As in all stories, we must sometimes leave our heroes behind to explore the dreaded side stories. The next few chapters I have devoted to plot description and general story setup. We have to meet Leliana and Sten don't we? And they both need some development. And what of Loghain and Howe? And even Isolde, Eamon and Jowan have a story, don't they? Not that I'm going to do this all in order, but just a warning – it's coming! I hope the chapters aren't too boring, but they're necessary and I really like the idea of developing companions and not just pushing plot. I also really like the idea of exploring the background I have written about Leliana in this story – it might end up being a story of it's own eventually when I have time! So if you love Leliana stay tuned. Thank you as always for making this adventure one of your favorite reads, and as always for the reviews! Enjoy!
LCailan
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~When Memories Shatter the Stillness~
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"In the cloister, away from the fuss and the flurry of the cities, I found peace. And in the stillness, I could hear the Maker."
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Leliana rested her elbows on the parapet of the northern most window of the Lothering Chantry. Behind her the sounds of prayer and supplication which were always soothing to her had begun to irritate her so much so that she had to get away.
But where?
Was there somewhere else to go? Did not those who were coming into Lothering saying they were seeking refuge? Perhaps this was all there was now.
Where could I go? Anywhere I go, my past goes also. Can I hide forever then?
The question begged an answer which she did not have. Sighing she turned and faced the crowded room.
Since the fall of Ostagar, she had seen hundreds upon hundreds of people along the road leading to Lothering. Many were lost and confused, even more injured gravely to the point of death. Still others sought a refuge, a place to lay their heads and get a bite to eat. The town supplies had dwindled, and there was almost no room now for one to lie down. People were side by side, aligned along the floors of the chantry. Some had blankets that they were sharing with their loved ones or sometimes even sharing them with a complete stranger. There wasn't enough food to go around, and those who were injured suffered through their pain silently or not, because there were no salves or kits or any kind of medicinal herb to be found, and those who left the village to seek it had not come back.
Leliana's days had gone from quiet contemplation and prayer to hours and hours of work, and sleepless nights of caring for the injured, and days upon days of hunger until a caravan came through delivering meager resources to Dane's Refuge. She had forgotten the quiet life she had led here because now all she could hear were the cries of the scared and injured, and the sobs of children, and the cries of the lost. She could hardly remember the peace she had found since coming to Lothering. Sighing, she began to walk through the hoard of people scattered about the huge room to seek out the Revered Mother. Somehow, the elder always made Leliana feel better. She had from the beginning, from the time she had set foot into the Chantry years before, seeking it's refuge from the mess that her life had become. But it was clear once Leliana found her that the elder was busy, and so she halted in her footsteps, and paused by yet another window.
She looked out on the front courtyard of the chantry, observing a fight between several farmers. Such fights had arisen more and more frequently as those who owned land would not share it, and those who didn't have it, fought for it or stole from it. She wanted to go out and intervene; it was her first instinct, but she also knew that her words would have no effect. Those living in Lothering had lived too long in despair and hunger, and they had forgotten what that other life was like, to live in harmony and peace with all the others.
Sighing she turned from the window and sank down onto the ground, head between her legs, taking a few moments rest before she returned to work. She was bandaging wounds that day, too many wounds, horrid, gaping, frightening…
She felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes, making them burn for a few seconds. This was all there was now? This pain and hopelessness? Hunger and sadness? It seemed impossible that she had run from another life into this one and yet…she had.
Marjolaine.
The name entered her mind unbidden, and Leliana blinked, wondering where it had come from. She had not thought of her bard master in years it seemed. It she that was the reason Leliana had sought shelter in Lothering. In the Maker. And in a life so different from the one that she had lived before.
No! I won't think of it! I love this life; this is what I was meant to do! The Maker called me; I just did not hear Him until I came here! I won't think of it!
