[ aedan's not alone in wanting do-overs. there's a small voice that lliorel tries to ignore, one that constantly mutters to her that it wishes she'd wormed her way out of attending the conclave. it had been an option. the kind of option that would have been met with tired disappointment from her elders and fellows, because it made sense for her to attend, even under surreptitious circumstances. she was the clan's first. for her not to take the responsibility would look... she's hesitant to think of the word "cowardly", but it's the first to spring to mind.
she'd always tried so hard to keep herself as neutral as she could, in her clan. to never seem too keen to interact with shems, but similarly to keep away from being too driven by the thought of elves' former glory. lliorel had just wanted to thrive, to find her purpose. never in a thousand years would she have expected to find it here.
more often than not she finds herself troubled with self-conscious anxiety, when she thinks too hard about how often others steal glances at the tips of her ears, the lines of her vallaslin, how it feels so often that people are talking down to her, physically and metaphorically, small as she was. that they look upon her youth and add it to the list of her perceived shortcomings. worries she had never previously had, because for all that she was to her clan, she had never quite stepped into any sort of central focus. there was always something bigger to be concerned with, to think about, and gods, there still is — but lliorel is right in the middle of it, this time. ]
I can think of plenty who'd disagree with that, [ she says, coolly raising her brows. ] Myself included.
[ and despite how calm she plays it, lliorel is honestly a little awed to be in his presence. the blight may not have reached the free marches, but its stories did. lliorel's teens were littered with tales of the hero of ferelden, and took on such a mythic reverence sometimes that she couldn't quite grasp the fact that she was speaking to him. not that her clan was particularly fascinated by matters of the blight, or what humans were doing that was so great and that, but lliorel's youthful imagination had been a little more than captivated all the same.
she laughs, a short, quick noise. ]
Why, thank you. [ she tips her glass towards him also, lips pursed but smiling. ] I'm still waiting for the morning I wake up and realise this was all a mad, feverish dream, and that I don't have the fate of Thedas resting precariously on my rather little shoulders.
question: are we pre or post adamant?
she'd always tried so hard to keep herself as neutral as she could, in her clan. to never seem too keen to interact with shems, but similarly to keep away from being too driven by the thought of elves' former glory. lliorel had just wanted to thrive, to find her purpose. never in a thousand years would she have expected to find it here.
more often than not she finds herself troubled with self-conscious anxiety, when she thinks too hard about how often others steal glances at the tips of her ears, the lines of her vallaslin, how it feels so often that people are talking down to her, physically and metaphorically, small as she was. that they look upon her youth and add it to the list of her perceived shortcomings. worries she had never previously had, because for all that she was to her clan, she had never quite stepped into any sort of central focus. there was always something bigger to be concerned with, to think about, and gods, there still is — but lliorel is right in the middle of it, this time. ]
I can think of plenty who'd disagree with that, [ she says, coolly raising her brows. ] Myself included.
[ and despite how calm she plays it, lliorel is honestly a little awed to be in his presence. the blight may not have reached the free marches, but its stories did. lliorel's teens were littered with tales of the hero of ferelden, and took on such a mythic reverence sometimes that she couldn't quite grasp the fact that she was speaking to him. not that her clan was particularly fascinated by matters of the blight, or what humans were doing that was so great and that, but lliorel's youthful imagination had been a little more than captivated all the same.
she laughs, a short, quick noise. ]
Why, thank you. [ she tips her glass towards him also, lips pursed but smiling. ] I'm still waiting for the morning I wake up and realise this was all a mad, feverish dream, and that I don't have the fate of Thedas resting precariously on my rather little shoulders.