"Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest,

Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers

Love, nightmare like, lies heavy on my chest,

And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers."

-Iolanthe, Guilbert and Sullivan

Bed Slave? Why did I say bed slave, there's plenty of other things I could've been, like a herbologist or...a travelling minstrel. The dress Isabela had procured for her was Orlesian in style and thus highly extravagant and revealing. Panels of netting sliced triangles down the tight silken bodice. Her small cleavage was propelled upwards by the restricting ribbon corseted at the back of the dress and another panel of lace only served to exaggerate the line between her breasts. She felt outrageously overdressed and uncomfortable in such attire, the petticoats underneath the silks itched her legs and the way it bulged out at her hips made her feel like a gaudy flower. Isabela had ruthlessly brushed Elaria's dry and tangled hair and smoothed it into two graceful buns at the back of her head.

She groaned as she left their sparse room in the Llomerryn tavern, knowing full well the stick she was going to get from the crew. Stairs were a difficult thing to navigate in the flowing skirts and she had to take them one at a time to stop from ripping the silk on her leather boots. Following the smell of breakfast and the sound of cutlery and joviality she went through a door to her left, into the private dining area of The Mystic Sea.

The stone room went silent as she entered. It started nearest to her and spread up the long table as sailors nudged one another each other. Thirteen pairs of eyes surveyed her and she had to stop herself from shifting uncomfortably under their gaze, instead she gritted her teeth and held her head up, meeting each of their looks with a stern one of her own. Aneirin broke the silence with a long, low wolf whistle and the other men quickly followed it with other bawdy noises and comments of their own. Elaria felt a storm of emotion rage inside her, she was not used to being treated in such a manner, most people were generally too frightened of mages to objectify them. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands. In a terrifying moment of weakness she was back at that night at Vigils Keep, bleeding, broken and finally beaten. The memory was fearsomely evocative and she had to fight to keep the cry from her lips. It is not their fault, it's your experience that's making this so painful, she had no idea where that thought had sprung from but it dulled the blade of her anger. The rabble was suddenly broken by a loud thud from the far end of the table, as Isabela struck her dagger into the wood in front of her.

"You men forget yourselves," she spat, and as one the crew hung their heads in shame. "This is Elowyn Tabris and she is my woman. If any of you have a problem with treating her as such, just say the word and I'm sure I can think of a solution to your problem." She pulled the dagger out of the table in one easy motion and sat back in the seat that she had leapt from. "Apologise to her, now," she growled pointing the blade at Aneirin. The sharp silverite glistened in the early morning light as the elven bard jumped from his chair and threw himself at Elaria's feet.

"I am so sorry, milady. Please forgive us. We've been such a long time at sea and are, after all, mere men. When faced with a beauty such as yours..."

"Enough," Isabela interrupted, "Back to breakfast."

Aneirin pulled her up a wooden seat next to his Captain. As she walked past, the other members of the crew murmured apologies at her and she thanked them with a tepid smile. She sat heavily in the wooden chair. Anders was to her left and he reached for her hand under the table.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, squeezing her cold fingers into his palm.

"I'm fine," she sighed, removing her fingers from his. His hand lingered on her leg and she could feel its warmth through the silk. She gave him the same stern look she had given the sailors but the heat of his touch had stirred something within her. Entirely inappropriate. Anders removed his hand quickly and went back to his smoked haddock. Elaria speared a fish of her own from the pile on the plate in front of them, careful not to get her sleeve in the thick creamy sauce. Rivani food had taken a bit of getting used to; unlike the neighbouring Antiva they rarely used hot spices preferring to garnish with sweeter herbs such as cloves, cinnamon and saffron with sauces made from the milk of coconuts, whose trees lined their stormy shores. On the island of Llomerryn all sorts of fish were caught and it was a main feature of every meal including breakfast. At first she thought she would never be able to stomach such a heavy seafood diet, but her Grey Warden appetite had taken hold and she found herself eating the repulsive fare quickly so she did not have to taste it. The food was the least of the cultural differences.

