“Are you jealous, Morrigan?” Leliana asked coyly, as soon as the Warden was out of earshot.
Morrigan nearly snorted, looking away, “’Tis nothing to be jealous of, bard. The Warden making eyes and offering flowers? All they want is your body, ‘tis nothing more.” She pulled her overshirt tighter around her and stalked forward, blinking snow out of her eyes.
Leliana easily kept up with Morrigan’s short-legged pace, tucking the Andraste’s Grace behind her ear.
“You do not have to be bitter, Morrigan.” She said lowly, brushing her hip just barely against the mage’s, “I would sooner invite you to my tent than them. They simply want romance, nothing... more.”
Morrigan looked up at Leliana through her eyelashes, frown still twisting her lips.
“Why do you feel the need to tell me this?” She questioned impatiently.
The bard’s face lit up in an uncharacteristic smirk, “I wish to invite you to my tent. Tonight, perhaps?”
The mage’s frown deepened, though there was a light to her unnatural eyes.