[open] molten eyes and a smile made for war; any

[leliana]

I see a ghost out on the water; I swear it has my face
I bend and drink the lonely down, the lonely down

He is as she remembers him: pained and dangerous and wired entirely too taut. She can practically feel the tension in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip that he keeps on his control, on his life. It causes her heart to tighten in her chest with worry, but such things are kept from her expression. Instead, her hazel eyes remain soft and she smiles at him, a lovely curve of lip the simple acknowledgement of him—the healer glossing over whatever bump or misunderstanding occurs during their first moments together.

“She is beautiful,” she says quietly, her own form of congratulations, before she shakes her dark head. “I’m sorry, how rude of me to act like you’re not there.” Leliana drops her head ever so slightly so that she can look the young girl in the eye, holding onto her gaze and giving her her full attention. “It is such a pleasure to meet you, Noah.” A pause, the breeze ruffling through her tangled mane.

“I met your father once a long time ago, and he was a very good friend to me when I needed one. You’re so lucky to have a father like him.” There is part of her that wishes she knew her own father well enough to say whether he was or wasn’t a man of character. But the truth is that she had never been given the chance. She did not know her father or mother well. She had been an orphan, placed into Magnus’ care and given the free space of Tephra to grow up largely left alone. What a joy to be raised by your father.

Her attention drifts back to Rhonen, the barest shadow of a frown crossing her features.

“I hope you’ve been well,” she says, although there is part of her that is certain it is not the case. He does not have the look of someone who has been well—someone who does not carry scars. There is a weight around him, a gravity, and she wishes she could smooth it away. Her gift reaches out for him, the golden light of her healing winding out and through him, connecting the two of them with a single, unwavering thread. She closes her eyes for a moment, rooting out whichever hurts and aches she can find.

They are minimal—more the everyday stress of a living being—but she does what she can, only pulling her healing powers back into her breast when she is certain that there is not more than she can do.

I’m gonna stand here in the ache until the levee on my heart breaks