Apologies for the delay in updating this- I've been buried with real-life commitments and most of my writing time has been devoted to NaNoWriMo, but I do intend to see this through to the end- I've got ideas for this all the way up to the timeline of Trespasser, as well as tie in stories involving the Hawke and Lavellan who tie into this. So here's the latest installment; our heroines' first encounter with the Wardens of this story. Not the best of first impressions, but from small beginnings...next time, in the aftermath of the events at the Circle of Magi, Sandor and Tabitha bond over the fact they have more in common than they realise...
Hope you enjoy my latest foray in Thedas!
Dane's Refuge, Lothering, eight days after the Battle of Ostagar
The two young women sat at their table, sipping the wine they'd ordered- what was probably the last of the wine the tavern had in its cellars- the red and gold robes they were wearing saving them from the worst of the attentions of the refugees, and more worryingly, the soldiers wearing the wyvern heraldry of Teyrn Loghain, boorishly making a nuisance of themselves, constantly demanding more ale and groping any of the barmaids or female refugees who strayed too close. In what seemed like another lifetime, she herself would have leapt across the tavern's main room and silenced the drunken wretches permanently with the insertion of a sword through their gullets, but that had been a different woman; Leliana had striven too long and hard to cast off that darker side of her character to let it slip now. Leliana saw Tabitha's left hand on the table close into a fist (the right was undoubtedly fingering the hilt of the knife hidden in her robes) and gently placed a restraining hand on the girl's wrist; the last thing they needed was trouble ahead of time, not until she found the people she needed to. Still, Leliana could understand Tabitha's anger- the girl had been in a foul mood ever since word had come from the south while she was still healing that had made her desperate flight worthless, that her mission would never be completed.
The mood in the tavern was grim, the news of King Cailain's death and the darkspawn victory at Ostagar the talk on everyone's lips, the fear that the monsters would soon be moving north to capitalise on their victory heavy in the air. Soon enough, the pair were going to have to make their minds up about what they would do next; when the horde moved north, being in its path was no place to be- Leliana had been a bard, she knew all the tales of the Fourth Blight and the ruins the darkspawn made of the lands they conquered, poisoning the rivers and the lands so they would remain undrinkable and fallow for years to come, destroying the plants and corrupting the animals. It pained Leliana to think of the place she had come to call home despoiled and destroyed by such monsters, but there was nothing for it- the uncertainty of what the future might hold was better than the certainty of death if they remained.
Leliana took another sip of the watered down ale she'd been nursing for half an hour- revolting stuff, but all the barkeep had left in his cellars and there wasn't likely to be any more anytime soon, no merchant willing to come south with the Blight's influence expanding from the wilds- running a finger through her braided red hair and trying once more to keep both her anger and her companion's in check at the obnoxious behaviour of Loghain's soldiers. If their boorish behaviour hadn't been enough to anger most of the village, then the whispers that had begun to hang over the village like flies round a corpse as more and more survivors of the battle had staggered up from the south, certainly had. More and more reports came every day accusing Loghain of treachery, claiming the teyrn had withdrawn his forces from the battlefield at the pivotal moment, leaving his king, most of his supporters and their soldiers and the Wardens to their deaths when the darkspawn overran their position. Though Loghain's men had tried to stamp the whispers out, they had failed, and the last messenger from the north, bringing word from the court in Denerim that Loghain had declared himself Regent, King in all but name, had only lent further credence to those rumours; she'd played the Game for long enough to know the stink of a coup when she smelled it.
The tavern door swung open, and the strangest group wandered into the tavern; Laelaps's head perked up as he caught the scent of another of his kind, the new mabari's tan fur streaked with blood and marked with old scars- this dog had clearly seen many fights. Behind him loped a young woman in her late teens or early twenties; her style of dress was clearly Chasind, but her raven-black hair and ivory skin were a marked distance from the Chasind's usual swarthy complexion, certainly striking in their surroundings, to say nothing of the attire she was wearing-a purple vest that barely covered her ample bosom, and a pair of black leggings that clung to her lithe limbs. In her right hand, she leaned on a long wooden staff, and the Chantry sister wondered if this woman were a mage. 'Strange to see one so far from the tower' she thought 'unless she's not with the Circle...'
