The door to his office flies open.

"Solas!" Leas shouts, running into the room, turning, and skidding to a halt before he can slam into Solas. "Solas, itha fra'min!"

Solas takes a quick step back from Leas, brow lifting, as he cleans his paintbrush. Once he has done, he lays it aside, then observes Leas more closely. The man's face is heavily flushed, his breath comes in quick pants, and his eyes are wide and full of wild excitement and joy; a sparkling light seems to dance in them. In his hands, he clutches a letter.

"Ahn re ra, lethal'lin?" he asks, unable to keep a small smile from forming on his face. Leas is infinitely cheerful, to be sure, and Solas can count the times he's seen him unhappy on one hand, but there is still something pleasing in seeing him so ecstatic. The intemperance of youth, he supposes: something he grew past long ago but misses now and then. Those were happier days.

Leas holds out the letter. "Read this," he says, grinning broadly, almost literally from ear to ear. Solas takes it and does so.

Almost at once, he sees the reason for Leas' excitement. The missive is from Rozelle Chambreterre, addressed to Cullen, and it concerns the outcome of events at Wycome. Apparently the appearance of the Inquisition's soldiers stopped the Marcher soldiers from attacking the city and slaughtering the elves, and at the subsequent negotiations, helmed by Lady Volant, the evidence of the red lyrium was enough to get them to back down, leave in peace, and pledge donations to the Inquisition's coffers.

More than that, and when he reads this, Solas' eyes go wide: a new city council has been formed in Wycome, containing several human merchants, a city elf, and the Keeper of Leas' clan. As its first act, the council has pledged to rule the city fairly for humans and elves alike.

Remarkable, he thinks, in one foolish moment. Humans and elves ruling a city on equal footing, the Dalish having a place to stay, humans backing down from slaughtering elves… combined with Briala now ruling through Gaspard and Leas himself as the Inquisitor… it seems too good to be true.

With that, Solas comes crashing back down to earth. Too good to be true? Yes, it is. The humans made the elves a promise once, did they not? Then they stripped them of it in the name of the prophet who had made that very same promise. This is another promise… and promises are so easily broken. How long will it be before the Keeper and the city elf are subordinated to the human merchants, before the goodwill gained in Wycome fades?

Slowly, Solas returns the letter to Leas. "This is a triumph to you," he says.

His lukewarm reaction doesn't seem to deter Leas any. The man only smiles even wider and nods vigorously. "A triumph I'm sorry to have missed," he says. His voice trembles with his joy. "Re ena'sal'in! We won! Even I had feared things might go badly—but we won! And—" He stops, cracking up and doubling up with relieved, triumphant laughter. When he rights himself, he runs a hand through his hair, smiling like a child. "And now Deshanna has a political title, and we can live in the city, and the humans have welcomed us with open arms, and—!"

Leas stops again, pacing in a circle, his grin so broad that Solas thinks it surely must hurt. "This is just—this is amazing!" he continues. "We have a home! And political influence and, and more! And with Briala in power and me holding the reins of the Inquisition… imagine it, Solas! The possibilities are endless!"

His joy is so infectious that Solas can't help but smile back at him, even if it is a little sad, even if the Dalish aren't his people, even if he doesn't think this can last. "You think the world is starting to change," he says.

Leas nods. "Yes," he breathes. "It is, it has to be! Things are going well for our people! We're having our share of victories! People are starting to respect us! You know, a little part of me had wondered for a while if all my diplomacy and playing nice would ever pay off, but it has! All right, so it wasn't my diplomacy, but—you know what I mean. Everything I've said about us working together—I was right! Hah!" He speaks so quickly that Solas can barely keep up with him—not that it matters. He can guess the direction of his words easily enough.

Foolish. Naïve, he thinks, as he has so often done. But even so, Leas is correct in that the diplomacy and cooperation at Wycome led to this. Perhaps he should not be so quick to dismiss his joy and this victory as meaningless. If there truly is another way to save the elves… shouldn't that be considered?

Almost at once, however, Solas' mind returns to the same point it raised before. It will not last. This will be stripped from them. This is a victory in the short term, yes, but the humans will tear it away soon enough. It will be as meaningless as the promise of the Dales, as Cyrion Tabris being named Bann of the Denerim alienage, he thinks, and the small flame of hope dies in his chest as quick as it began.

He swallows, considering his words. He doesn't want to rain on Leas' parade like this—the man's joy and relief, not just in the survival of his clan but in the confirmation of his beliefs, are as a candle in the darkest night. But it will do no good for Leas to lose sight of all that stands arrayed against him. He has come far, under Solas' tutelage and elsewhere, and it would be terrible to see him fail before Solas can put his plans into effect.

And after that, too, but he'll consider that another time.

"Ir sha sul'na, lethal'lin," Solas says, almost hesitantly. "Y ane sule'vi'inast ena'sal'in juros?"

Leas, to his credit, stops to think his answer over, and his smile fades as he does so; nevertheless, the spark remains strong in his eyes. "You worry it will be taken from us," he says, and Solas nods. He is silent for a little while longer, then he shrugs. "It may be, that is true. I do not deny that possibility. But I do not think goodwill fades so quickly… and the future is out of our hands. Whatever may come, that is no reason not to celebrate now."

"That was not quite what I asked, though I concede the point. I meant, do you truly think this will lead to lasting change? Celebrate as you please, but what happens when the humans turn on your people again? This would not be the first time they have made the elves a promise, after all."

Leas shrugs and resettles his weight, resting a hand on his hip and leaning into it. "I know. But what has happened before need not happen again. Perhaps it will… but that's no reason not to try. Sure, this could end in disaster, but it's equally as likely to lead to real change. For me, I believe in the latter."

"And if you fail? What then?" Solas presses, and he wonders who he's asking this question for: Leas or himself.

