You are in the rotunda of Skyhold, where Solas has taken up residence. There are scaffoldings and buckets of paint at the walls, as well as torches are lit by veilfire. Construction staff passes by, in an attempt to fix the worst of the damage in Skyhold - providing a certain indignity to Solas, who has been given an office in one of the most crowded spaces here in Tarasyl'an Te'las -- or simply, Skyhold, to the ones who speak the common tongue. The only consolation was that Josephine did not receive preferential treatment, her office was also on the way to the war room, raising the question who designed this place -- certainly, no one had asked scholars for their opinions beforehand.

Solas is pacing up and down in the rotunda, and visibly irritated by your visit.

"Inquisitor." Solas greets the Inquisitor with disdain in his voice.

"Tell me. How does it feel being you? Are so blissfully unaware or, deep inside, is some part of you banging on the walls inside, screaming?"

His tone is cold and acerbic, and Solas squeezes his knuckles, suppressing his anger.

"It would be sad if you were forced to examine yourself with a critical eye. Although I should watch my tone. I speak to a demigod, the "Chosen of Andraste"."

Solas mocks, his gray eyes glaring with contempt.

"Do you enjoy the worship? Does it make you feel infallible, or do you see them all as fools, gullible for their belief? You are not gaining allies, you are gaining minions!"

Solas raises his voice, straining to keep his composure.

"Sheep driven by one false god to fearfully follow another."