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Solitude was a rare thing these days, for the Spymaster.
It seemed that everyone wanted a piece of her limited time. From agents looking for instruction or relaying information, to her fellow advisors, plotting and planning the future of the Inquisition, to the Inquisitor herself — though Leliana had to admit, the Herald was very respectful of her personal space.
She had taken to staying awake even later than usual, to get a moment to herself. Leliana knew that it wasn't sustainable and that she would have to sleep more if she were to make any kind of sound judgment calls. But the lure of silence was too strong.
Still, surrounded only by her ravens, rustling in the dark, she sat at her desk and closed her eyes, and felt the pull of sleep. Leliana would have to abandon the rookery for her small bedroom, soon. Josephine would scold her again if she found out that she wasn't sleeping well, and the last thing Leliana wanted was to worry her dear friend.
She stood, stretching her arms above her head with a groan, glad that she was alone. There was no need to keep up pretense, no need to be the unshakable Sister Nightingale. She could relax, though her ability to do so was diminishing as time went on.
As she gathered her papers, her mind went to the other reason she was having trouble sleeping at night. As reluctant as she was to admit it, Leliana was growing used to sleeping alone once more.
For a short but wonderful amount of time, she'd shared her bed with Elissa. And when Elissa left her, gone to find the cure, Leliana had found bereft during the nights. Missing the strong arms that would hold her and the sweet words she would fall asleep to. The loving eyes that would be her first sight upon waking.
That was difficult as it was. But now she was falling asleep without even the shadow of that love, and somehow that was even worse.
It was as if her body was forgetting Elissa, and she was afraid her mind would soon follow.
As it was, she was having trouble remembering the sound of Elissa's laugh, or the precise shade of her blue eyes. As she sat down on her bed, the room lit by candle, she pulled out the small box of keepsakes she kept hidden there. Perhaps it was foolish, for them to be in so obvious a place, but she wanted them close at hand.
She pulled out a book of Ferelden folk tales, with the Andraste's Grace Elissa had given her pressed in the pages. She inhaled the scent, still present though faint, and remembered the first time Elissa handed her the flower, shy and blushing.
They'd come so far from that moment.
Closing the book, she replaced it and found what she was truly looking for. A portrait, no bigger than her palm, that had been commissioned by her on their visit to Val Royeaux.
In it, Elissa sat, eyes sparkling, a true smile on her face. The artist was a skilled one — she had captured Elissa's faint laugh line, the way her brown wrinkled when she grinned. Leliana traced over the portrait gently, touching Elissa's painted cheek.
Maker, how she missed her.
She understood why Elissa had to go, understood that a few years apart could mean a lifetime together. And she had her own duties to take care of.
It didn't stop her from wishing that things could be different. The Maker had taken so much from her.
He wouldn't take this.
Resolute, she decided that in the morning, she would send another agent to track Elissa down. It wasn't just for her peace of mind, after all.
The Inquisition could use the Hero of Ferelden in its ranks.
And if she would send a letter of a more personal nature, well. It couldn't hurt.