A woman suffering injuries. Bellamy almost laughs aloud. He doesn't--probably fortunate for him, that he restrains the urge. If Leliana doesn't appreciate his input, she sure as hell won't appreciate him laughing at her. Making an enemy of her would be unwise, to say the very least.
And Lexa is still sitting there, straight-backed and composed, while Bellamy gets told off like a kid. He throws his stare to the back of her head again. And now he gets it. She wanted to be here. Not dragged in like a prisoner, maybe; not tied up and gagged. But she's free now. She's got an audience, the attention of one of the advisers.
Bellamy's hands tighten again, a creak of leather.
Then he throws his gaze back to Leliana, mutinous, tight-jawed. He doesn't look at Bonheur when she steps forward. He doesn't say anything. He does walk over, deliberately, and sits in the chair right beside Lexa. Even seated, he's drawn up angrily, tight lines, clenched hands. But if she's going to talk, he's going to listen.
no subject
And Lexa is still sitting there, straight-backed and composed, while Bellamy gets told off like a kid. He throws his stare to the back of her head again. And now he gets it. She wanted to be here. Not dragged in like a prisoner, maybe; not tied up and gagged. But she's free now. She's got an audience, the attention of one of the advisers.
Bellamy's hands tighten again, a creak of leather.
Then he throws his gaze back to Leliana, mutinous, tight-jawed. He doesn't look at Bonheur when she steps forward. He doesn't say anything. He does walk over, deliberately, and sits in the chair right beside Lexa. Even seated, he's drawn up angrily, tight lines, clenched hands. But if she's going to talk, he's going to listen.