Will that be all? A fine question, indeed. Leliana's brow quirks upwards ever so slightly. He seems proud, Ser Bellamy, tightly drawn as a bowstring at full stretch, a poised weapon. She is not entirely certain whether she thinks that a good thing or not. That is he so vigilant is a fine thing, certainly, and commendable. Another day, another time, and she might be considering whether he might suit as an agent. He had brought the Commander here, after all.
She suspects that perhaps such venom as what he seemed to hold for the Avvar might be offended by the Spymaster's decision. In either case, they have both of them been marked. Both deserve attention, both will have her focus when next they find themselves in her presence, and perhaps even before.
"It will," she concurs, clipped and quiet and even. "We will speak later." Perhaps not this day or even this week, but she fully counted on further conversations with this Templar, and understanding the matters in more detail. The horrors so often lay in the details; simple summaries rarely allowed a proper grasping of it. "Attend the medical tents, if you would, before you return to your quarters." And with that she nods, a polite dismissal, but a dismissal all the same.
Leliana, for her part, remains silent for long moments after the Commander speaks. "Of course. With your leg in its present state I daresay that it would be wise to travel with an escort, to ensure you suffer no further injury. After you medics see to you I can have scouts ready to accompany you at your leisure. Alternatively," and she suspects she already knows the answer, "the Ambassador might arrange a room for you. Allow yourself some days recovery while more forgiving travel arrangements can be made."
The Nightingale is difficult, ruthless, stubborn, and any number of bad things. The offer is not one borne entirely of kindness, but the threads of diplomacy that overlap enough with her suspicion. The Avvar has her consideration, but nothing so close to trust. Still, she is in no rush to shovel an injured Commander back to her people, or cause offence. Her gaze remains cautious, analytical.
no subject
She suspects that perhaps such venom as what he seemed to hold for the Avvar might be offended by the Spymaster's decision. In either case, they have both of them been marked. Both deserve attention, both will have her focus when next they find themselves in her presence, and perhaps even before.
"It will," she concurs, clipped and quiet and even. "We will speak later." Perhaps not this day or even this week, but she fully counted on further conversations with this Templar, and understanding the matters in more detail. The horrors so often lay in the details; simple summaries rarely allowed a proper grasping of it. "Attend the medical tents, if you would, before you return to your quarters." And with that she nods, a polite dismissal, but a dismissal all the same.
Leliana, for her part, remains silent for long moments after the Commander speaks. "Of course. With your leg in its present state I daresay that it would be wise to travel with an escort, to ensure you suffer no further injury. After you medics see to you I can have scouts ready to accompany you at your leisure. Alternatively," and she suspects she already knows the answer, "the Ambassador might arrange a room for you. Allow yourself some days recovery while more forgiving travel arrangements can be made."
The Nightingale is difficult, ruthless, stubborn, and any number of bad things. The offer is not one borne entirely of kindness, but the threads of diplomacy that overlap enough with her suspicion. The Avvar has her consideration, but nothing so close to trust. Still, she is in no rush to shovel an injured Commander back to her people, or cause offence. Her gaze remains cautious, analytical.