The revelation from Adalia shakes him, more than he is able to admit.
He had known that she had learned much from the Temple - many people had, with the spirits that had come to them, the journal from the priest, the whispers and the secrets of the People long dead and taken from this world. He had known they had escaped with knowledge that was beyond their imagining but familiar to him, and she had found the pieces of the world, tied in with the whispers he had given her, and learned more than he had estimated that she might.
He had given her too little credit, he thinks, underestimated her intelligence, what coming from another world might do to her, and now...
Now, for the first time in some time, he was something like afraid.
It's easy to slip through the city in the darkness, few people paying attention to an idle elf moving here and there. Even being who he is, a familiar face to most of the Inquisition itself, Solas does not stand out - no robes to identify him, nothing gaudy or bright, nothing that demanded attention. He moves through the night with speed at his heels, finding his way to Galadriel's door without hesitation, pausing outside of it. The night is at its peak, he thinks, and if anyone did see him sneaking his way to her room... Well, the rumours would start.
action. pre-tevinter, post-adalia. night.
He had known that she had learned much from the Temple - many people had, with the spirits that had come to them, the journal from the priest, the whispers and the secrets of the People long dead and taken from this world. He had known they had escaped with knowledge that was beyond their imagining but familiar to him, and she had found the pieces of the world, tied in with the whispers he had given her, and learned more than he had estimated that she might.
He had given her too little credit, he thinks, underestimated her intelligence, what coming from another world might do to her, and now...
Now, for the first time in some time, he was something like afraid.
It's easy to slip through the city in the darkness, few people paying attention to an idle elf moving here and there. Even being who he is, a familiar face to most of the Inquisition itself, Solas does not stand out - no robes to identify him, nothing gaudy or bright, nothing that demanded attention. He moves through the night with speed at his heels, finding his way to Galadriel's door without hesitation, pausing outside of it. The night is at its peak, he thinks, and if anyone did see him sneaking his way to her room... Well, the rumours would start.
He doesn't care. He knocks.