With them marched two even more unusual characters; a young man, between her and Tabitha in age, carrying himself with the air of a warrior, clad in worn and battle-scarred splintmail armour, a simple, functional sword sheathed at his waist and a wooden shield hanging from a strap on his back, the only concession to ornamentation on his person the sun emblem of the Chantry on his shield, though so badly damaged by blades and claws it was barely recognisable. The man looked tired, but he still had an insouciant look to his features, weather-beaten but handsome, added to by the mop of spiky honey-blonde hair atop his head. He appeared to be telling something in the ear of his other companion, a dwarf, bald as an egg but bearing a wild, braided reddish-brown beard, the portions of his face and neck that weren't covered by hair crisscrossed with a lattice of scars. The heavy chainmail armour he wore was almost as heavily scarred as his face, notched and chipped in places, stained by blood both red and black- the dwarf was clearly a warrior not afraid to throw himself into the thick of combat. At his belt hung an ugly looking axe that no human or dwarven smith would admit to forging, ugly and notched, its cutting edge jagged and tapering to a vicious looking spike that looked capable of punching through plate armour with savage ease, as well as a large metal shield devoid of sigil or ornamentation, covered in battle damage.
Leliana was surprised at the presence of a dwarf- she'd heard no rumours that Orzammar had sent forces to assist King Cailan at Ostagar- until something clicked in the back of her mind. 'The son of stone' she realised, thinking back to the dream she'd had two nights previous: watching from atop a peak as an overwhelming tide of darkness swept over the land, devouring everything in its path. As she watched helpless, weeping as she saw the land perish under the foul taint seeping into it, she heard above her head the beating of leathery wings and a terrible noise that reverberated all around her; a blood-curdling screech of rage, pain and hatred older than mankind itself, hatred for all life, hatred that would see everything die...
She remembered waking from that nightmare, weeping at the horrors she'd witnessed, and slipping into the Chantry's gardens to recover herself. She remembered looking at an old, withered rose bush and to her surprise, seeing a single blossom on the bush. And then she'd heard a voice, but when she looked round, there was no one there. A voice of peace, compassion and mercy, that whispered to her in a comforting tone "Even in the darkness, there is hope, and beauty. Have faith".
She must have fallen asleep because she remembered dreaming again, but this time it was different: the darkness was still trying to swallow the land, but this time something stood in its path; something gleaming in the dark like a single, brilliant candle in the night. The light flickered and wavered, but the darkness could not extinguish it. And she had heard the voice, speaking to her imploringly "The son of stone, the griffon born of the wolf's blood and the daughter of the dragon. They hold the key to halting the spawn of darkness. Find them. Help them"
The sisters had derided her when she'd told them of this- even the Revered Mother's patience with her claims had seemed a little patronising. Tabitha claimed to believe her, but Leliana suspected the younger girl was just humouring her out of gratitude for looking after her- Leliana strongly suspected if the girl had ever believed, then recent events had stripped her of her faith. 'One more thing I will try to help her rediscover, if I can. I've healed her body, but her heart and her soul will be more of a challenge…but a worthy one. I know what it's like to lose what you hold dear, to feel the darkness pulling at you, the anger and the grief slowly poisoning the good. I won't let that happen to her, not like it nearly did to me'.
She got to her feet, but out of the corner of her eye, the sister saw the soldiers get to their feet to intercept the newcomers. 'I shouldn't be surprised. If Loghain set them here, then doubtless he's who they're after as well!' she thought. Without thinking, she idly fingered the handle of the knife she'd hidden in her robes. She didn't want to use it, but if these thugs turned violent, she wouldn't hesitate to. Above all else, she knew the man she'd been shown couldn't come to harm.