Elaria remembered a leather-bound tome in the Circle's Library she'd been fond of, entitled The Countries of Thedas; A guide to etiquette and social exchange from Ferelden to Par Vollen. The Rivani section had detailed many of the nuances of their very different culture but it had done little to prepare Elaria for the real thing. The Chant of Light had never touched the Rivani people and although the country had a Circle of Magi, with Templars as well, it was truly only a facade to placate the Divine of Orlais. The matriarchal society revered their mages, going to the extent of elevating the best of the females to a position of authority known as a Seer. A pantheon of gods were worshipped in place of the Maker, all associated with nature; sailors who believed in the old faith would leave appropriate gifts to the wind god at their private altars, whores would sacrifice certain animals to the goddess of beauty to keep themselves young.

Most of the sailors had shuffled out of the private backroom by the time Elaria had finished eating. Isabela and Fabio were in the middle of a fierce discussion about the repairs on the ships, Elaria couldn't follow their conversation entirely, though she gathered that Isabela was not happy with the price that Fabio had ordered the repairs for. She got up to leave, thinking to go back to the privacy of her and Isabela's room, when the Captain broke off her debate and grabbed her arm.

"We're going to the Seer today, she's asked to meet you personally," she whispered so the three men at the end of the table couldn't hear her. "We leave as soon as I'm done here."

The narrow cobbled streets of Llomerryn were spotted with puddles from last night's rain. Elaria had to pick up her trailing skirts as she tried to follow Isabela's long strides. The Captain moved gracefully through the crowds gathered near the port, the people seemed to part before her and the mage tried to follow in her wake. All around them traders had set up stalls against the colourfully painted wattle and daub buildings that loomed over them. The merchants shouted out prices for their wares or bartered with customers in frantic Rivani. Stacks of fishing baskets and nets lined the streets nearest to the coast; whenever there was a break in the houses she could see the glittering waters of Rialto bay over the trader's striped canopies. Isabela took a sharp left, going deeper into the island, and suddenly they were in a large square. The houses that surrounded the open space were all painted the same dark shade of red. A makeshift stage had been erected and a man dressed in a gaudy purple doublet with yellow stockings and a plume of feathers in his hat, seemed to be auctioning something off. Swarms of people, all varying in wealth and class, surrounded the stage shouting out bids. It was a second before she realised what was being sold, but when she did she stopped. An unshaven Qunari, in rags that only protected his dignity, was chained in heavy irons that ran between his hands and feet. The bonds had done nothing to break his strength however and he stood upright though his face was hollow and gaunt. He seemed to be somewhere else, ignoring the noise around him and staring straight ahead. His eyes betrayed no emotion. Elaria had to choke back her rage, knowing there was very little she could do for the man in her current state. I cannot play the hero when I can barely even defend myself. She was about to turn away when she felt a hand on her arm.

"I like it no more that you, but there's nothing we can do for him," Isabela whispered. "Come."

The island became much steeper the more inland you went, ending in a high pinnacle on top of which a tower had been built. The Seer's tower was visible from most parts of the island, its blackened stones reaching out to the skies like a defiant fist. A fire was lit every dusk on the top of the heights as a signal to start the smaller warning fires that littered the coastline. Isabela's crew had been full of stories about Llomerryn wreckers, who would turn off these flames on particularly stormy nights, so merchant ships would run aground on the rocky shoreline, scattering their goods onto the sands and into the waiting arms of the local pirates. As they climbed the slopes towards the tower the merchants disappeared to be replaced by brothels and taverns. Men and women dressed in flamboyant, colourful clothing sat on tables drinking, smoking and gambling, even though it was still early morning. A few of these people hailed greetings as they saw Isabela but very few gave Elaria a second glance. The anonymity was refreshing, in Denerim she'd had to go everywhere heavily disguised if she didn't want to be recognised but here if she told people who she was they probably wouldn't believe her. She hardly looked like a great battle mage in her silks.

The Captain ducked into a narrow alleyway between two buildings and stopped, throwing a smile over her shoulder. Elaria stood astounded. Leading up the steep incline as far as the eye could see a narrow set of blackened stone made a staircase. Buildings carried on either side of the incline making it almost impossible to see from the street. As Elaria moved to Isabela's side she could see that every step had a groove in the centre from heavy use. Shielding her eye's from the glaring sun she could see people traversing up the steppes, as small as ants from this far down.

"It's called The Ladder," Isabela grinned. "One thousand and seventy six steps in total."

"And it's the only way to the tower?"

"No, but it's the quickest."

"I can hear the rumours now, Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey battles an archdemon then falls to her death climbing the longest staircase in Thedas, in a silk dress."

"I've seen women walk up it in Orlesian heels, you'll be fine."

