( Come on, says she. We can talk about whatever you want to talk about. Were she feeling flippant Leliana might suggest that she wants to speak of anything but this, but that is not strictly true. She would not have texted Sara, not have offered, if she didn't want to explain— or, more accurately, if she didn't want Sara to know, even if she'd rather be able to skip this part.

She looks at Sara, for a moment. It is a painful thing. Wanting someone is terrifying. Caring for them? Even moreso. Part of her would love to be dismissive, or would love to be indignant about the beach, as if it had not been her that straddled Sara and pushed her back into the sand. As if it had not been Leliana who had wanted so badly, and she looks at Sara in such a way that is hungry and sad and lost, the separate ropes woven around each other inextricably.

A nod, and she moves forward to sit, sitting so she's facing Sara, one leg tucked beneath her and her elbow propped on the back of the sofa. )

Okay.

( Thank you, she means, but she feels so scrambled it doesn't survive herself. )

Orlais... Orlais is a very powerful empire, Sara. You would be hard pressed to find a nation in Thedas they've no warred with. Our current Empress ascended the throne some ten years ago, I think? They call her the Lioness. Her family was murdering each other, "hunting accidents" and poisoned stilettos - not the shoes. ( A moment of clarification— ) Though in Orlais the shoe being the weapon is not so terribly unlikely. But she was sixteen when she took the throne, and even then she was fearsome. The Lioness indeed, hm?

( Her knuckles are white, fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, and she thinks. ) Orlais is the home of the Grand Game. Nobles striking at each other to gain more power, or to sabotage the power of their rivals, or to curry Empress Celene's favour. It is a game of politics and intrigues and vicious sentiment. Spite, jealousy— love can be twisted, even. To live in Orlais is to be part of an eternal chess match, though there are more players, and they might appear to be a piece under your control until the last moment. Nobles cannot strike at each other directly, it would not be... seemly. Or proper. It would be beneath them. The Game is a test of how subtle and how vicious you can be, and there is no engaging of it that is not all consuming. To play the Grand Game is to know that it will be your death, and everyone in Orlais is a piece, even if they are not a player.

( But she shakes her head. ) I'm getting ahead of myself, I think. Or, I mean— did I tell you my mother died when I was very young?

( Wait. ) Maker, I'm meant to be a story teller by trade.