"Well, look here men! I think we've just been blessed!" a cruel voice sneered to Alistair's right. He looked around and saw half a dozen men, clad in fine armour marked with the wyvern of Gwaren and an assortment of weapons, rising from their seats. The fellow who'd spoken- a tall man with short, dark hair and a scraggly beard the same colour, clad in silver scale armour with a greatsword on his back, clearly the one in charge- grinned malevolently at them as they entered, showing a mouth of stained yellow teeth. Alistair could see from their flushed faces and slightly dull eyes they were quite drunk, and looking for an excuse to be violent. Alistair chanced a look to his left; the dwarf, his fellow sole survivor of Ostagar, was sizing them up, clearly already thinking about how best to bring them down. There was no obvious sign of it on Sandor's face, but he could see the tightness of the mouth, the simmering look of rage always looking like it were perpetually about to boil over, the fact his fellow Warden's hand was already moving towards the hilt of his sword, all signs that he was prepared for violence. His fellow Warden, despite being his junior in the Order, had years of battle experience fighting in the Deep Roads, certainly more than Alistair, one more reason why Alistair was more than happy to follow Sandor's lead. Given that they were all that was left of the Wardens in Ferelden, if the dwarf had an idea or plan that would keep them from joining their fellows in the cold earth too soon, Alistair was more than happy to follow it.
One of the soldiers-a bearded man in splintmail and a steel helm- turned to the sergeant and asked "Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man and a dwarf by this very description? And didn't everyone say they hadn't seen him?". The sergeant nodded and glowered at the rest of the tavern's patrons, as though they were all his mortal enemies. "It seems we were lied to" he snarled.
At this point, Alistair saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his left eye. His attention caught quite a lovely sight; two young women, both redheads, looking willowy and slender even under the red and gold Chantry robes they wore, rising to their feet and moving in the direction of the growing altercation. Having had no female company for the better part of a fortnight bar the acid-tongued harpy bringing up the rear, it was quite nice to see there were actually still other women out there, and hopeless as he was with fair maidens, the sisters back at the monastery had always treated him fairly, so he'd always felt more comfortable at the sight of a woman in those robes.
Looking closely, Alistair saw that the closer of the two looked to be older- twenty three, twenty four at the oldest- with red bangs adorned by a long braid of hair down the left side of her head- while the one behind her, who looked eighteen or nineteen at his best guess, had her hair cut short and spiky, with numerous braids of it around her head. He was also quick to notice, to his eyes, they were extremely beautiful; in the light of the roaring fire in the centre of the tavern, their hair gleamed like burnished copper, accentuated by striking eyes- emerald green in the case of the older, sapphire blue in the case of the younger- with heart-shaped faces with high cheekbones, pointed, tapered chins, and willowy, slender figures. She raised a placating hand to the soldiers, and when she spoke in a slow, peaceful tone, Alistair felt a pleasurable appeal in the sultry purr of her voice, made all the more exotic by the rich Orlesian accent she spoke with. She was smiling in a charming manner, clearly meant to try and calm hostilities, which in Alistair's opinion was a good thing because the soldiers looked drunk and spoiling for a fight, Sandor seemed only seconds away from drawing his sword and the look in the eyes of the younger woman sent a chill down his spine.
"Gentlemen, surely there's no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge" she said in a gentle tone. The sergeant scowled at her and snapped "They're more than that! Now stay out of our way, sister! You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them!"
Alistair's temper was already frayed and even he would welcome the chance to work out some of his anger over what had happened on these lapdogs of the deserter, but he had no wish to get anyone else killed. He tried to gently chivvy the sister and her companion back. "We don't need your help, miss. Please stand back, for your own safety..."
To his surprise, the Orlesian sister gave a very unfeminine snort and laughed "You don't need my protection, but these men will blindly follow their master's commands, even unto death". The sergeant's face went red with outraged fury as he bellowed in the woman's face "I AM NOT THE BLIND ONE! I served at Ostagar, where the teyrn saved us from the Grey Wardens' treachery! I serve him gladly...but enough talk!" The sergeant turned to his men and snapped orders "Take the Warden into custody. Kill the sister, and anyone else who gets in your way!"
