Warrick is—has always been—a calming force. There is something about him that reminds of her of Magnus in that paternal presence but where Magnus burned with indignation, taking up the fury of her cause like dry kindling, Warrick has a gravity to him. It is a calming presence and the burning star in her chest softens, if even slightly. The glow of her golden eyes still burn, but the light is slightly dimmer, the look more thoughtful as she considers him, as she focuses on the feel of the wind on her back.
It is the first time someone has asked her that question. The first time someone engaged her in a true conversation about her newfound gifts—who sought to understand her. Others have been reverent, or fearful, or even glad to pick up the sword by her side. But he does nothing—at least not at first. Instead he talks to her like she is still Leliana. Like she is still the calm healer who walked these lands as a child.
It is enough to quiet her.
She presses her lips together and angles her head toward the border, to where Loess sits in the back. She can practically feel it vibrating in her—the fires banking against her chest—but she is able to keep it calm in his presence. “I was held captive during the plague in Loess,” she says, her voice even and without emotion—as if describing the weather. “Alongside other healers.” She swallows, thinking about her time in those caves; those times where she raised her daughters in the darkness, ignoring the fear within her.
“I have given them an ultimatum: they can release everyone they still hold captive and try to reverse their wrongs, or…” her voice breaks off as a frown runs like a shadow across her features. “Or war.”
It feels odd on her tongue, her peacemakers mouth still learning the heaviness of the syllables.
But it still settles across her shoulders and she straightens, bringing her gaze back for his reaction.
@[Warrick]