I... didn't. ( She has to confess, apologetic as she steps forward. In the absence of the rose, her fingers twist together a little nervously, and elbow bent, and she huffs out a breathless exhale as she follows Sara in. ) It's-- I like roses, and white ones are especially significant. It is... I am glad that it is a significant colour for you, as well.

Hi she's not good at being nervous, she really hates it, this is hard, she doesn't quite know what to do with herself and so awkwardly hangs back a few paces behind Sara because the last time they saw each other had ended with distance as a painful third figure, of sorts, in their... in whatever it was they had. )

You look nice. ( In fairness Sara could be dressed in a potato sack and be fresh from rolling through the mud and Leliana would still think she looked nice, but even so. )

( conveniently, sara's got an empty wine bottle or four lining the back wall of her kitchen counter — what? sometimes she likes to lay around on her couch sipping rosé and binge watch things netflix (a beautiful thing that she'd missed out on when stranded on an island or maybe whilst killing a bunch of people) on her couch in her underwear. sara lance: she's just like other girls. )

It's beautiful, ( sara says — like she's commenting on the weather or something, but it's actually super genuine — as she fills one of the empty bottles halfway with water from the sink and sets the rose inside. much better.

she stops her seemingly continuous flurry of activity in the kitchen at the compliment, facing leliana and giving her A Look. she's in workout gear, she feels like her hair probably looks like a wet dog, and one hand's on her hip with the other holding her new fancy pantsy vase. there's the slightest quirk of her lips into something like a smile despite her skeptically raised eyebrow. ) Thanks.

( flattery, flattery. she'd say that it doesn't work on her, except it totally does. with that, she abandons the kitchen in favor of the living room area, flopping down on the couch and pulling a leg up to her chest — but not, of course, before placing said wine bottle vase on her coffee table in the center where it deserves to be. now they can talk. )

( sara ur a boozehound ay


Leliana is

nervous, basically. She's pressing the flats of her palms together because in her head its calmer than twisted them around each other, and her stomach is in enough knots already.

She hasn't sat down because she's pacing.)

I've been thinking about what you need to know, and I think I've managed to think of a list of managable topics that are essential.

( Wow, Leliana. ) So, you are welcome to ask me about Orlesian politics, bards, treason and Marjolaine in whatever order interests you, but you might find them easiest to follow in that order.

( Annnd she stops for a moment, looking at Sara, expectant. Hopeful? Mostly nervous. )

( this... feels as though leliana is readying herself to give a speech in a public speaking class, appropriate notecards, separated by topic, in hand and prepared to be shuffled in whatever order sara deems necessary. she's pacing and looks nervous as hell and it even makes sara start to feel a little on edge.

her natural urge to protect, to save, comes out flying. )

Hey, come on. ( sara's voice softens considerably, as does her expression, as she pats the open space next to her on the couch cushion. ) Sit down with me and we can talk about whatever you want to talk about.

( this isn't about sara — and it never really has been. she's selfishly wanted answers, of course, but she'd never ask for more than leliana was willing to give. )

( 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.

( sara is an attentive listener, if not a bit unresponsive — but it's only because she's focused so intently on leliana's explanations, slouched enough against the couch so she can lean her head against the back of it. it's been obvious from the start that the world from which leliana hails is vastly different from her own in seemingly immeasurable ways, but learning about its specific intricacies as best as she can is important to sara.

brow furrowing slightly, she nearly protests that leliana is more than just some pawn in a game (if only because she, too, has been nothing more than a pawn in other people's games and she dislikes remembering that), but she stops herself as leliana backtracks.

there's a pensive silence that she falls into for a moment before she answers, carefully, ) No, I didn't know.

( sara's family — her mom, her dad, her sister — are the most important people in her life, regardless of how rocky, how strained each relationship has been at various points in time. she's never had to feel such a profound loss as losing one's mother, as leliana had. it's hard to think about. )

I was four, I think. I hardly remember a thing about her, except that she liked flowers.