The first soldier who'd spoken nodded and advanced on them. "Right, let's make this quick. Surrender, Wardens; come quietly and the regent may show merc-!" The man's right hand moved to draw his sword…and as soon as his arm moved, the girl drove the knife she'd kept hidden up the sleeve of her robe under his armpit. The blade was out in an instant and the next closest soldier fell to one knee with the knife in the girl's hand buried up to the handle in his eye socket.
The sergeant gave a furious roar and drew his greatsword, clearly intending to hack the sister in two, but before he could, Alistair charged forward, catching the descending blow with his shield, before lashing out with a backhanded blow that sent the heavy wooden thing into the sergeant's chin; drunk and already off balance, the sergeant smashed back into the table he and his men had been drinking at, going arse over tit over it and sending the tankards on its top flying. A fourth man charged forward, screaming like a banshee with his sword held above his head; Sandor easily dodged aside the drunkard's attack and buried a metre of steel through the man's bowels before the soldier could recover. The dwarf ripped the blade free and his foe collapsed, screaming for the Maker, his mother and anyone else who cared to listen as he tried to keep his guts inside him. That made an end to it; the soldiers had expected a one-sided fight, but hadn't imagined they'd be on the losing end. Heavily drunk and outmatched, with three of their comrades dead and their leader in no condition to fight on, the two remaining soldiers, both of them looking to be young men, threw down their swords in surrender.
The sergeant groggily tried to get to his feet, helped by a young lad who looked barely old enough to shave; seeing a number of blades pointing at him, the man reluctantly threw down his sword, the Orlesian woman kicking it away.
"Alright, you've won. We surrender!" the sergeant reluctantly conceded. The Orlesian sister smiled as she looked at Alistair and his fellows "Good. They've learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now" she concluded. Sandor, however, gave a loud snort: from what little Duncan had told Alistair of the dwarf's past and the simmering anger Sandor had been bottling up ever since he'd woke in Flemeth's shack, his idea of teaching these worms a lesson was far from over. "You are scum and filth in service to an oath-breaking, kin-slaying, cowardly dog!" he shouted at the soldiers. "Teyrn Loghain, the so-called 'Hero of Ferelden' is the traitor who betrayed your King Cailan at Ostagar!"
There was a collective gasp of shock and some outrage at this; no doubt many of the people had swallowed the lies fed to them about what had happened at Ostagar. Unfortunately, the sergeant either still had a degree of loyalty to his lord or more likely was too drunk to keep his mouth shut. "I was there! The teyrn pulled us out of a trap!"
Though angry himself at the lie, Alistair grimaced as the dwarf's face acquired a look of naked fury: the last time he'd seen that expression, ten seconds later Sandor had been beating a hurlock emissary to death with his bare fists.
"I saw what happened from the top of the Tower of Ishal! Loghain deserted, he left Cailan to die!"
"The Wardens led the King to his death! The Teyrn could do nothing, good folk!" the sergeant shouted before a boot between his legs quickly shut him up.
"Blind and stupid like all humans! Ask your Maker to show you the truth when you see him!" Sandor spat, glancing at Morrigan and Alistair as he raised his sword. "No witnesses. Kill them all!"
"Please, they have surrendered, they were no match for you. Let them be!" the Orlesian pleaded.
Sandor glared at her in anger, gesturing to the wretched man squirming in his grip "They were going to murder us, Sister, and you too, in case you've forgotten!" he snapped. The young woman raised a placating hand and replied "But they failed. And I do not wish death on anyone".
"You should kill them" the younger woman said in a flat, emotionless voice behind him, her accent betraying her as a native of northern Ferelden, Highever or Amaranthine. "Let them go and they'll run straight back to Loghain. And you may not be able to deal with what he sends after you next time".
