Snippet #1493202

With her bow – a new one which she had appropriated from Braavos...alright, fine, stolen from Bravos, as they were low on funds anyways – Leliana was more than ready to face Qohor and the Brave Companions.

The past two and a half months have changed Leliana. She knew that if she was to survive in this turn of events, she would have to harden herself to the world around her – and she had. At first it had been hard for her to accustom her thoughts to the fact that slitting throats was a thing that was easy to do, but with time and effort she had forced herself to reach the point where her mindset changed.

And now it was as easy as breathing. Killing a human may as well be the same as taking down a deer. The bled all the same, after all, did they not?

She had tried her hand again at sword-fighting, but had still found herself unable to get the bloody hang of how to move about with a blade in hand. Leliana had once more realized she should just stick to bows.

She was one of the four others accompanying Lionel along to his meeting with the Brave Companions and she walked to the left of him, her eyes drinking in the sights of Qohor’s streets. It was when Reuben made mention of marriage that Leliana finally turned to pay attention to the people she was walking alongside.

“Honestly, how many times do I have to tell people to call me Leli? You’ve known me a while, Reuben – it’s Leli or nothing. I’ve stopped being a Lady since I ran off. Leliana would do, as well.” She teased him, one eyebrow quirked as she scrutinized him with blue eyes.

She wasn’t sure yet if she wanted to get married at this point in time, in any case. Sure, she liked Lionel well enough – alright, it was by far more than that by now – one could go as far as saying that she was beginning to love him. Still, the idea of being less than completely free chafed her in all the wrong ways. Leliana knew that Lionel would never impeach himself on her autonomy, as he himself had been in severe need of shirking the shackles put on him by the expectations of his family, but she was nonetheless a bit hesitant. In time, perhaps after the hectic warring slowed down, she would gladly agree.

She looked over at Lionel and could not help but smile. He had recovered very well, what with losing an eye and being forced to adapt to extended periods of time out at sea. He had changed much since she had first met him. But, then again, so had she. Whether it had been for the best or the worst, Leliana could not tell – but it felt as if it had been for the best.

---

“Well, won’t you look at that,” Ammon’s brisk voice pierced through the air as he watched the doors of the tavern open and five people come in – four men, one woman. Ammon lounged in one of the chairs, one leg crossed over the other, his expression a mixture of scorn and conceit.

This must have been the infamous ‘Bastard King’, accompanied by the three main members of his ‘court’. Ammon smirked and leaned forward in his chair, cupping his hands beneath his chin in order to lean it atop his knuckles. The man looked young and Ammon figured that he was no more than twenty years of age, though he had an air of appearing older due to the eye-patch and scar, as well as the shaggy uncut hair.

Ammon spared not even a second glance at the youngster with them, though he did wonder why a boy of no more than five and ten, by the looks of him, had been allowed to come along. Neither did he give much attention to the toothless man. The grizzled, slender man who was came next under Ammon’s scrutiny was categorized as someone who did not particularly wish to be there.

And only then did Ammon turn to look at the red-haired wench, because, after all, one saved the best for last – though the Bastard King wasn’t bad to look at either, but too scruffy for Ammon’s tastes. He eyed her up, noting the womanly curves and the full bosom. She walked close to the Bastard King and that, to Ammon, spoke volumes. A lover or a good friend...most likely both.

Ammon turned to Jans and his voice dropped low so that only their leader could hear. “Bringing only so few, a wise decision - I reckon the older chap and the wench are related, and that the wench and our one-eyed King are bed-fellows." He then leaned away and cast his eyes and attentions over at Sirena.

"What do you make of the fresh meat?" He grinned at her, having always been rather fond of the woman. Needless to say, the two of them took a tumble together on more than one occasion - it was always simple and never had any strings attached. Just good, consensual - yet at times rough - tumbling through the sheets. He had taken on bedding Sirena even before having killed his last wife. After all, why bother being faithful to a woman who was as good as dead?