NOTE: She knows that Vestor knows and Solas knows, but Cullen doesn't know. Bull and Varric don't care. Leliana knows everything already anyway (ravens like to gossip). George knows, but he's busy. Latrines are hard work.

NOTE II: Exercise will help Melori get the use of her leg back more quickly, and swords-training makes the most sense since there's always someone sparring in Haven. :D Also, imagining her in a helm and all that armor makes me laugh.

NOTE III: Thank you all my reviewers. You have all made me smile so hugely today, and it was a rough day. So, thank you :) *HUGS*

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Oh, my friend, it's not what they take away from you that counts. It's what you do with what you have left. ~ William Cowper

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The following days were busy ones. Leliana gave Melori little time to dwell on her pain or her losses, and instructed Vestor, who had apparently been given the task of keeping the Librarian intact, to make sure her training would expand beyond, as she put it, 'whacking things with sticks.' This meant going down the lists and spending several excruciating hours every day under the torture … tutelage of the swords master, who acknowledged Melori's injured leg, but insisted that she exercise it.

"A staff is fine for me! We can even put a blade on the end of it, like the mages do!" She protested after the first session, groaning in pain beside the fire while holding a cloth bag of ice against her thigh. Her leg had gone from the yellow and green of nearly healed bruising back to somewhere closer to purple and she was having trouble standing on it. Vestor, sitting in the chair near the fire, simply laughed and tossed her a healing potion.

"Unless you can sling energy about like a mage, that staff is not enough," he insisted, refusing to argue, though she recognized the words he left unsaid. He knew what she was and this was how he meant to challenge her - or maybe she was just being paranoid. "Exercising your leg will give you back its use, so I don't see why you're whining."

"I'm not being given a choice here, am I?" She glared. Melori hadn't been what she was for so long because she lacked stubbornness. For most of her life, that had been all she had. "It'll be the first time anyone trained a librarian to sword fight, though."

He shook his head, a small smile crossing his face. "There's a first time for everything."

It was a glorious, sun-bright, snowy day. According to reports, the Herald was somewhere in the Fallow Mire, and Melori had spent the morning learning Leliana's specific cipher in order to un-code the messages operatives in the field were sending to Haven. It was not unlike translating an ancient glyph or phrase, something she found fascinating. Even better, she took felt a small delight in knowing what was going on and who was doing what. Being so near the center of things, she couldn't help but find it exciting.

As the sun crested at noonday, Vestor appeared outside Leliana's tent, his armor gleaming almost blindingly under the sun, and Melori found herself shooed outside by the Divine's Left Hand. "Do not forget to keep your guard up, my friend. We still have need of your skills here."

"Thank you … I think?"

The lists were full of sparring men and women, some of them using metal and others using wooden swords. Vestor helped tie her into the padding she would need, then strapped her into a light plate cuirass and dropped a sallet onto her head, fastening it with a strap beneath her chin. It was all heavy and she made a bit of a squeaking noise when he grabbed hold of the breastplate and shook it to make sure it was fitted properly.

"Can you see?" He asked, bending down to peer at her face through the helmet opening.

"More or less," She answered, feeling twenty times the fool. Caro would have been laughing her ass off at this point. "It seems a little … heavy."

"That's the lightest armor we have," he smiled, tapping the top of the helm. "Now, if anyone but Kessing asks to spar with you, say no. You're not ready yet. If Lady Cassandra wants to spar with you, run away. Got it?"

"I thought Lady Cassandra was in the Fallow Mire?"

"Oh, you think this will all be over in a week?" He asked, grinning in what Melori considered an evil way. He shoved a wooden board at her and helped her slide it onto her arm.

"I think you're enjoying this too much," she answered, limping heavily over to where Kessing, the swordsmaster, was waiting and bowing as Vestor had taught her.

"Left leg?" Kessing, a tall, stone-faced woman from the heart of Ferelden, asked.

"Yes, Ser."

"We'll try not to rebreak it."

Melori swallowed and held up her shield.

Three days later and the healer put Melori on bedrest. She was not to move her leg, she was to lie still, and if she was well enough after a day abed, she might be allowed to go back to swords practice. So far, the forced quiet had led to her begging Vestor to bring her anything he could find for her to read. She was halfway through The Minotaur of Denerim and trying very hard not to throw the book across the room, when the door to her cabin opened and a softly spoken, "Aneth ara, Lethallan," drew her attention. The book dropped to her lap and she smiled.

"Aneth ara, Solas," She said, bowing her head.

He stood in the doorway, letting the chilly air blow past him as he studied her and she studied him in return. She wondered how he could look so much the same when so many things had happened since they'd seen one another last. When she shivered, he shut the door and came to stand by her bedside, an odd expression on his face.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I heard of your misfortune, but I had not understood the depth of the injury," he explained, reaching down to take her hand. "Ir abelas, ma'falon."

"The fault was my own," she said, looking down at her lap. "You were right to question what I was. I should have admitted it."