Sighing, she turned, moving along the long stacks of books on either side of the wall in this hallway, and moved away from the groups of people, as far away as she could, lest they see her tears of frustration. The last thing those poor people needed was to grow more fearful. She would not have that. She reached the far wall of the great room, and then leaned against it there, closing her eyes. No matter how glad she was to serve the Maker and His people, she could not deny that at certain moments she missed her home and life in Orlais, and she missed Marjolaine. Lothering had until recently represented order. Everything in the little village had it's place, including dinner and supper times. There was a time to pray, and a time to play. There was a time to buy and to sell. A time to milk and a time to put out to pasture. It was a quiet little place, and Leliana had learned to love it, for it had soon begun to represent the chaos she had left behind.
The young woman's heart skipped a beat when she thought about what she had left behind. Even at the thought, there was a twisting in her heart, which wasn't exactly painful, but nor was it pleasurable. It was as if the twisting conjured up images, and then flashes from that life.
Orlais! How she missed her old home! He heart whispered to her often at being torn from it's first love. And her dreams were of home, bright and beautiful. She always dreamed of colors when she dreamed of Orlais. In fact, Orlais was everything bright and beautiful. She was music and frivolity; she was seductive and provoking. She took her pleasures first and thought of consequences later. She was wealth, power and ambition. She was proud nobility and high fashion.
Leliana looked down at her plain gray leather boots, and recalled her shoes in Orlais, light and colorful, bedecked with bows and ribbon. She sighed. There was no a ribbon to be had here.
No, Ferelden was as different from Orlais as night was from day.
Her eyes closed once more as she remembered her younger days. Not that she was old, but only a few years away from home made it seem that much longer. Perhaps hard work caused one to age more quickly, she did not know.
In those days, she had been confused but willing to learn whatever it was someone chose to teach her. She had been orphaned at a young age and so had no real money to her name, though she had been blessed to be raised by one of Orlais' nobility, a Lady Cecile. Therefore, without money and without noble blood, Leliana had been raised within the upper class of Orlais. Those had been good days. She had dressed in the latest fashions and trends, and learned her place within such a society even though she had not been born into it. There had been satiny slippers, and lacy gowns which brushed just the tops of her feet. There had been large, wide hats which kept away the hot summer suns. There had been ribbons and bows for both shoes and her long red hair, which had always been done in curls. Her milky white fingers and hands had been adorned with radiantly colored jewels and sparkling golds and silvers. There had even been cosmetics, she remembered. She had worn such to adorn her bright green eyes and cupid's mouth.
Lady Cecile had told Leliana she was beautiful, and even as a young girl many a noble and even some of the chevaliers had called her beautiful beyond words.
The girl that sat curled up in the corner of the chantry looked down at herself. Her hands were no longer soft and white, but worn and weathered from time and work, and her hair had not seen a bow for years, let alone a hairdresser. It was shorter now, cut to be practical and so the curls were long gone. It was just hair now, though when she had been younger many had admired her hair. The color of the sunset, they had said, or the color of an old copper penny. Marjolaine had told Leliana her hair color was indescribable. It had always made her feel special. But now…
She knew she was not truly beautiful; they had told her so just to confuse her, to lure her in, to make her trust them. She did not know if she had ever been beautiful to anyone but Lady Cecile.
She associated her time of beauty with her time of being in Orlais, for everything there was beautiful. And so she recalled nights where she had been adorned in the best clothing, shoes and jewelry, and she had followed Lady Cecile around town, having learned from her the ways of being a lady. How to hold her head up, how to smile and speak, how to curtsy, and how to take compliments, and as she grew older, how to flirt with men in a way that did not make you appear a harlot. She had learned her table manners, and how to dance and even to sing. Over her time with Lady Cecile, she had become well known simply because she was the beautiful red haired girl whom Lady Cecile had adopted as her own. It provided Orlesians with amusement, she supposed in retrospect, as her surrogate mother had been tall, regal and blond, and she had been tiny and red haired. They must have made a fine pair! Though eccentricity was welcomed in Orlais, and so no one questioned it in the end.
