Leliana listens intently. There are surely lessons to be learned from other cultures. Entire other mappings out of people and their fates and beliefs, actions that have shaped their worlds, and in turn, have shaped those people. When Hermione speaks, though, when she says just how many people died… she is right, such numbers are impossible to comprehend. Leliana is not even sure Thedas is home to that many people in full, not when people can die so young and when there are so many dangers waiting in the shadows. Few things leave Leliana at a loss, but Hermione at struck to the heart of her.
For all her years of experience as a bard and all her control, her jaw slackens at the prospect, skin turning a few shades paler, and though she forces herself to keep looking at Hermione, it feels hard to focus. So much loss of life feels impossible to grasp, and it leaves a weight on her chest, slowly and inescapably growing heaver with each moment, forcing the air out of her. So many people, people with family and people who loved them, who they loved, with life and mirth and potential to do so much, and each one had been extinguished— for what? In the name of some master race?
Under normal circumstances she would be delighted to hear a poem or a song from another world, no matter how self indulgent she might find her own joy, and how much she might chastise herself. Here, though? Here she does not know how there could ever be joy in it.
“That is beyond imagining,” Leliana starts, when she finally finds her voice, though it is low and harsh. That Hermione thinks they might not be fussed… that is not necessarily the problem, so much as that there are so many ideas that compete, but Leliana finds herself needing a moment with her thoughts as she attempts to process this information. Spymaster and assassin she might be, but always in the hopes of protecting people, always in the hopes of saving lives.
“You are right, of course. And it is exactly that which I hope to press for.” Though sometimes it feels as though they are in a conflicting dance, even amongst the Advisors. Without Evelyn— Well. Without Evelyn they lacked a focused, guiding hand to break their debates and disagreements and fix them to a certain star.
“That man who killed so many. What became of him? Of his…” Her mouth twists, because she cannot settle on a word that is satisfactory, “Grotesque actions?"
no subject
For all her years of experience as a bard and all her control, her jaw slackens at the prospect, skin turning a few shades paler, and though she forces herself to keep looking at Hermione, it feels hard to focus. So much loss of life feels impossible to grasp, and it leaves a weight on her chest, slowly and inescapably growing heaver with each moment, forcing the air out of her. So many people, people with family and people who loved them, who they loved, with life and mirth and potential to do so much, and each one had been extinguished— for what? In the name of some master race?
Under normal circumstances she would be delighted to hear a poem or a song from another world, no matter how self indulgent she might find her own joy, and how much she might chastise herself. Here, though? Here she does not know how there could ever be joy in it.
“That is beyond imagining,” Leliana starts, when she finally finds her voice, though it is low and harsh. That Hermione thinks they might not be fussed… that is not necessarily the problem, so much as that there are so many ideas that compete, but Leliana finds herself needing a moment with her thoughts as she attempts to process this information. Spymaster and assassin she might be, but always in the hopes of protecting people, always in the hopes of saving lives.
“You are right, of course. And it is exactly that which I hope to press for.” Though sometimes it feels as though they are in a conflicting dance, even amongst the Advisors. Without Evelyn— Well. Without Evelyn they lacked a focused, guiding hand to break their debates and disagreements and fix them to a certain star.
“That man who killed so many. What became of him? Of his…” Her mouth twists, because she cannot settle on a word that is satisfactory, “Grotesque actions?"