"That does not mean you could have changed the outcome," he said. "The last time I saw a dragon in close proximity, it was the blade that bore it to ground and not magic. Your magery would not have saved you, Lethallan, and it would not have saved your friend."

Tears, unwelcome but insistent, fell down Melori's cheeks and spilled into her lap, onto the cover of the book there. She wiped at them with the back of her free hand, almost surprised that she was crying. "But I would have done something. I could have shielded her or protected her and we could have run away."

"Perhaps you are right," he said, sitting onto the bed, her hand still held in his. "I fear though that you hide your sorrows too deeply, ma'falon."

"They are not safe to air," she answered, giving him a crooked sort of smile. "You are the only one who truly knows what might have been. Do you think I deserve no blame?"

"I think you wish to atone where no atonement is needed," he answered. "What is done, is done."

He sat with her for a time until she was able to stop the tears, and then he told her of places he had seen in the Fade, of battles and castles and ancient magics. The guilt remained, but by the time sleep had claimed her, her heart was calm.

"Nothing fits me now," she told Leliana, pulling her pants out from her waist. "I've had to put another notch in my belt and it looks like I'm wearing pantaloons in some old Orlesian style."

"You could go back to wearing robes," the other woman said. "Though I think that would be less than ideal when you are training."

"True," Melori sighed, going back to the Warden papers. So far she'd managed to dry them without ruining anything, but they'd been written in a cipher she hadn't been able to break on her own. "Whoever they were after in the Storm Coast must have been important," she said, scanning over the few pages she'd been able to read. "They seem to have sent Wardens out all over the north of Ferelden looking for him."

"So the papers are recent," Leliana said, looking over the elf's shoulder. "Perhaps this is what drew them away? It seems very odd to me."

"It's … very odd for Wardens, particularly," Melori answered, reaching forward and stretching like a cat. "Normally they come and go between Blights, though they maintain a presence in the Anderfels, but they never completely disappeared. When that happens, according to the records, the darkspawn show up, like liquid out of a leaking tap."

"That is a disturbing thought, is it not?"

"Very." Melori stood and pushed her chair back against the table. It was late and the Chantry was better lit than the tents outside, so she was working there for now. Leliana usually appeared sometime in the middle of the evening and joined her for a while to go over the cipher before wandering off to talk to Josephine. Tonight, though, Melori wanted a breather. "I'm going to head out now. Do you need me for anything else?"

"I have something to tell Josie, so that is fine with me," Leliana smiled. "Just don't forget to come back tomorrow? I wouldn't want to hunt you down."

"I won't," Melori promised and took her leave. It had been several weeks and her leg only twinged on the cold nights now. Vestor was, for once, meeting with the other Templars to discuss their future and the likelihood that the Inquisition would try to win the support of their Order in the fight against the Elder One. That meant this was a night on her own, without anyone keeping an eye on her … and that was a strange and dissatisfying thought. As much as she liked Vestor, she truly was not certain what to do with him. Had she ever thought she'd end up with a Templar following her around everywhere, she'd have run away from the Inquisition the moment they reached the Hinterlands.

"Dammit," She muttered, turning to take the path toward the Tavern. At least she'd have a drink while she was alone for the night. If he returned and she nailed him with drunken lightning, it would be his own fault for being so ... there all the time.

About two hours and many tankards later ...

"So, Librarian," Varric said. "I hear you've taken up the board and blade!"

"I have!" She answered, blinking at him owlishly, her brows high and her words enunciated ve-r-y care-fu-ly. "Kessing's kis … kic … kicking my ass."

The table laughed at that, and Kessing, who was sitting at the other end, lifted her tankard high into the air, "And a fine ass it is, too!"

"Is she any good?" Varric wanted to know.

The swordsmaster let out a guffaw, "Wouldn't last six seconds in a real fight, but I've taught her to keep her shield up long enough to make a retreat."

"I'm not that bad," Melori cried out, swaying in her chair as she waved her tankard. "I'm learnin' to be a Solshur … a … solder … a … dammit … where'd my drink go?" She asked, looking around the table, the drink held high in one hand.

"I don't know, Librarian," the dwarf grinned. "Maybe somebody took it?"

"But why?" Her face crumpled and she laid her head on the table, her voice mournful and the Dalish in her accent becoming more pronounced. "Why would anybody take a girl's drink? S'not fair."

"Awww," Varric patted her on the back. "You really have no head for liquor."

"I have ALL the liquor," She explained, her head still on the table. "I've had whisky, wine, … I think … wine and ale, beer … cheese!" This was apparently hysterically funny and she giggled for a while to herself. "ALLL the Cheeese!"

"I think it's past time someone goes home," he said, chuckling and decoupling her fingers from the tankard she was gripping. With a little maneuvering, he got her away from the table and half-draped over his shoulder as he led her outside. "Which way home?"

Melori pointed in what she thought was the general vicinity of the cabin. "That-a-away, Varric T-tethr's. Gonna gimme back t'the Templar, are ya?"