One of the men balked at this, falling to his knees in front of Sandor. "Please, I have a wife and a son-"
Alistair gawped in surprise as the younger woman stormed over, seized the man by the back of his head and jammed her knife under his chin, her expression murderous. "My lord's grandson was only seven and men like you butchered him and his mother in their beds like pigs! Why should I not pay your lord back in his own coin?!" she screamed.
The girl tensed, as if to rip the knife across her victim's throat, but before she could, the Orlesian was across the room, gripping the wrist of the hand clutching the knife firmly and speaking to her companion in a placatory, but stern tone.
"Please, Tabitha. You're better than this. These idiots aren't responsible for what happened to you or your lord. Kill them and you'll be no better than the men you hate, striking down men just because you can". Tabitha gave a sigh of frustration but nodded bitterly and reluctantly let go of her captive. The Orlesian then turned her attention to Sandor and Alistair, addressing them directly.
"Friends, I say the same to you. Your passage through Lothering will not go unnoticed. Too many here know now what you are; would you kill them all to keep your secret safe? You kill for a reason in battle; to push back the darkspawn horde and to cast down the archdemon. Your task ahead of fighting the Blight will be arduous enough without resorting to murdering those unlucky enough to cross your path for no more crime than obeying orders from their masters that they cannot refuse. Please…"
For a moment, Alistair thought her words wouldn't make a blind bit of difference; he'd seen the berserker battle-lust Sandor worked himself into in the heat of battle- once he got started, stopping him was a near impossible task. For a minute, the moment hung with Sandor's sword raised, as if to bring it down on the sergeant's skull, but at the last instant, the dwarf brought the blade slamming down into the wooden floorboards inches from the man's right knee. An acrid, foul stench filled the tavern air.
Furious, Sandor irritably jerked his head at the Orlesian sister and snarled to Loghain's lackeys "I've killed far better men than you for far less. Kiss her feet and thank your Maker she was here to save you. Tell your cur of a master he'll get what's coming to him, one way or another. Now get out before I change my mind!"
The sergeant jumped like a whipped dog, then nodded and yelped "I'll tell him, right away! Thank you!" With that, he and his men ran out of the tavern, chased out the door by the two mabari, snapping at their heels and barking angrily after them. Spitting in disgust, Sandor sank into an empty chair by the table the guards had just vacated and bellowed at the bar staff "WENCH! ALE! FOOD! NOW!"
That proved the last straw for many of the tavern's patrons. Almost as one, they bolted for the door, causing a scrum as they bolted. Mercifully for the tavern keeper and his staff, Sandor tossed them the coin belts from the dead men, seemingly willing to make up for the sudden loss of business he had just caused. The Orlesian sister moved to approach Sandor but Alistair interposed himself between her and the dwarf before she could make herself the target of his ire; in this mood, anything was likely to set him off. Alistair picked a relatively clean table, picked up a few of the chairs that had been knocked over in the scrum to get out and motioned for the women to sit down.
The Orlesian sister smiled at the thought and said "I apologise for interfering, but I couldn't sit by and not help".
Alistair grinned devilishly and replied "Quite all right. Saving the lives of hapless maidens from those kinds of rogues is what I'm good for"
"One of the few things" Morrigan muttered sotto voce. The younger of the redheads gave Alistair a look as though he'd expressed a desire for intimate relations with sheep in the middle of the Grand Cathedral while the Orlesian puffed up angrily at the implication in his words.
"Save my life?! I assure you, I can take care of myself!"
"I would hope so, sister" Alistair replied with an impish grin. "Particularly if you make a habit of charging headlong into mortal danger all the time"
The sister's scowl only deepened at his flippancy. "So now you know everything about me?! We've barely just met!"
"Well, technically, we haven't actually, sister…" Alistair went on. The Orlesian sister made to curse him, but then caught herself and shook her head with a rueful smile as she conceded his point.