Leas smiles. "Then I keep trying."

Fenedhis. "And if you keep failing? It is foolish to try the same thing over and over, knowing you will only get the same result."

"Then I'm a fool," Leas says with a soft laugh. His eyes sparkle with something different, deeper, as they always do when he starts going on about his ideals. "I will not have any world other than one where we stand on equal footing with the humans but can also live with them in peace, and I will not win such a world through anything other than building bridges and making peace. Such a thing would take generations, sure, but it would be worth it. Perhaps it is naïve of me, but if a new world for us were built on bones and ruins, even if we could live free there… I'm not sure I could abide it myself."

Solas shakes his head and turns away, the guilt wrenching his heart and stomach with enough force that for half a moment it seems they might burst from his chest. "U'vun'inan da'lath'in," he murmurs, and Leas laughs again, louder. "Your idealism is… admirable. I only wish it had some basis in history."

Leas grins and leans against the desk. "'Why change the past when you can own this day?'" he says. "We're here to make history, aren't we? Why can't that history include 'and in this time, the Inquisition also helped uplift the elves and started building the foundation for a lasting peace between them and the humans?'"

Solas exhales, but before he can speak, he remembers his plans. Wouldn't you like to be wrong? What if there is another way? If the elves can be uplifted…

Just as quickly, however, he remembers the crucial flaw. But they will still be a shadow, however equal to the humans they might be. No immortality, no magic, nothing of what made them what they were. Can you abide that? Can you abide the existence of the Veil when they are equal?

He swallows, knowing the answer already. "Would that satisfy you?" he asks, not meeting Leas' gaze as he speaks. "You know what the ancient elves were. Would peace with the humans be enough for you when your people are still mortal and have none of the magic they once possessed, when all the wonders of their world are gone?"

Leas seems to ponder his answer for a moment, but he still answers very quickly. "It would satisfy me, yes," he says, and Solas' stomach slowly sinks. "The ancient elves are our ancestors, but what is Arlathan to me? It's nothing more than a dead husk of over a thousand years ago, beyond all hope of reclaiming. And even if it were not…" He shrugs. "I'd rather have a new world. A future. Going backwards wouldn't help the elves at all, I reckon, any more than our obsession with the past does."

Of course Leas would say something like that. Solas nods and tries not to look too stricken. "What about the immortality and the magic?"

"I'm always up for finding out more about magic and acquiring more magical power, yes," Leas says with a smile. "But I also have quite a lot to hand already. I could be satisfied with what I have. Immortality… Creators, no."

"No?"

"I've put quite a lot of life into the past twelve years, Solas," Leas says. "I've no desire to die, but I cannot even fathom the thought of living forever. I think all the sorrows of the world would build up on me, the weariness, and I could have no mortal friends or… lovers…" He pauses, smile dropping, expression finally turning completely serious. "Because I would outlive them all. I could do everything I ever wanted and have all the time in which to do it, and maybe I could use that time to make a real, lasting peace… but I would eventually long for a sleep longer and truer than uthenera. As would we all, I reckon. We have been mortal for so long that we cannot comprehend immortality, and if we somehow regained it… I do not think we could cope with it."

A fair enough point, he supposes. Had not a similar weariness afflicted the elves of Arlathan even during their glory days? But even so… "Perhaps not at first," Solas argues, "but with time, you might adjust. Plenty of time, maybe, but time nonetheless."

"Perhaps. But from where I stand now, I cannot comprehend it, nor do I wish to," Leas says. He begins to pace around the room and examine Solas' newest painting. "I am looking to the future, but not that far ahead. For now, I intend to rejoice in this latest victory."

Solas concedes the point with a small smile of his own. "And rejoice you may," he says warmly. "I cannot say I have as much faith as you do… but I hope I am proven wrong, lethal'lin. If the world can be changed and the elves uplifted through peaceful ways, if there is peace to be made…" Then it is a world worth saving, a world worth having faith in.

More than that—it is a world that has, somehow, exceeded Elvhenan. Peaceful ways did not change their world even before he formed the Veil. If this world can accomplish that, no matter how long it takes… then he will have to give it its due credit, at the very least.

Leas turns back to him and grins. "There may not be now, but just you wait. I'll make it. Sometimes you can make something from nothing, if you're stubborn enough."

Solas chuckles. "I admire your determination," he says, and admiration wars with disbelief, something like heartbreak at his friend's naïveté, and a wistful wondering of what Elvhenan would have been like if there'd been more people like him around. "But don't let me keep you—I sense you wish to spread the good news."

Leas chuckles as well, distinctly apologetic. "That I do. We could all do with a bit of joy. I'll come speak to you again soon," he says. "Dar'eth, Solas."

"Tas na," Solas replies immediately. Leas grins at him, that brilliant sparkle coming back into his eyes, and then he turns and races for the steps leading up to the library. Not quite a minute later, Solas hears him excitedly delivering the news to Dorian, who in turn sounds genuinely impressed and rather more confident about the whole matter than Solas himself.

He settles back into his seat with a sigh. Let me be wrong. Sathan, let me be wrong, he thinks, even as he knows that he most likely is not and that regardless of this victory, regardless of what the elves of the modern day feel about it, there can be no turning back.

Translations

"Itha fra'min!": "Look at this!"

"Ahn re ra, lethal'lin?": "What is it, my friend?"

"Re ena'sal'in!": "It's a victory!"

"Ir sha sul'na, lethal'lin. Y ane sule'vi'inast ena'sal'in juros?": "[I am] very happy for you, my friend. But are you certain this victory will last?"

"U'vun'inan da'lath'in.": "Starry-eyed little heart."

"Tas na.": "You as well."

"Sathan.": "Please."

All translations taken from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen.