[ in truth, there are many things that lliorel lavellan did not take particular interest in before she reached this point in her life. chief amongst these, the politics of humans, wine, and the wider world outside of her clan. she was not so naive to think that the matters troubling humans did not affect elves, or dwarves, or qunari, but preferred to live a little more comfortably situated in her own head. that she would have to start paying closer attention would surely be inevitable, but she had thought — well, perhaps it was a little further down the line.
she had never much cared for wine, but the orlesians did it much better than they did ales and ciders. the lack of marcher alcohol pained lliorel a little, but she had grown accustomed to the soft, fruity reds that skyhold had in abundance, and the earthier fereldan variations that occasionally cropped up. not that lliorel particularly understands anything about wine, still. their various names still mean very little to her, she simply knows that a goblet of any of these rarely went amiss on the occasion she found a minute to herself in the late, late evenings.
as for the wider world... well, she couldn't imagine a life where it didn't somehow make a nuisance of itself right on her proverbial doorstep, not anymore. not unless she disappeared into the deep roads or perhaps built herself a flimsy and draughty shack to live in the lesser explored parts of the frostback basin. there was no more avoiding it, and though lliorel sometimes wished she could, she simultaneously knew that she never would again. duty is a strange thing, when it starts to ingrain itself deep in parts of yourself that you were never so sure existed. lliorel had never been selfish, but she had been... contained within herself, and content to remain like that. that's no longer an option, of course, but lliorel is not so sure these days if she misses that.
she doesn't lead quite as naturally as she wishes she could, but she leads. boldly, without apologies. ]
I'd offer you some kind of choice in drink, only I don't know well enough the differences in what I'd be offering to bother. [ it's not exactly intended to be an interrogation, as such, but surely all sharp edged are convivially dulled by the presence of wine, a cup of which she holds out to him. ] I think it's Fereldan. In your honour, of course.
[ said with the sharpish grin of someone who actually means "it was the first thing i snagged from the cellars".
lliorel has no desire to be excessively blunt in her questioning of aedan cousland — or at least, the man believed very strongly by one or two people to be aedan cousland — but curiosity bubbles like a broth beneath her skin. somewhat out of politeness, she invited him to her own quarters rather than attempting to bother him about this in the tavern, which had been her first consideration. if the invitation seemed a little abruptly forward, lliorel didn't care. she just had no use for anyone listening in to conversations like this. either way, she hoped it would be appreciated. ]
no subject
she had never much cared for wine, but the orlesians did it much better than they did ales and ciders. the lack of marcher alcohol pained lliorel a little, but she had grown accustomed to the soft, fruity reds that skyhold had in abundance, and the earthier fereldan variations that occasionally cropped up. not that lliorel particularly understands anything about wine, still. their various names still mean very little to her, she simply knows that a goblet of any of these rarely went amiss on the occasion she found a minute to herself in the late, late evenings.
as for the wider world... well, she couldn't imagine a life where it didn't somehow make a nuisance of itself right on her proverbial doorstep, not anymore. not unless she disappeared into the deep roads or perhaps built herself a flimsy and draughty shack to live in the lesser explored parts of the frostback basin. there was no more avoiding it, and though lliorel sometimes wished she could, she simultaneously knew that she never would again. duty is a strange thing, when it starts to ingrain itself deep in parts of yourself that you were never so sure existed. lliorel had never been selfish, but she had been... contained within herself, and content to remain like that. that's no longer an option, of course, but lliorel is not so sure these days if she misses that.
she doesn't lead quite as naturally as she wishes she could, but she leads. boldly, without apologies. ]
I'd offer you some kind of choice in drink, only I don't know well enough the differences in what I'd be offering to bother. [ it's not exactly intended to be an interrogation, as such, but surely all sharp edged are convivially dulled by the presence of wine, a cup of which she holds out to him. ] I think it's Fereldan. In your honour, of course.
[ said with the sharpish grin of someone who actually means "it was the first thing i snagged from the cellars".
lliorel has no desire to be excessively blunt in her questioning of aedan cousland — or at least, the man believed very strongly by one or two people to be aedan cousland — but curiosity bubbles like a broth beneath her skin. somewhat out of politeness, she invited him to her own quarters rather than attempting to bother him about this in the tavern, which had been her first consideration. if the invitation seemed a little abruptly forward, lliorel didn't care. she just had no use for anyone listening in to conversations like this. either way, she hoped it would be appreciated. ]