What it says about Gwenaëlle that the idea of being thanked for what she'd done makes her equally uncomfortable and is even harder to respond to probably doesn't bear thinking about. Or at least, she isn't going to think about it, and there is spite and sharp claws for Leliana to look at instead of the soft underbelly her awkwardness would have exposed - so no one has to. And that's sort of like it not even existing, isn't it?
If no one looks at a thing, it might as well not be there.
Gwenaëlle wishes no one were looking at her, presently. To her credit, she doesn't flush or fluster; barely reacts at all when her own words turn quick against her skin. Dismiss me, she thinks, curling her fingers around the teacup and pulling it closer. I'm not interesting, there are a hundred of me--
(And that is how she's still alive, the knife edge on which she does not dance but balances precariously; sharp enough to make a spymaster smile, but not enough to cut. Never worth the trouble of destroying.)
"Being afraid of the sky has some merit, too," she says, blandly. "When it tears open and rains demons upon us. We're all standing in the rain, Sister, I only made the observation it's getting us wet." Figuratively speaking.
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If no one looks at a thing, it might as well not be there.
Gwenaëlle wishes no one were looking at her, presently. To her credit, she doesn't flush or fluster; barely reacts at all when her own words turn quick against her skin. Dismiss me, she thinks, curling her fingers around the teacup and pulling it closer. I'm not interesting, there are a hundred of me--
(And that is how she's still alive, the knife edge on which she does not dance but balances precariously; sharp enough to make a spymaster smile, but not enough to cut. Never worth the trouble of destroying.)
"Being afraid of the sky has some merit, too," she says, blandly. "When it tears open and rains demons upon us. We're all standing in the rain, Sister, I only made the observation it's getting us wet." Figuratively speaking.