Leliana does not expect others to come so shortly—even her newfound gifts have their shortcomings, their failings—but she doesn’t startle at the appearance of the ethereal white mare. She angles her lovely heard toward the Queen of Silver Cove, her depthless golden eyes unreadable, her face impossibly impassive as the wind lifts the tendrils of her mane to curve around the delicate curve of her jaw.
“Ilma,” she greets, her voice quiet but carried easily to the other all the same. “It did not take long for Silver Cove to arrive,” she comments, wondering if it was planned or merely impossibly good timing. “Then again, you have a gift for good timing.” The barest curve of a smile touches her lips, an almost humor although it never settles into the lines of her faces, never actually takes roots in her.
Instead, her attention is stolen by the black colt who arrives, the one who is mentoring under her Uncle, and she turns her attention toward him. She studies him too, golden eyes unblinking. “Thank you, Jakub,” she grabs his name too from the air, plucking it as easily as she has always grabbed onto verbal word. “You are going to make a fine Tephran soldier. We will need those like you amongst our ranks.”
She needed the brave and the strong and the courageous to help further her cause.
Even with all of the magic in the world, she couldn’t do it by herself.
So she smiles at him, her gentle smile like a a blooming flower before her gaze sweeps back to Ilma. “I have no intention of disrupting our alliance with the East,” she pauses, thoughtful, feeling the familiar burn of the dying star in her chest. “Unless you choose to stand with Loess and all of their sins.”
@[Jakub]] @[Ilma]
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