( Quiet, a reassurance of sorts. It didn't hurt the way it would hurt another person, who had the chance to grow up with someone and have memories of how they had adored the one they lost. )

She was a servant to Lady Cecilie, an Orlesian noblewoman. Lady Cecilie might have turned me out in the street, but she... kept me. Raised me as her ward. She was very kind but very old. She ordered tutors to teach me history, and dancing and singing and how to play the harp and lute and piano. It was all very grand, but I was...

( Her expression twinges guiltily. ) I fancied myself a bird in a guilded cage. A nightingale that belonged to a wider world than the house of an old woman and should be doing more than acting as a pretty entertainment for her guests.

( Her gaze drops. )

I was ungrateful, I think. But, when I was sixteen years old, I had the-- the privilege of entertaining Marjolaine, a wealthy widow of Lady Cecilie's acquaintance. She was so grand and beautiful and--

( Leliana shakes her head. ) Everything about her was exciting. She began to mentor me. She was a bardmaster, and I became her favourite bard - the favoured weapon of players in the Grand Game. Bards are masters of spinning tales and of deception. She taught me how to spy and sabotage and... seduce. And kill. And for years that was my life. I followed her commands without hesitation, and I adored her. She taught me that when the opportunity to strike presents itself you must always take it. That we were ready blades, and the rest of the world bared their throats to us.

( hi Leliana's ex is a sociopath )

Edited (moar words) 2016-07-31 11:20 am (UTC)

( the bird in a gilded cage comparison feels familiar to sara, though in a different way. she'd always felt like an outsider, even if she kind of pushed herself even further away from that gilded cage that the rest of her family seemed to reside in by hanging out with delinquents and doing stuff that she shouldn't have. the first time that she felt that maybe, just maybe, she could be a part of something, was with oliver on his dad's fancy yacht.

that clearly didn't end well. but it did take her to lian yu, to nanda parbat, where ta-er al-sahfer was happy to be caged by the league.

the bards sound like they share a fair bit of traits with the assassins of the league, which is why sara doesn't so much as flinch at the vivid descriptions of deception and murder, of taking advantage of a situation even if it ends in bloodshed. from where leliana temporarily halts, though, the story is clearly unfinished. )

And did things with Marjolaine stop being what you thought they were?

( maybe she asks because that's how it had felt once she'd run away from the league to make sure her sister and dad were safe after the undertaking — the harsh realization of what she'd become, the weight of the darkness inside of her from all of the lives she'd taken. it wasn't worth what the league provided. )

( For long moments she is silent. Leliana fingers, still twisted into her slirt, flex and straighten. How can she ever explain in such a way that makes the horror of what Leliana was known? She had tried and utterly failed with Peter. )

Bards are free to do whatever they can get away with, in essence. We are welcomed into every great house, because we are a gift of the Game. To best us is so tempting that nobility will risk their own ruination. One crime was beyond blind eyes and even the realm of bards.

( Somehow she feels calm, like she's listening to someone else tell the tale. ) Treason. With Orlais so much at war, any act that might endanger the Empire or compromise it was punishable by death. Marjolaine committed such a crime, I questioned her. I feared for my life and Tug and Sketch's-- and Marjolaine's. I wanted to keep her safe more than anyone.

( Her hand twitches, and she tries to shake the tension out of it. )

Rather than undo the treason committed, Marjolaine framed me for her crimes. I had questioned, and so my betrayal was inevitable; there was a window, and she struck first.

( Without thinking, her fingertips run over the scarred gash below her ribs, fleetingly. )

She saw to her problem. I was to be auctioned as a traitor to the highest bidder, once Raleigh had his fun.

( Leliana pauses then, actually looking at Sara, regaining her awareness a little. )

I was... forced into an awareness, but before that I had adored that life. The hunt and the scandal and the victories. Marjolaine said we were the same, and if... if Cassandra and Morrigan are to be believed, it seems she may have been right.

