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“It’s good to be close to an elf again. I mean, there’s Sera but she’s not interested in all the elfy camaraderie. Love her, but she keeps it at a distance.” Faron’s voice is soft in the darkness of the tent, his ever-present chatter breaking the stillness of the night. “Have you ever been close to an elf, Solas? Traveling around like you were? A real one.” He winces, “I mean a flesh one, not a spirit. Not that spirits aren’t real or anything-”
“I’ve been around elves, Faron.” Solas’ response hushes him.
“Have you, then?” Faron rolls onto his back. “It’s nice. Feels like I’m back home; the tent, the open air, you at my side. Just missing the aravels and the halla.”
“Me at your side?” Solas seems surprised at that. It makes Faron feel sheepish.
“Yeah, didn’t mean nothing by it. Just… falon’panelan again. Pushing back the baddies, bringing home food. It’s been a long time, it feels… nice.”
Falon’panelan, literally soldier friend, more poetically translated as brothers-in-arms in the Common tongue. The statement rings oddly in Solas’s mind. This is how the man views him? It isn’t quite wrong, but it doesn’t feel right either. His silence must have gone on too long, because Faron whispers,
“Sorry if that was weird or whatever, just feeling sappy I suppose.”
“No, it’s fine, lethallin. Just… unexpected.” He always was.