A hundred voices rose up from the rows of pews below, each chant bolstered by its harmonious sister to create a haunting and beautiful song echoing through the sanctuary. Candles sputtered in little battalions upon the altar, next to it, and more tucked beside the pews. They glowed less like flame and more a multitude of stars pocked against a moonless night. While all the members of the chantry clustered together in the first fifteen rows, their heads bent over in fealty, a lone figure watched from the balcony above. She sat perched in a worn chair, her chin upon the railing as she gazed downward at the procession below.
Leliana was easy to see, of course, having the greatest hat and leading the services. She was supposed to stand by and wait for the song to finish, but Lana could see her chin dropping low and her mouth widening. The bard couldn't give up her song. While it was interesting to watch her old friend guide an entire chantry full of people during vespers, her real attention was on the man bent upon the kneelers.
Cullen stood out, not that it was difficult being surrounded by 80% women. The few brothers in the Grand Cathedral kept to the back, or seemed to skip this service in general. She wondered if that bothered Cullen, to be singled out so easily, but if he felt put off he didn't show it. His hands were pressed together tight, his head bowed as he bobbed along the washing sea of the chant. The only disturbance to his fervor was the woman beside him. Every once in awhile Mia would do something, Lana couldn't tell what at such a distance, and Cullen would twist his head enough to glance over at his sister.
It'd been about a week since her arrival, and after the embarrassing first meeting, Lana and she began to get on. Many more moons would have to pass before it became a friendship, but the foundation was there. It certainly helped how much Mia bore in common with her brother, even if neither would admit it. And, for all his grumblings about his sister sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Cullen seemed genuinely happy to have her around. He even took her on a walking tour of the famous Val Royeaux bazaar, surprising Lana because she didn't think he even knew of its existence.
"You're not down there with them?" a voice drew forth from behind her and Lana broke away from the siblings to find Detan haunting around the edges of the balcony. It was in a state of disrepair, most of the upholstery on the chairs split and faded, rotted wood cracking, metal hinges bent, and old bunting from some long dead Divine wafted off the ceiling. No one intended to use it save the ghost of the Cathedral.
"I..." Lana staggered up to her feet to face the elf. Her mind traipsed around how to explain her absence. "No, I don't consider it my place."
"I see," Detan said. She was dressed as she always was; utilitarian, grey, stark. Lana wondered why she kept herself so plain, but it dawned upon her that the elf was trying to blend in with so many humans. There was a great amount of work put into her appearance to make her vanish within the folds of the chantry, which Lana understood well.
"What of you?" Lana asked. Her hand skirted along the balcony railing, and she glanced down as all the chantry rose for a benediction. She knew the lines from her days as an apprentice but didn't feel them. Certainly not the way Cullen did.
Detan's wary eyes slipped around the edges, "What of me?"
"Elves were officially welcomed into the bosom of the chantry," Lana recited the both blessing and grievence on everyone's lips. Leliana was right, it wasn't the mages freedom that had everyone up in arms but the idea of having to share a pew with a knife ear.
Without a clipboard to hide behind, Detan's fingers tugged at her sleeves, yanking them out of their tight roll. How had Lana never noticed how long they were? Her clothes barely fit without pinning in place as if they were purchased second hand and hemmed to fit her. "I, the Divine has been more than welcoming of my people, but...um," her eyes widened even more in the weak light to the point they looked like reflective pools sunken in her face.
Shaking her head, Lana rescued her, "You don't need to kiss Leliana's ass for me. I can handle criticism of her, and so can she, in certain doses."
Detan nodded, but she looked wary, put off by the shem who could be giving her just enough rope to hang herself. "If'n you'll forgive my wagging tongue, my Lady, but..." she stepped primly down the aisle to stand beside Lana. Her own wary eyes darted over the procession down below, taking in the elaborate grandeur of something denied to elves for centuries. "There's the decree in city squares that something is open to all, and then there's the reality of praying beside dozens of humans. People don't willingly give up their assumed space, it has to be fought for inch by inch, drop by drop, and I'm afraid I don't have the stomach for it." She ran her fingers over the balcony, her pale pink nails smudging up ancient dust, "Not all of us are fighters."
"I understand," Lana said, then she snorted and shook her head, "No, not entirely. But, I can try to. In truth, that's why I'm up here."
"I don't understand, you're human, right? Fully. There was no mention of an elven parent," Detan glanced up and down Lana as if trying to find some hidden elven blood. In truth, there could be. She'd heard of other half elves who passed without anyone noticing, and then there were others who lived forever between worlds.
"Yes, I am human to the best of my knowledge. It is..." she sighed, aware of the trap she talked herself into. "As you said, there is the smiling face on the sign outside the chantry, and the scowling one at the altar. The chantry was...has never been my place of succor. It is not welcoming of people like me, and I doubt that will be changing anytime soon."