"Ooh, you're in Templar custody?" He asked, laughing as she nearly staggered out of his arms. "Ah ah … get back here. You're worse than Merrill."

"I have a SECRET," she explained very carefully, waving a finger into the air, "An' he figured it out."

"Was it a very big secret?" he asked, but she had stopped walking and was staring upward with big eyes.

"So many stars …"

"Yeah yeah, there are always lots of stars."

Melori paused and turned, looking around at the different houses. "I … don't remember."

"You don't remember where you live?" He asked.

She sighed heavily. "Even if I did, the Templar would be there."

"Well you've got to go home. Stay out here and you'll freeze."

"But you're here! You'll keep me warm. You're ... fuzzy," she explained, fingers drifting in the direction of the legendary chest hair.

"Ohh ho ho, oh no you don't. I already got me a girl," He answered, laughing aloud and pushing her along. "I think I know where you're going tonight. He can thank me later."

"You're taking me back?" She asked, looking immensely, drunkenly sad.

"Back to the Templar? Yes, I am."

Her boots were off and there was a blanket over her when she woke up, her head pounding like a halla had kicked her in the head. Melori reached out a hand and, trying to find the edge of the bed, instead encountered a pile of ... books? Things were still swimming a bit, but she was fairly certain this was not her room. A fire was burning low in the grate, casting the space before her into shadow, but there was enough light to see the nearby desk and the figure beside the fire, his head tilted in sleep, his boots on the warm hearth stones.

"Oh," her mouth fell open for a moment, and she had to think to close it. Vaguely she remembered the tavern, something about cheese, wanting to touch Varric's ... "OH gods," she groaned, covering her mouth with her hand. Not only had the poor man been chased out of his own bed, it had been Varric's idea of a joke. "I'm going to murder the little Durgen'len," she muttered, carefully sliding out from under the blanket and off the bed. Almost she managed to sneak out of the room and into the still-dark morning outside, but one of the damn reports followed her off the bed and fell to the floor with a thud.

"You're awake," he said, sounding groggy. "I .. was a little surprised to find you there."

"I .. um ... it was an accident, Commander," she explained, turning to face him, her hands clasped behind her. "I got ... well ... to be precise ... completely drunk. And ... I don't remember how I got here?"

"Neither do I,' He smiled, his chair tilting back to the floor. "I came back to find you asleep beside by the fire place."

Oh. Oh no. That was far, far worse. He'd found her passed out on the floor and, instead of kicking her out into the night, he took off her boots and put her to bed? "You should have tossed me back outside," She said, feeling her face flush from her neck to her ears. Thankfully it was probably too dark in the room to be noticeable.

"That seemed a little cruel, given the cold," His smile had turned crooked, and she felt her stomach do a somersault. Dammit, Caro. Putting ideas into my head.

"Well, I'll just ... if I could find my boots ..." she looked around in a bit of a panic, "I think I can find my way back home now. I'm truly sorry for inconveniencing you."

Cullen stood and bent down next to the desk, bringing the boots over to her ... which was very polite and too close for Melori's comfort. She accepted them in numb fingers and tried not to look at him, at the way his scar ... she shoved her feet into the soft leather, trying to avoid bumping into him while she hopped on one foot. When had these cabins become so small? And ... dammit, he smelled good - like spices and wood smoke. This was not appropriate. Knight Commander Cullen Rutherford had been a part of her nightmares once, he was not attractive, or tall, or ... she got the second boot on and tried to smile.

"Are you enjoying your work with Leliana?" he asked, reaching up behind her to take a cloak down that had been hanging on the wall.

"I am," she answered, "It's ... it's fascinating work and I like knowing. About what's going on, I mean."

"I imagine you would," He smiled. "Though you must have felt near to the heart of things while working at the Archive."

"Well, nobody told me that Divine Justinia wanted to invite the Antivan Ambassador to lunch because she enjoyed his stories," Melori answered. "But at least the gossip we got was a day old and not a week stale. Leliana sifts through so much information and she knows where each tiny part should fit. It's a lot like what I do when I find remnants of histories and search through ancient sites. We try to understand the world through the whispers we catch ..." she trailed off, realizing that her mouth was running away with her. "Ah ... I'm talking too much."

"Not at all," He answered, then paused. "I do not often have time to converse with anyone these days."

"You should take the time, when you can," She said, looking around the room. "I can already tell you don't sleep enough. What will Haven do if you work yourself to death?"

"Kirkwall was worse," he shrugged, handing her the cloak. "I will walk you back, if you wish. The temperature dropped while you were asleep."

"Oh .." she took the soft cloth between her hands and looked down at it. "Thank you, Commander. I think I'll be all right on my own. You should get what rest you can."

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NOTE: Dear Readers, you have NO IDEA the restraint it took not to turn the final scene into something very different. I've planned this story out. I have! There are rules! I'm trying to be GOOD. .