Edited 2016-08-01 06:22 am (UTC)

( sara's perceptive; the ghosting of fingers over where sara knows scar tissue resides makes an ugly feeling twist in her own stomach. the knowledge that some of them had been inflicted by such a betrayal is harsh. there's a huge amount of understanding of what had happened during that sunset on the beach that washes over her, but it doesn't feel good.

leliana isn't looking for pity — that much sara is absolutely certain of. but at the same time, she can't help the way her heart aches for her.

mouth drawn into a small frown that she can't help, she closes the distance between them, scooting over and putting an arm around leliana's shoulders, drawing her close. ) You can't help the environment that you were raised in — it's a part of you whether you like it or not. But it doesn't have total control over you, Leliana. You're not the same as she is. You wouldn't do that to someone that you cared about. I can just feel it.

( for a moment Leliana is shocked to be drawn into the embrace. She's startled, blinks a moment, before her arms wrap around Sara, loose and gentle at first, and tightening, hands pressed to Sara's back. Slowly, her fingers curl into Sara's shirt, and she tucks her head against Sara's neck, eyes shut. It is—

it is a mercy, this. A reprieve.

Or perhaps it is false hope. )

I don't think I would. I like to think that I can find an alternate approach to any situation if only I search hard enough.

( And yet. Her hands pull tighter against Sara. )

I'm scared of what I can do to people, when I set my mind to it. That's why I had to leave, because— I'm like handling a sharp knife, as if you were holding it by the blade with an exposed hand. And if I hurt you, of all people, I would not forgive myself.

I know a little more about knives than you might think, ( sara responds quickly, fingers carding gently through leliana's hair, slow. the distance between them — metaphorical and literal, at the beach and right here and now — had felt immeasurable and she's glad to finally hold her like this again. it's far easier, makes her happier that she can maybe provide some comfort to leliana.

what isn't easy, without a doubt, is trying to explain herself. all sara can do is try, even if it means she stumbles a little bit. )

I know what it's like to feel like a danger to the people that I care about. I know what it's like to kill without remorse or even a second thought. ( she takes a breath, to gather her thoughts, maybe. ) We're more alike than you think.

( It is a relief, all this. To have Sara's fingers in her hair, and this closeness back. Leliana does not—

She has come to realise she is not close with people easily, for exactly the reasons she told Sara. Friendships are easier, but they aren't easy. Charming people is one thing, manipulating them another, but for someone to truly like you simply for you are? To make the acquaintance of those whom understand you well? That is more challenging. Alistair and Zevran are as brothers to her, Kallian and Shale her sisters, Sten a grumpy, grumpy uncle. Wynne— she is not Dorothea, but there is something of the motherly in her. (Morrigan she would have been glad to call sister, but they have ever been too much at odds.) The party she travels with are family, wounded as she finds her self feeling at their hand. )

I know.

( She says it very quietly. ) Not about the killing, ( she clarifies, although very gently. Staying hugging Sara is too easy and too tempting, and so she makes no move to, well, move. ) I knew you and I had certain things in common. Or, at least, that there was something more to you.

( Though Leliana does not draw back, she shifts just slightly, so she can press a kiss to Sara's cheek, her left hand curling at the back of Sara's neck, thumb brushing over her skin. ) I think you're wonderful, no matter what you've done in the past.

( Pots and kettles? Pots and kettles. )

( the kiss is sweet, the idle brush of leliana's thumb equally so. this woman in her arms is kind and caring and, perhaps, above all else, ridiculous. it makes sara shake her head even as she smiles. )

You need to give yourself the same forgiveness that you give to others, ( she insists as gently as she can, dropping a kiss onto the top of leliana's head and rubbing a hand reassuringly against her back. even sara knows that she's a pot calling the kettle black by trying so hard to instill this within leliana, but sara's working through her own demons, too, trying to accept her past but not to let it tarnish her present.

how could she, when things are as they are in eudio? teammates, friends old and new, her sister. but eudio's provided sara a chance to separate herself from her past, and it offers the same to leliana. )

I do.

