lefthope.
being able to see his expression better up close, she realizes he’s analyzing her far more than she realized. beri sits next to her and leans on her, warming her leg and making her aware again of the cold. curling her fingers tightly into the blanket around her shoulders, she simply stares at him, forgetting, once again, how disconcerting she can be, and that there’s a thing called manners. andraste was never very polite either.
brows furrow, and she blinks as if it’ll help make clarify his words. ‘ you’ve seen elven celebrations? i thought you didn’t like the dalish. ‘
there is something very familiar about thedas’ inquisitor. ( their herald. ) the way she stares, the way she speaks, the silence that hangs heavy in between words -- there are things she knows that she should not know, things only dreamers and spirits should know. old gods, too, but that is an issue for the future. he knows she holds the same creeping suspicions. there is the faintest flattening of his mouth at her nearly-innocent retort, too-subtle, disapproval filtering in beneath his skin. ‘ yes. ’ he agrees, tone endlessly, blessedly patient.
‘ my distaste does not negate the inherent need for knowledge. ’
