"You have me there, ser, but that can be easily remedied, no?" the Orlesian replied as she gestured to herself with a long fingered hand "Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering...or I was. And this is Tabitha, late of Highever, and a ward of our Chantry for several weeks now". Alistair raised her hand to his lips, gently kissed the back of it and replied "Enchanté, Leliana" addressing her in one of the few words of Orlesian he knew. "Alistair, a pleasure to meet you". Alistair tried to do the same with Tabitha but to his surprise, she irritably jerked her hand out of his reach. A few moments later, she seemed to reconsider her rudeness and extended her hand, shaking Alistair's in the traditional Fereldan manner, but gave no explanation for her abrupt manner.
Leliana smiled at being complimented in her native tongue and said "You are a Grey Warden, then? You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?" her tone becoming much more blunt and businesslike. "I know after what happened, you will need all the help you can get. That is why we're coming along with you".
The group looked somewhat surprised at her forthrightness. Morrigan scoffed at the sister, the haughty sneer on her lips making it clear how useful she thought the girl would be. Alistair seemed surprised that someone would actually volunteer to go with them, considering the Wardens' name was mud now. Her tone seemed honest, and he did owe the pair for their help, but why would she wish to accompany them?
"It's true we do need help, this is true, but why are you so eager to come with me?"
"The Maker told me to" was her immediate reply.
A great sense of unease swept over them all at Leliana's pronouncement. Morrigan's thin eyebrows rose so high in disbelief, they almost disappeared into her hairline. Tabitha rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief at Leliana's open display of either faith or delusion, while Alistair studied Leliana closely, looking to see anything on her face that would suggest her to be lying or a lunatic, deeply glad Sandor wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention- the dwarf had already made his views on the Chantry abundantly clear. Hher pretty face was blank, her only expression a bemused smile, as though she were uncertain why they were all looking at her so. 'She's telling the truth, or at least what she thinks is the truth...'
"Could you elaborate on this?" he asked, trying to sound more inquisitive than sceptical.
Leliana's smile faltered a little, as though she realised just how what she had said sounded and started to explain in a faltering tone "I, I know that sounds absolutely crazy...but it's true! I had a dream, a vision!"
"More crazy? I thought we were all full up!" Alistair glibly quipped in an aside to Shadow, the mabari grunting in agreement at his feet. Leliana scowled at him, but then took his hand as she pleadingly looked into his eyes "Look around; the people here are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread! What you do, what you are meant to do is the Maker's work! Let me help!" she pleaded.
Alistair had been about to say something- part of him agreed when she said they needed help, another argued that who they took on wasn't just his decision to make- when whatever he said was thrown out of his head by something landing in a tankard one of the soldiers had left half drunk on the table before the fight started. Fishing it out, Alistair saw it was a wrought iron key; he looked over at his fellow Warden, who had clearly tossed it over his shoulder without looking and was paying more attention to the meat pie in front of him as he talked without looking back to Alistair.
"The room that mob were rented has suddenly become available. If you're in that much need of a woman, make use of it; take one of them, take both for all I care- but be done with it by morning; I want to be out of this rat's nest and on the move before more trouble from Loghain finds us here"
Tabitha and Leliana both seemed to take offence at the crass implication in his words, but Alistair wisely stopped them from saying anything; he was aware the dwarf was far from subtle or given to softening his words, and the last thing, if this pair were serious about helping them against the Blight, the last thing they would want was to start an argument that would scupper their chances of that permanently.
"Trust me, you don't want to say anything when he's in a mood like this. If you still want to join us, meet us by the Imperial Highway, just outside the village…and for Maker's sake, come prepared" Alistair urged as he took his leave of the two women.
"They're not coming with us" Sandor snapped curtly. "I am not having you drag those two chits along with us just so you've got someone to keep your tent warm at night!"
"You released that qunari" Alistair retorted, gesturing to the heavy-set brute pulling the battleaxe his fellow Warden had acquired for him from the chest of one of the farmers who'd thrown their lives away for the bounty Loghain had placed on their heads. He could well believe the stories he'd heard in the village, of how the qunari warrior-Sten, as he called himself- had slaughtered an entire family by himself. "I suspect our task of rallying support to fight the Blight if we have friendlier faces than a mass murderer in our ranks!". Personally, the women would be a more welcome sight than a berserk heathen who'd confessed to butchering eight innocent people singlehandedly, at least three of them children.
