♗ (imsorrythisisjustcuteok)
♗: Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse’s lap.
Be it the hard work that morning, the steady rhythm of the Chant, or the comfort he found in her company alone, Neil had been drowsing since he entered the Chantry that day. Though the Revered Mother had passed as he laid down on the pew by the Lay-Sister’s side, she had made no more of it than a grimace creasing her upper lip. Leliana, in turn, modestly ducked her head as a blush spread across her features — only to realise that the young Hawke had fallen asleep on her lap.
An impulse stirred in her chest, one having lain dormant since her life with Lady Cecilie; the foreign words of a lullaby were on the tip of her tongue, before she regretfully swallowed them.
Instead, she rested a hand atop his heart and one traveling through brown locks, never once looking up to meet the suspicious gazes of her sisters and brothers.