"I see," Detan's eyes hunted over Lana, but she didn't glance over at the elf's dissecting gaze. She was focused upon the statue of Andraste, over twenty feet tall and white as snow. It towered above all the worshippers prostrated below. The prophet's hands were turned heavenward as if she was parting the air from all the filthy magic cast upon the people by the Tevinter Magisters.
Magic should serve man and not rule over him.
Seemed simple enough, but what was serving? Was it being stripped from your home, tossed into a circle, and left to rot until you were needed by the whim of a King or army? Was it devoting your life to helping others the way the chantry was supposed to? Could the magic ever be viewed as nothing more than a tool, the same way people looked at a hammer or a saw?
Maker, this was why she stopped setting foot inside chantries. All they did was churn up her own self loathing buried deep below her skin but never gone. The entire foundation was built upon containing people like her, others cursed by the Maker. Then again...
Lana turned over to watch Detan, her watery eyes trailing across the prophetess' face with a humble fervor. Andraste also fought to free the elves, not just from slavery but into society. And look at how well they kept to that founding ideal. Any attempts by Leliana to return to it are shouted down and ignored. There were rumors of chantries being set ablaze by their own Mothers who'd face the flames rather than having to serve elves. Lana didn't blame Detan one bit for avoiding that fight. She doubted she could do the same for mages.
"What are they doing?" Detan asked, shaking Lana from her revere.
"Hm..." Lana glanced down as everyone gathered in a line. "Oh, they're receiving the Mother's blessing. In this case, the Divine's. It's a kind of cleansing of your sins. You step forward with your mind full of whatever's darkened your heart, the Mother waves that lit flame over your head and burns them free." Below them the Grand Clerics began first, each one tipping her head low to make certain the hat didn't catch on fire.
Lana's eyes wandered down the rows and rows of uniform robes, all the same hue and shade as the one before. The chantry thrived on always taking the smooth path and never deviating. In the middle of the white river stood a green rock, Cullen's hands wrapped around each other as he waited patiently.
"Does it work?" Detan asked, even more curious.
Lana knew the worries in his heart, some of them at least. The ones he'd whisper to her about the Inquisition, about his future, but nothing haunted him the way the past did. Those were the sins Cullen never seemed to be able to absolve himself of.
Sighing, Lana whispered, "Depends on if you believe or not."
With a break in the storms, it seemed time for Mia to return home to Ferelden proper. She'd enjoyed the vacation away but Maker only knew what her full house got up to while she was gone. Cullen understood, Orlais was only for the stoutest of constitutions, but a part of him was sorry she had to go. He'd had so little time to visit his family even after Corypheus fell. Or, in truth, he made certain he didn't have time. Watching his siblings give chase to their rambunctious children, get into petty arguments with their spouses and in general love home life dug into him. He didn't have that, any of the certainty of a family at home or serenity of peace. Only a hole where his heart had once been.
Glancing over at the woman with one hand upon Honor's head and the other on her cane, he smiled. He had it now. Lana's eyes darted over to him and she smiled a question, no doubt at the way he was worshiping her with his look. Instead of answering her, Cullen slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her head. Her giggle traveled through her ribcage and up his arm, causing Cullen to smile wider in return. Reaching closer, he couldn't feel Lana's ribs prodding out from below the wool surcoat she wore to fend off the cold, which was an improvement from when they first arrived. He didn't understand why it was taking her so long to put back on the weight, but she didn't seem too bothered by it.
Breaking away from the dog, Lana slid her fingers up Cullen's arm and turned in his grasp, her lips searching for his.
"I think that's about...Oh, not again," Mia groaned, causing them to break apart with a pair of matching blushes. "It's a damn good thing I'm leaving now before this gets any more awkward," Mia stormed but he spotted a soft smile warping her lips below the sisterly annoyance.
"Is that all you brought?" Cullen asked gesturing to the lone bag knotted up against the caravan's other goods. Two great horses tramped in the snow champing at the bit to get moving, their breath foaming in the cold. It was a lucky thing so many merchants were moving too and fro across the border. He had to give Alistair that one, Orlais and Ferelden hadn't been this friendly since before the invasion.
Mia rolled her eyes, "What? That's not enough? You think I shoulda drug a chifforobe around or something?"
"No, only...never mind," he shook his head, trying to shake off the prick of embarrassment only his family could cause.
Reaching forward, Mia caught Lana's hand in both of hers and patted it once. Lana smiled and returned it, "It's been a pleasure meeting you."
"You sure about that?" Mia startled at her word, her eyes darting over to her brother.
Lana chuckled, "Believe me, I've had far rockier first impressions from some of my better friends. And, none of them can tell me the more entertaining tales of Cullen's childhood."
"Oh Maker," he groaned. This was why he did his best to always be around both Lana and Mia instead of leaving them alone. "What did you tell her?"