When had her life changed so? Leliana could not even recall a moment, a day when she had known something was wrong. She could only attribute the huge change in her life to the trip to Orlais' capital the summer she had turned seventeen. Everything had changed then for that was the summer she had fallen in love for the first time. And after that, her life had changed completely.
Silas.
She had not thought of him in years. And now, just as with her home country, her heart began to weep. It wept for loss, and for her own stupidity and blindness, and with regret.
"Sister?" said a tiny voice to her left, breaking Leliana from her lovely yet equally miserable reverie. There stood an uncertain little girl with golden curls that seemed to shine like the sun even within the chantry wall. Leliana quickly gathered herself wearily to a standing position, wiping her eyes.
"Yes?" she asked kindly, stooping down next to the lone child. She had blue eyes. Blue eyes like the summer skies in Orlais. Leliana sighed longingly for a moment before the little girl spoke..
"Can I have a drink of water please?" she asked and Leliana smiled. In that smile there was a hint, a faint reminder of the beauty that still existed within her.
"Certainly," she said and offered the child her hand. The two wandered to the front of the chantry were the Revered Mother kept some provisions, and most importantly barrels of water for those thirsty. Leliana was glad for the distraction, as the little girl happily told her of her brother and mother, and said her father was off fighting the bad men. It lightened Leliana's heart that there was still hope, even if it was in the mind and heart of a little child. She stood back, and then watched the child hurry to her mother, who had a broken arm and wore a weathered expression much like all the others in the room.
When would it end? When would they all be free to move on?
Leliana fell to her worn knees, praying.
Maker, I deserve what I get because of the things I have done. But these innocent people? They do not! Save them from this! I implore you!
Her eyes were turned up towards the endless heavens, and they filled with tears of regret for all the things she had done after leaving Lady Cecile. She knew her retribution would come sooner or later, and that Marjolaine was not dead and therefore Leliana would always be on the run, but these people, no. They did not deserve what was happening and she could only pray that they were spared from the worst. She was not stupid, and Leliana had heard talk from the refugees within Dane's Refuge that the darkspawn horde was traveling through the Wilds and would sooner or later reach Lothering, that none of them were safe. She had also heard from others that the Grey Wardens from Orlais had been summoned to battle, indicating a deeper issue. Darkspawn did not always mean a Blight. But if the Wardens were called in…?
She shuddered just as there was a commotion from the front of the Chantry. Leliana moved quickly in case there was some sort of emergency and opened the wide doors, looking out. The heat of the day was thick and heavy, adding an invisible burden to each breath. The sun beat down harshly and she squinted to see the commotion coming along the dusty path to the center of the village.
A small crowd was leading a man in chains and shackles along the main path through the village. She stood a frown on her pale face, watching the villagers shove him around with unnecessary violence.
"Murderer!" some screamed.
"Kill him!"
"He killed a child! Maker strike him down!"
Leliana was rooted in place as the men moved the prisoner down the lane. He was tall, thickly built with white hair and deep colored skin; skin the color of the fine chocolate that was sold in Orlais. He was not struggling or resisting so her reaction to him was one of pity. He was dirty and perspiring heavily and when their eyes met across the way, she felt a jolt. As if she knew him. There was a reddish tint to his eyes but before she could look further, he was yanked into moving once more, and Leliana sighed. Red eyes?
What man would slay a child? For what reason? And what manner of man has red eyes?
Saddened she watched the mob moving towards the outskirts of the village, where they kept cages for the dogs and other animals. They would put him there; that was where they kept all their prisoners. She sighed, the image of the man's face in the eye of her mind. She had seen in those few moments despair, confusion and anger. How ironic it seemed to be that they were as lost as the man they were imprisoning. Lothering was lost in confusion and fear, and it seemed to only be getting worse.
Leliana retreated back into the Chantry to resume her work, wondering when it had stopped being her refuge.
