Part Four- Dragon Age Origins; My Version.
"So… You're telling me- the Maker himself appeared to you in a vision?" Alistair muttered confusedly to Leliana. They sat in the inn at a wooden table with several empty tankards of musty ale and pitcher after pitcher of sparkling, deep red wine. The rabble of the inn itself was relatively quiet but just loud enough to mask their conversation. They'd begun with small talk of Lothering gossip, weather and local knowledge. They then introduced their mission and explained the traitorous end of the Battle of Ostagar. And, finally, they talked about Leliana, the Orlesian former bard who served the Chantry.
"Well, in a way, yes. It was like the most vivid dream I've ever had. I was stood on a cliff and it was like an abyss at the edge and I felt so scared but yet so safe. I embraced it; leapt into it and awoke," Leliana spoke gently her accent rolling smoothly on her tongue, "The darkness consumed me. I took no notice; took it as an absent dream. Until, of course, in the garden. We have a withered, decaying rose bush but, it being of symbolic meaning, the Chantry kept it. The next morning, after my dream, the rose bush bloomed and beautiful, velvety red roses blossomed on the branches and that's when I knew". Her delicate explanation made Carian smile and she felt herself slipping back into the well-upholstered char. Grayshaw lay at her feet beneath the table wiping his eyes with his paw making gruff little growls here and there. Alistair had drunk a lot since they sat down but no-one blamed him. Nor did they stop him. Morrigan simply looked on solemnly eating rancid stew out of a grubby bowl but something about the content way she ate made Carian think that maybe she was used to it.
"So," began Leliana smiling cheerily, "what about you, then? I've heard Morrigan's story, Alistair's story and, technically, even Grayshaw's story. But, yours eludes me and, well, I'm more than curious of how an impeccably strong Dalish elf like yourself ended up with the Grey Wardens". The smile Carian wore faded away into a frown; a look of utter loss and sorrow and despair. She gulped her throat which had quickly become dry and tight since Leliana began despite the fact that she'd drunk half a pint only seconds before. Immediately her hands clasped around her neck for the necklace; her father's. She sighed.
"Yes, even I haven't heard this one!" Alistair joined in sliding an empty mug aside and grasping for yet another. The look in Carian gentle, sea blue eyes faded and she felt herself get swept away by emotions she'd struggled to mask.
"No, Alistair. Duncan was a good man and if I tell you this story the way I feel then nothing will ever be the same and, quite, frankly, I'm fed up of being the one to lead. Maybe, one day, someone will tell you what happened but I'm afraid it won't be coming from me" Carian struggled ending with the saddest thing ever imaginable; a smile.