( Well. She exhales, and exhales unhappily or maybe just dissatisfied with the words she is using, when she is meant to be better than this. )

I did. I— I thought that joining the Chantry and serving the Maker would change me. And I think it did? I believed I was different.

( And then she came to Eudio, and perhaps that is the painful difference between them. Leliana in her own world had found it easier to have faith in herself and her purpose and everything else, but in Eudio she was presented with the possibility of a future that went against all of that. It echoed Marjolaine's words all too easily. For a moment she is silent, head tucked against Sara, and it might feel slightly ridiculous to be like this when she's taller than Sara, but she opts that it's definitely not. )

Alistair told me once that I frighten him. We were joking around at the time, but... with everything that the others have said, I just keep going over and over what our party have said. Foolish comments made while travelling or around the campfire, or... we see a lot of terrible things. I wondered sometimes if that prompted them to certain words, and even to actions, but that does not mean that I am not a deceiver, or frightening, or simply a graceful killer.

( Her words are spoken softly, but it does not mask the emotion in them, a degree of fear. ) I don't know what to do.

I think that you're sweet and beautiful and a little ridiculous sometimes, but you're so completely genuine and caring that I can't even process it sometimes, ( sara insists, a hand cupping her jaw even if she can't quite see her so her thumb can brush reassuringly against the apple of her cheek. quickly, she adds: ) And I'm not just saying that to make you feel better.

Even with all that, at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what I think. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, either. You have a right to feel afraid of whatever's in your future, and nobody can stop you from feeling like that, but —

( there's a small frown as she recounts her captain's words and finds herself repeating them: ) Sometimes time wants to happen, and it does. I'm pretty damn sure you'll fight your way through it and be who you're meant to be.

( Leliana can't help but draw back just a little, with the kind words. It's not incredulity that sparks the need to look at Sara, some interrogation done with just a look. No, there's not on that, or the criticism that might come with it, veiled or otherwise. Leliana wants to look at Sara, to see her, because—

Because for all that it boggles her mind that someone can think that of her after what she has said about being a bard, and for all the doubts that these past months have started to make creep upon her with the inevitability of time passing (time, it always seems to be time that they get tangled up in, Sara and she), Leliana believes her.

Her hands draw back, but only so that she can bring them to rest at Sara's shoulder, sliding inward until they rest where neck meets shoulder, fingers gently curling over Sara's skin. )

I believe you.

( First of all, that should be said. Perhaps it could also be said that Leliana is easily persuaded, and that she can be gullible at times in her eagerness to place faith and trust and push away what it is to be a bard, but she does trust Sara. Without hesitation. ) You don't really strike me as the type to skirt the truth.

( Said fondly, though she would be hard pressed to not be fond of Sara, truthfully. It takes a moment, what comes next. A leaning forward, a hesitation, because the beach and all the time that stretched between feels like a hurdle that was not there before. Leliana does not quite kiss Sara— she means to, and moves closer, and there is the undeniable shift before she cuts herself short, still very close but realising the presumption. )

I— would it be alright if I kiss you? If you wanted, I mean, not simply you enduring it for the sake of being fond of me, or— yes.

( sara doesn't move to close the gap between their mouths, just stays still and lets her eyes flutter closed as leliana leans in. it's more important for leliana to ease back into this when she's ready to, for sara not to push things even if the part of her that insists that she reach out and take what she wants at all times — right now, a kiss — needles her. this is, sara thinks, about leliana accepting herself and the fact that others accept her, too.

leliana draws close but then stops short, which causes sara's eyes to blink open immediately; it's vaguely reminiscent of the beach, and sara immediately searches leliana's gaze worriedly. but then she speaks and all sara can do is smile fondly, almost relieved, nose bumping against hers just barely as she murmurs, ) C'mon, kiss me.

( and again, it takes all of her willpower not to just draw leliana's face that little bit closer and steal the damn kiss herself. )