@highevaer sent: “Do you ever wish you could forget?”
It is surprising how a mutual silence could be found in the workings of their camp. Leliana had only been traveling with their party for only a few passing of the moon. And was quickly finding herself in content routine when it came to the workings of their camp. A way of life she hadn’t known in only a year or two. The freed qunari was quiet enough, but as brutal as he would outwardly wish to present himself, Leliana had caught him playing with a kitten shortly before their departure. Sten, was his name wasn’t it? Alistair, as foul smelling as he might be at times had she made the mistake to sit down wind of him on certain days, had a good heart in him. He needs to stop putting wet socks back on. And the dog? She adored him, to bits and pieces even if he had a habit of talking her out of tidbits of her own food, short as the moments were that it wasn’t bland. All settled around the flame of their fire, short of the Witch. With Morrigan always making herself a hearth away from everyone else, vile as she was, Leliana found herself pitying how lonely she must be. Then there were the two dwarfs, sweet Sandal and his father.
Then of course, their leader herself. Silent as death when the Cousland woman seemed to fall into her own head, almost seeming to reflect the ache that Leliana felt in her own heart when it came to the news of Lothering. She spares her a glance as she plucks along the frets, composing a tune that she had hoped that would someday serve as an ode to the place she had once called home. Humming quietly as Alistair knelt in front of the flame to start their evening meal. It wasn’t until the notes fell into a sort of rhythm that complimented the next that she heard her speak.
Leliana’s eye lifts from the fire, from the imagery that she had imaged Lothering falling into as she made the tune. Mournful, and slow it was, perhaps that is what inspired the inquiring thought. And in truth Leliana, as a former lay sister shouldn’t expect anything less. For it was likely that very reason that she confessed her feelings now. And with it, eyes divert briefly away, to the trees and the sky, to the wind shifting through their branches. And she thought of Marjolaine, of her betrayal, of her own torture, of the past that she had lied on and pretended didn’t exist. “Sometimes, perhaps. But it is through tragedy that we find ourselves, and it is through tragedy that I found myself in the arms of the Maker. Whatever has happened, whatever has troubled us, it is through faith that we survive. Is it not?” She clears her throat then, diverting her eye back down to the ground. Best not to give too much away, no?
