"If you can believe it. I believe he thought he was being witty." Leliana sounds both unimpressed and amused, in that dangerously ambiguous way of hers. "Nothing makes someone seem so grand as the assurance that they were once desired." And nothing makes them seem so desperate as the continuous assertion of the fact, she could add, though it hardly needs to be granted voice.
"Me?" The question is not really a surprise. She rather opened the door to it, and Leliana is drawing a dagger from her belt as she considers, idly spinning it at the tip of her finger, the handle loosely held in the opposite hand.
Nothing, she could say. There are times when she wonders if she thinks of nothing real, nothing of substance, nothing that will guide them and grant them comfort in the darkest hours. Those moments of doubt are so very rare, though, times that she always looks back on with sadness, and that renew her faith.
"I think of the Maker," she replies, entirely honest. "I think of protecting those who need it, and felling those who would bring suffering to the world." She used to think of mercy and compassion, and pray for the souls of the lives she took. She still does, in truth, but those are thoughts that belong to Leliana, and are indulgences the Nightingale cannot afford. Leliana moves quick, the knife that was idly being twisted cutting through the air and embedding itself deep in the centre of the next target along, although Leliana has already corrected her posture. "And focus, of course. I find that rather helpful."
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"Me?" The question is not really a surprise. She rather opened the door to it, and Leliana is drawing a dagger from her belt as she considers, idly spinning it at the tip of her finger, the handle loosely held in the opposite hand.
Nothing, she could say. There are times when she wonders if she thinks of nothing real, nothing of substance, nothing that will guide them and grant them comfort in the darkest hours. Those moments of doubt are so very rare, though, times that she always looks back on with sadness, and that renew her faith.
"I think of the Maker," she replies, entirely honest. "I think of protecting those who need it, and felling those who would bring suffering to the world." She used to think of mercy and compassion, and pray for the souls of the lives she took. She still does, in truth, but those are thoughts that belong to Leliana, and are indulgences the Nightingale cannot afford. Leliana moves quick, the knife that was idly being twisted cutting through the air and embedding itself deep in the centre of the next target along, although Leliana has already corrected her posture. "And focus, of course. I find that rather helpful."