"He's useful" Sandor retorted, gesturing to at least three bodies that bore the mark of the heavy axe that had hit them. "Those two…the Orlesian seems more priestess than fighter and as for that one-" Sandor didn't finish what he was thinking about the Fereldan girl currently wiping her knives clean on a dead farmer's tunic, namely that the last time he'd seen eyes that cold and merciless, they'd belonged to a shriek. The ease with which she'd carved through those two men in the tavern…Both women seemed to have dispensed with their Chantry robes, now clad in figure-hugging leather armour. Leliana favoured a longbow of yew as her weapon of choice, though two long bladed daggers were sheathed at her waist, while Tabitha had a shortbow of ash slung across her back, a curve bladed dagger sheathed at her hip and was currently cleaning the blade of an ornate looking sword that looked far too elaborate for a simple scout to be carrying on the back of a decapitated would-be bounty hunter who'd thought a pitchfork made him capable of standing up to warriors. The younger woman was giving the dwarf a cold look, almost challenging him to say something and Sandor didn't like it; there was a simmering core of rage below the surface that reminded him far too much of himself in the way she hurled herself at her foes. She was as near driven by the pursuit of revenge almost as much as he was.
"Well, she's certainly an Archdemon short of a Blight-they both are!" Sandor muttered under his breath.
"Well yes" Alistair admitted "but Leliana seems more 'Ooh, pretty colours' than 'I am Princess Stabbitty! Stab, stab, kill! Muhahahaha!" Sandor found himself biting his cheek to stop himself from cracking a smile at Alistair's perpetually lousy sense of humour "And she seems to know how to keep her friend's anger in check…the plea she made seemed wholehearted, and they may be strange but you can't deny they have skill" Alistair added, judging to the men who Tabitha's blades had eviscerated or Leliana's arrows had perforated.
At this point, Leliana retrieved the last of her arrows from the dead and sauntered over to the Wardens. "We all have to leave Lothering now to survive? Surely our chances are better if we travel together?"
Sandor scowled. "Give me one good reason why I should let you come with us"
"I can give you three" Leliana replied with an earnest smile. "For one, you've seen Tabitha and I can fight. You already have to battle an army of monsters when half the kingdom's forces are arrayed against you. You know there will be other bounty hunters, and ones far better equipped than these poor fools for the task. Surely, two more hands to wield blades to fend off such wretches would be welcome, no? Second, forgive me ser dwarf, but I think you are a stranger here on the surface. In the course of our duties, I in service to the Chantry and Tabitha to her…lord"- Sandor caught the pause and looked at Leliana askance, but the Orlesian did not elaborate "Tabitha and I have travelled across much of Ferelden; we know places and their people, places where you might find safe haven from your enemies and safe passage as you go about your task of readying this nation to face the Blight"
Sandor reluctantly had to concede those were good points- it was true they would need allies; Loghain's lies had made sure those lining up to help them would be few and far between, and some of the skills both women had shown, their group sorely needed. Alistair was looking at him expectantly, clearly believing the argument won, Shadow, the mabari they'd acquired in the journey from Ostagar seemingly also well inclined to the pair while Morrigan and Sten's expressions were inscrutable. Sandor raised his last objection.
"And the third thing you can offer?"
"Breakfast?" Leliana offered with an impish grin, holding up a brace of cleanly shot rabbits she'd clearly caught while waiting for them to arrive. Tabitha face-palmed and cracked a thin smile, the first sign of amusement anyone in both groups had seen her show- and Alistair gave a bark of laughter at the unexpected answer. Sandor was beaten.
"Perhaps the darkspawn cracked your skull worse than Mother thought" Morrigan muttered sotto voce as the party made to depart Lothering, Sandor motioning with a gauntleted hand for the two women to follow.