#sunweald

𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚄𝙸𝙻 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚃 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝚈𝙽𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴, 𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙴.    Instead does he seek to behold slumbering canopies below, mayhap find the first buds eager to welcome spring’s warmth.    And contemplation shrouds him in silence, furrows dark brows in an overall nonchalant expression —  it must seem as though he has forgotten about the glass cradled in his graceful pair of hands.    He has not brought it to his lips in a while.

❝  𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏  ❞,  pours slow paced speech past BARELY MOVING LIPS in a tone suggesting either indifference or thoughtfulness lingering.    ❝  𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.  ❞

"You flatter me, my lady, all of us, but I think you underestimate the practical concerns. The majority of us are here to survive.” 

     Astoria moves slowly around Estelle, fingers pressed to her lips as she examines the clothes she wears. They are to try their luck in Val Royeaux, in the hopes of getting support from the Chantry; she and Estelle are of a similar size, and the armor is built for another’s body but it is, at least, whole after the battle. 

     “If you try to appeal to the Chantry’s sense of honor, you will lose them before you’ve begun. As far as the Grand Clerics are concerned, they decide what is and is not honorable, and what does and does not matter. Every last one of them sees the Divine’s death as an opportunity. Hold your arms up, please? I want to make sure this fits around the shoulders. Is this comfortable for you? We can try to repair your armor in time, but if we can’t, you’re welcome to mine.”