[ It was not her touch that made him stagger but the knowledge, the weight, the strength it gave him; Solas has an image to maintain, a facade to hide behind, and feeling his strength return to him... It made that a much harder burden to bear. With all the names he has been given and all the myths about his nature there is too much he must do to protect himself, and he cannot be undone by the idle, gentle support of someone who does not know him.

He does not look at her, and does not witness her apology. He focusses on the path ahead, as he must always do.

Do not forget your goals. ]

There is no magic in my art, no. It is simply paint and charcoal, with images of truths to encourage those that might be blind to the hope that still remains for them.

[ He looks back over, finally, expression gentling. ]

I had not thought to put magic into them. I do not wish to be known as the artist, after all.