[ She's been raised Andrastian, as most Marcher children are; the Trevelyans are a very devout family with scions in the Chantry, the Templar Order, and not a few in the various royal courts around Thedas. But the last few months have shaken that not-quite-so-solid faith; everything she's been raised to believe as truth has been put to question.
And never having time to simply sit and process any of it doesn't help much. If anything, it only makes her wearier, trudging along a path she cannot understand simply because everything is shrouded in a fog of punctured truths, half-lies, and old myths forgotten to time and dust.
Leanna doesn't know what to believe in anymore.
Other than her companions, and those fighting under the Inquisition's banner. Those, at the least, she can put her faith in. They've earned it. And, she realizes, watching her guest withdraw and then speak to his raven - the bird once more answering back, how fascinating - she somehow knows she can believe in him, in Morpheus, the King of Dreams.
Not because she has no choice otherwise, but...because she wants to.
She watches him pull a small nondescript pouch from his long coat, curiosity piqued when it pours sand into his palm, and blinks when he pauses, asking her if she'll go. Looking up, she meets his gaze and replies without hesitation: ]
--yes... [ then frowns. ] Wait, will I be missed?
[ If she disappeared for too long, the entire castle would begin tearing itself apart to find her. ]
I don't want anyone to worry if I'm absent for too long.
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And never having time to simply sit and process any of it doesn't help much. If anything, it only makes her wearier, trudging along a path she cannot understand simply because everything is shrouded in a fog of punctured truths, half-lies, and old myths forgotten to time and dust.
Leanna doesn't know what to believe in anymore.
Other than her companions, and those fighting under the Inquisition's banner. Those, at the least, she can put her faith in. They've earned it. And, she realizes, watching her guest withdraw and then speak to his raven - the bird once more answering back, how fascinating - she somehow knows she can believe in him, in Morpheus, the King of Dreams.
Not because she has no choice otherwise, but...because she wants to.
She watches him pull a small nondescript pouch from his long coat, curiosity piqued when it pours sand into his palm, and blinks when he pauses, asking her if she'll go. Looking up, she meets his gaze and replies without hesitation: ]
--yes... [ then frowns. ] Wait, will I be missed?
[ If she disappeared for too long, the entire castle would begin tearing itself apart to find her. ]
I don't want anyone to worry if I'm absent for too long.
[ Her companions have concerns enough. ]