"Nothing too salacious, dear brother. Maybe a few of the more embarrassing yarns about that time you borrowed mother's pans to fashion yourself a set of plate armor and went out to hunt a dragon."
"I...that's not, I was only six!" he tried to not shout right at her.
Lana reached over to pat his cheek, no doubt warming her hand instantly from the flush, "There there, it's quite adorable." Unable to wipe away Cullen's frown, she curled her fingers through his scruff and then turned to Mia, "Whatever happened to the vanquished dragon?"
"We kept that blighted tiny lizard for a good year if I remember right. What did you name it?"
"I am not playing this game," Cullen pouted, wishing his sister would leave already.
Mia leaned closer to Lana and whispered loud enough he could hear, "I'll ask Branson, he'll remember and then write to you."
"Good," Lana smiled, folding her arms back into her cloak against the rising winds.
After patting Lana once on the shoulder, Mia turned back to her grumbling brother, "And you, when are you going to get back to proper civilization?"
"I..." his eyes darted over to Lana who was happily scratching Honor's head without a concern in the world. "There are a few more issues to handle by letter before I am required in Skyhold. I'm hoping to keep my visit there as brief as possible. I don't want to leave Lana alone for long."
"You don't need to worry about me," Lana laughed. "I have Leliana to help, and Honor should we need any bandits disposed of."
Cullen sighed, "I know," he fluffed up his dog's slick coat, which Honor in turn answered the attempt by licking his hand, "but I cannot help it, worrying may be what I am best at."
Her doe eyes dropped wider into compassion as she lightly trailed her finger down his elbow, knotting it against the sheep's wool that bunched up at the joint in his coat. Mia coughed, her eyes darting down the street. "Ah, I did forget something. Think you can help?" she asked, shooting a look at Cullen.
"I believe so," he answered, trailing with her towards what looked like a small stand currently boarded up against the press of winter. As they turned the corner, Mia paused and folded her arms. "I...what do you need help with?"
"Maker's breath," she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the clear ruse she pulled to get him away for a private talk. Cullen bounced back and forth on his toes, feeling even more foolish for falling for its obviousness. "Now, you're going to write, right?"
"Yes," he said, bobbing his head.
"Good, and to all of us, even Del because she's been in a mood as of late after the baby and she loves having letters from the 'Commander of the Inquisition' to flash around."
"Wonderful, that's probably why it seems all of thedas knows I'm here," he grumbled, but intending to follow his sister's orders. He feared the consequences of disobeying.
"I know you won't be finished up by Satinalia, but you should get back home in time for Wintersend. Paint some eggs for your nephew and nieces."
"You mean try to not crush the fragile egg shell," Cullen sighed, aware of how well his attempts went when he was a child.
Mia chuckled, "That's half the fun, and why we've got so damn many of the backups around." She patted once along his shoulder in a friendly manner, then her eyes winnowed down to a death stare, "And, for the love of the Maker, Cullen, do not screw up what you have with her."
"I..."
"It ain't often the Maker sees fit to make someone that...shit, she's the damn Hero of Ferelden and for some reason seems to be smitten with you. I don't know what trick you pulled to manage it, but..."
"By the void, Mia. I know that, okay," he spat, well aware of the lifetime opportunity afforded him.
She blinked at his outburst, and then sighed out of her nose, "If you will let me finish, I was going to say that you make a lifelong habit of diminishing yourself but that girl, sorry, woman, she's your fit. Maybe not perfect, but what is? So don't screw it up by second guessing things, okay? You deserve happiness even if you think you don't."
With his eyes on their boots covered in snow, Cullen laughed at her accurate words, "I will do my very best to remember that."
"Good," she slugged him once in the shoulder, then turned back, "Now give me one last hug before I set out. I can't wait to get out of this blighted country and return to a proper one. If it weren't for your mabari I'd fear I'd gone deaf from the lack of barking here. It's not natural."
Laughing at her always right assessments, Cullen obliged his sister with their family hug. The last time they'd embraced in such a manner he was all of thirteen and about to leap onto a broken down nag to head towards Denerim for templar training. Despite it being twenty some years later, and his mind having hardened against all manner of pain and horror thedas could conjure, he felt like the frightened child saying goodbye to his overbearing and loving sister.
"The world's taken enough from you," Mia whispered to him, "time you took some back." Slugging him once more on the shoulder, she walked crisply to the wagon, patted Honor, gave Lana a gentle hug and then leapt onto the seat. As the caravan rattled away, the wheels and footprints disturbing the grey sludge of the street's snow, Cullen wrapped an arm around Lana and pulled her tight. She melted against him, wrapping herself tighter even if she didn't need the support. The first time he walked away from his family he had nothing but the fire in his soul. Now, a new fire stirred in his heart lit by the hope of the woman wrapped in his arms.