tevinter in its time." he repeated, Solas' voice echoing in his mind. " Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless. " He paused. "Then you told me that if I wisehd to make amends for past transgressions, to free the slaves of all races who lived in Tevinter...I wasn't sure I could...and you said...how sorry was I ?"

A small smile painted itself on his lips. "I did ...free the slaves. " He squeezed his hands. Yes Solas had put him on that path. He wanted to share this with him. However, he also wanted to remind him of his own words. " You were gone for a 1000 years , you never had a chance to live your real life, Solas. What mankind did , what the elves have become , those are the choices of past generations - not yours. If you think like this, then the creator of all things should be blamed to have created all - this realm - the fade- the spirits. "

He let go of his hand. "Solas, I forgive you - I know you can't forgive yourself. If you must tear down the veil, then please do it for the future, not for the ghosts forming the shadow of your guilt behind you. "

Hindsight had always been sharper for Solas, though that was a convenient excuse. He had not been oblivious. He remembered the lingering glances—some of them shared—and the double entendres dressed up as clever quips.

Cole had seen it too. He had practically begged Solas to let him help, to let him reach deeper and share the pain so Cole might soften the edges of Dorian’s confusion. He never did. Maybe Solas had been right to spare him the agony of this moment, it was painful enough without the burden of a deeper intimacy. Or perhaps it had been easier to build a wall from the sins of Dorian’s ancestors than to let himself see the man behind it.

Who was he to judge Dorian for lingering on past regrets? Maybe the truth was that Solas avoided that particular mirror because he knew he would not like the reflection. It was too easy to see his own flaws. Cowardice. Like with so many other things. Dorian deserved better. He had proven it, not that he ever should have needed to.

But none of these confessions mattered. Not anymore. Maybe in another life, something brilliant might have existed between them. Solas had ruined this one.

Yet here Dorian still was, hand on his, offering him comfort when, if anything, the roles ought to be reversed. Who was he to be soothed? Much less forgiven.

The sentiment was kind but hollow to him. Forgiveness was not Dorian’s to give, nor Solas’ to grant himself. These regrets were meant to be carried, borne like millstones around his neck until they crushed him. It was only right.

If he could not atone, he could at least suffer.

Here, again, was the mirror Dorian held up to him. This time, Solas did not look away. His eyes found Dorian's again. Solas remembered the conversation, of course. And he had been right then—nostalgia was pointless. As was wallowing when it was time to act. He would carry his regrets, but he could not let them sideline necessity.

He was almost reluctant to give up the comforting weight of Dorian's hand, but he offered no protest. His fingers curled inward slightly, a gesture to self-soothe, as he pulled himself back to composure.

"Thank you, Dorian. I... have never made anything easy for you. I would acknowledge that, at least." He dipped his head in a vague motion, as if nodding to words unsaid.

"But I have always admired your resolve for change, your defiance against what others deem immovable. And you are right, as you often have been. It is a mistake to walk forward while looking back." He pressed his lips into a thin line, a tense, tired smile. The best he could do.

Varric, very early in the game, also refers to Solas as "sentimental." He says to Rook, "He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals."

There's something very interesting about the elven god of lies and deceit, who unwillingly wears his heart on his sleeve, essentially creating a new version of the world in which all sources of raw, magical *emotion* that, according to him, used to imbue it with so much life and beauty have been compartmentalized from the more brutish, harsh aspects of the physical world. Because he, himself, has had to do this very thing to his own heart. He's "split." A very cool archetype. When he tells the Inquisitor to "harden her heart to a cutting edge" in Inquisition, he is projecting. Solas has built a "veil" within himself, to protect his more stern, militaristic identity as The Dread Wolf from the effusive, soft, and intelligent man that is Solas. It's the only way he can get anything done. Perhaps we should more aptly call him the god of stoicism and compartmentalization.

It's also interesting how well characters like Varric seem to know Solas, because it communicates that Solas did open up to the people of the Inquisition, during which time he "played the role" of quiet, unassuming Fade mage. Perhaps this wasn't a role at all, however, and perhaps this is why he is failing so spectacularly now. Who he really is is just this man who fell in love and made friends and found a home within a community where he did not have to cut off his emotions in order to lead. This was the "breach" in his plans, so to speak. It tore his world apart.

The whole story of Veilguard actually starts because Varric knows he can appeal to Solas's emotions and that this has a high chance of working to some degree. It's important to remember that while Varric didn't change Solas's mind at the ritual site, he was able to keep Solas talking long enough for Rook to sabotage his plans. Solas entertains Varric's pleas, because, sort of as Rook guesses with Lavellan at the Cobbled Swan, in some ways, Solas wants to be stopped. He wants someone to pull the reins on him because he is too prideful to stop himself.

Thinking back to Trespasser, I remember we all sort of knew this right away just in reading his body language. I remember someone making a whole post about it, and how he will not allow her to get too close to him. When she approaches, he takes a very measured step back. And later, as he takes the anchor, a task which requires him to take her hand, we see exactly why this is. He breaks down, calls her his "love," and kisses her. He is so stern and so measured and in "control," but then, all it takes is a single touch from the woman to whom he showed a glimpse of his true heart, his true self, to bring him to his knees.

However, it is extremely unlikely that this is what Jacinta was referencing, as the government frequently swears at Australian citizens in its comms if it wants to signal the message is serious.