What? Her eyes widen, surprise and-- and hurt in her gaze for the brief moment before she forces it away, a reaction rather than something that even needs thought. "Spare me the dramatics. That is not what I meant, and you know it." Too harsh, still. This is the tone she has set for this conversation, though, and she cannot for the life of her comprehend how to diffuse it. "You are my family. I despise my part in their hurting you."
Because inaction, a lack of awareness, overlooking, missing, any kind of phrase she could put upon what happened, the blindness, still leads to an opportunity. It was a move in the Game, in its own way. At least he still moves like Zevran, but now the motions think more of a wounded, angry cat than the graceful man that could hop and skip boulder to boulder, seeming not to need to look where he was going.
"This is not about me," Leliana replies, indignant and heated. "I am the only one who could do what Justinia needed."
Her voice has gone very soft, very calm. "I am not at all like Marjolaine. She played petty games and moved minor pieces to fulfil her whims. What Justinia did, and what this Inquisition does now, concerns nations. It concerns our very world. Do not pretend that you would trust what must be done to anyone else. I alone have the stomach to do what is necessary, and see it through." What she is? What she does? She is far worse than her old lover, and she knows it well.
Can he not see? Can he not understand that the very battle she fights, that her desperation to make Thedas better, safer for all, is what makes what happened to him all the worse a betrayal? In her eagerness to protect everyone, she failed one of those dearest to her. But he will not see. He is too stubborn to see. The Crows did not even need to blind him, when he does it himself so effectively.
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Because inaction, a lack of awareness, overlooking, missing, any kind of phrase she could put upon what happened, the blindness, still leads to an opportunity. It was a move in the Game, in its own way. At least he still moves like Zevran, but now the motions think more of a wounded, angry cat than the graceful man that could hop and skip boulder to boulder, seeming not to need to look where he was going.
"This is not about me," Leliana replies, indignant and heated. "I am the only one who could do what Justinia needed."
Her voice has gone very soft, very calm. "I am not at all like Marjolaine. She played petty games and moved minor pieces to fulfil her whims. What Justinia did, and what this Inquisition does now, concerns nations. It concerns our very world. Do not pretend that you would trust what must be done to anyone else. I alone have the stomach to do what is necessary, and see it through." What she is? What she does? She is far worse than her old lover, and she knows it well.
Can he not see? Can he not understand that the very battle she fights, that her desperation to make Thedas better, safer for all, is what makes what happened to him all the worse a betrayal? In her eagerness to protect everyone, she failed one of those dearest to her. But he will not see. He is too stubborn to see. The Crows did not even need to blind him, when he does it himself so effectively.