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[harillen]

[He takes Dasha's hand, holding it loosely in his own. With light, curious fingers, he probes the Anchor. There is, of course, nothing amiss to be found. No foul play. No strangeness.

Releasing Dasha's hand, he steps back, clasping both of his behind his back.]

Inquisitor. [He says it with much reluctance but also a small measure of relief.] What a curious situation we've found ourselves in.

[propheretic]

[Solas's tone takes Dasha back to the earliest days of the Inquisition, when Dasha had to fight for every bit of consideration from everyone around him. Particularly Solas.]

Oh, yes. Entirely unimaginable. Just like everything else I've seen in the past few months.

[He sighs.]

Can I ask you something?

[harillen]

[Dasha knows the way to the cranky old man's heart. At the question, Solas's ears flick forward with interest.]

Of course. I will do my best to answer.

[propheretic]

What was the last thing you said to -- to the person you knew as the Inquisitor?

[harillen]

That her actions were shortsighted and lacked depth of thought.

[propheretic]

And what actions were those?

[harillen]

[He takes a deep breath, as if that will steady him.]

She sacrificed the mages to the templars, allowing the latter to remain an order, unchecked. Instead of recognizing the danger presented by the Wardens of Orlais, she let them stay, let them aide the Inquisition. [His lips curl in a sneer.] She is petty, vindictive, acting without forethought or any consideration. Her motives are selfish, and her actions benefit no one but her.

[propheretic]

I see. [gently.] I don't have much in common with her, I don't think.

[harillen]

[This catches him off guard.

Then, as though it's a revelation:] There is no reason you would be like her.

[propheretic]

I can't comment on my own personality, of course. But most of those decisions don't sound like the ones I made. And -- more importantly -- that wasn't the last thing you said to me.

[harillen]

And what was that?

[He's smart enough to be wary.]

[propheretic]

[Unclench, Solas. Dasha mutters; he had a lot of steam before, but now he's starting to feel a bit awkward.]

Well -- you, or, the you that I knew ... we were friends, that's all.

[harillen]

[This surprises him.]

I... [And now he doesn't know quite what to say.] Your decisions, Inquisitor. What were they?

[propheretic]

I recruited the rebel mages as full allies, for one thing. I had little to do with the templars, aside from the ones stuffed full of red lyrium.

[harillen]

And what did you do with those? [His smile is almost wolfish.]

[propheretic]

[That's a little eager. Dasha frowns.]

Due to the 'stuffed full of red lyrium' problem, we had to kill most of them.

[harillen]

[This pleases him.

Probably more than is strictly normal. Or socially acceptable.]

And the Wardens?

[propheretic]

[He sighs.]

Given that they are our best defense against the darkspawn, I put them back to work. I know why you'd want the harshest punishment possible, but they were already in disarray. And -- also because of me -- leaderless.

[harillen]

[He lifts one sardonic brow.]

Well, no one can be perfect.

[propheretic]

[Oh, for fuck's sake.]

The Inquisition has repeatedly shown me how true that is.

[harillen]

[Piously:] Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.

[propheretic]

[Too much, bro, just too much.]

Are you quoting Chantry scripture at me?

[harillen]

It's pretty enough, provided one doesn't linger too long on it. Are you not a believer, Herald?

[propheretic]

[Flatly.]

No.

[harillen]

[He laughs. The quiet, snorty one.]

That is wise.

[He almost speaks but reconsiders, passing a moment in silence.] And the Well?