"Ah, this is how I know you love him already." Zevran crackles a soft laugh satisfied that he has made the right choice. Oh the Chantry may not be ideal-but faith, morality, goodness. These things tempered by practicality will do his son well. And none could be a more kind teacher than his Leliana.
"He would have the best bedtime stories in all of Thedas." If she felt fit to tell them, it feels as though Sister Nightingale might not often have cause.
Perhaps this will change things.
"Zia Leliana, he will call you when he can speak."
"Zia?" Her Antivan is good, but used more for war than for more familiar types of terms. Affection is not much her repertoire, neither family. It takes her only a moment, deduction and de-rusting her understanding. "Aunt?"
"Just so." He is glad that all of Antiva's kinder, fonder language is not yet lost to her. "Normally said with great affection, I have no doubt he will feel that for you."
She is too kind when she gives herself cause.
"A favored companion. Never let it be said he wanted for company." It is a tentative thing, the leaning against Leliana. The arm about the waist, carefully caste, light enough to slip away at the first sign of discomfit. But it is there none the less.
The lean-- the contact. It is more than she is used to, more than she seeks, and there is a rigidness that creeps up her back with it. Not visibly noticeable, but there all the same. Familiarity feels a great thing to offer out - it is easier to extend it to a child, an innocent, than to someone who knows her.
"I should go." Not sparked by the contact, but it certainly encourages it being given voice. She lightly tickles Luciano's belly, before turning to pass him back to his father. "There is much to be done - I will see to the frost rune."
"Leliana." He murmurs, gently. It is impossible not to feel that sudden shift in tension, not to notice how she is so unused to so simple a thing. Many a night they drank and draped over one another by the fire. For warmth. For camaraderie. And now it is so foreign...it saddens him deeply, this.
Carefully and deliberately- Lucci tucked into one arm- Zevran reaches up to rest a warm, calloused hand along her cheek. It is so small a thing, this, but it has meaning.
"Give yourself a little room to breathe, yes? With your duties. And with Morrigan."
Morrigan told her in the Crossroads that she wondered if people touches so much because communication with words so often fell horribly short. Leliana wishes sometimes that contact did not communicate so much, and she does not lean into the touch at her cheek, but keeps it as light as possible, as meaningless as she can render it without pulling away and hurting her friend.
"The Rookery provides me with nothing if not an abundance of fresh air, do not worry."
"We must forgive ourselves our trespasses, yes?" Whether he'd heard that in the Chant or it was some kindness offered him by one of his fellows, Zevran cannot say. But it is...something they both need to keep in mind, that. "Even if we do not feel we deserve such things. Or that we deserve to be more than the tool we've known ourselves to be for so long."
"It is not that I do not deserve," she replies, and perhaps there is a little too much crispness to it. "I do not want more. What I want is to see Thedas reshaped into a better world."
More often than not she can believe that, because it is so close to being true, and wanting more feels like--
"Do not fret, Zevran. My trespasses are gladly embraced."
"You can do that, and have someone, Leliana." If she allows herself. What a strange thing their lives have become, for him to argue in favor of sentiment.
"But...I do truly think you can do that. Shape the future. Perhaps not with a song, but- you can."
What more is there to say that she has not already. Her brow pinches, the faintest flicker before she smoothes it away.
"I know," Leliana replies, with a certainty that could be quietly unnerving, for some. Catching Zevran's gaze, she offers a shadow of what could have been a smile, maybe, before going for the door.
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"He would have the best bedtime stories in all of Thedas." If she felt fit to tell them, it feels as though Sister Nightingale might not often have cause.
Perhaps this will change things.
"Zia Leliana, he will call you when he can speak."
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He is her brother, and yet. That surprises her.
"And Schmooples will be his cousin, hm?"
Emotions are hard bro.
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She is too kind when she gives herself cause.
"A favored companion. Never let it be said he wanted for company." It is a tentative thing, the leaning against Leliana. The arm about the waist, carefully caste, light enough to slip away at the first sign of discomfit. But it is there none the less.
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"I should go." Not sparked by the contact, but it certainly encourages it being given voice. She lightly tickles Luciano's belly, before turning to pass him back to his father. "There is much to be done - I will see to the frost rune."
A moment, and-- "You can count on my discretion."
If nothing else, she can be relied on for that.
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Carefully and deliberately- Lucci tucked into one arm- Zevran reaches up to rest a warm, calloused hand along her cheek. It is so small a thing, this, but it has meaning.
"Give yourself a little room to breathe, yes? With your duties. And with Morrigan."
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"The Rookery provides me with nothing if not an abundance of fresh air, do not worry."
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More often than not she can believe that, because it is so close to being true, and wanting more feels like--
"Do not fret, Zevran. My trespasses are gladly embraced."
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"But...I do truly think you can do that. Shape the future. Perhaps not with a song, but- you can."
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"I know," Leliana replies, with a certainty that could be quietly unnerving, for some. Catching Zevran's gaze, she offers a shadow of what could have been a smile, maybe, before going for the door.