"Yes, I suppose I should be thanking you for allowing to keep my boots," Elaria's voice dripped with sarcasm but she smiled, hiking her skirts up around her thighs. "Come on then, before I change my mind."

The ascent was not as bad as Elaria had expected, although she lost her footing a few times on the uneven steps. A quarter of the way up the buildings stopped as the ground around the flight of stairs became huge jagged rocks. From so far up Elaria could see the whole of one side of the island; its streets seemed a network as small and intricate as cobwebs. Clouds were flying over the town, making the light alternate between deep shadows and glorious brightness. Ships and boats bobbed in the ports, small black specks on the giant blue expanse. The wind was enough to take Elaria's breath away and twice she almost fell as her skirts billowed like a sail. Most of the ascent was spent in silence as the breeze whistled against their ears and blew the words away from their mouths. Occasionally Isabela would turn to check on her friend and Elaria would respond with a smile. It felt invigorating to be so high up and battered by the elements. She had thought that the height would provoke the panic that hid inside her, but instead it made her feel alive. The sun was high in the sky before they reached the top.

Three men dressed in identical green dyed leather armour met them at the gateway to the walled off tower. From here its height was even more impressive. Built from the same dark rocks that made up the peak, it silhouetted against the blue sky. The men spoke to Isabela in Rivani as Elaria admired the building. Isabela was unbuckling the fastening for her longswords and the two daggers she carried on her thighs. One of the guards asked her in halting Antivian if she had any weapons and she shook her head. Once they were thoroughly disarmed they called up to the walls for the gates to be opened.

Elaria was surprised at the large open space beyond. A dark green lawn spread out before them, with raised soil beds full of flowers and vegetables. Clusters of children sat in the bright sunlight, all wearing identical robes of green, some were sat in circles quietly reading, other's tended the gardens, harvesting herbs and vegetables. A group sat at a large table covered in books and alchemical tools, being instructed on the best way to grind elfroot in a mortar and pestle. In a large open space two older girls were practicing defence and primal magic respectively. Elaria felt a whole host of emotions at the familiarity of the place, surprised as she was to find herself somewhere so much like The Circle of Magi yet with many obvious differences. At first she'd thought there were no Templars, until she realised the men in the green armour were standing watching the fight between the two girls very closely. They did not have the fear in their eyes that Ferelden Templars had whenever they felt The Veil tear. In fact these helmess, lightly armoured warriors were cheering the girls on, shouting words of encouragement when they began to falter, helping them to their feet when they couldn't carry on and dispersing any stray magic whenever necessary. Elaria had never seen such a close bond between Templars and mages, in Ferelden their relationship was very much one of prisoner and guard but here she got the sense that they were working as a team. She realised she was lagging behind Isabela again, staring in wonderment; she jogged along the cobbles to catch up with her friend.

"Isabela?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are the male mages?"

"The Seers don't accept male mages to study here. It is a woman's work to be a Seer, not a man's."

Further questions burned in Elaria's head, but she knew the rouge, if she quizzed her too much her temper would be sure to rise. She let them smoulder. At the base of the tower two Templars stood guard by a massive double door emblazoned with a wide open eye, the symbol of the Rivani Seers. They greeted them in Rivani as they pushed one of the doors open, with the help of a clever mechanism that helped to carry the weight.

The chamber beyond encompassed the entire bottom floor of the tower. Along the side walls two identical spiral staircases ascended upwards, built of the same strange stone that made up the entirety of the peak. A fine Orlesian carpet ran the length of the room ending at the foot of a dais. Three chairs were upon the raised platform, two at the same height and one higher. Elaria could not see the faces of their occupants as three arched windows poured light in behind them, making the figures into statues. She followed Isabela as they walked down the aisle watching her friend carefully for signals of what she must do. As they got closer she could see the three women more clearly. On the left seat sat a woman of extraordinary beauty, her blonde hair almost as white as her skin, she reminded Elaria of the moon; such a pale magnificence that she seemed to glow when she shifted in her pure white robes. To the right sat a woman as dark as she was light, long black dreadlocks were tied behind her head with a thick green ribbon. She wore a multicoloured shawl over one shoulder and beamed an air of proud authority. The highest chair was occupied by the oldest woman Elaria had ever seen. Her face was covered with scars and wrinkles, her nose looked like it had been broken at least twice, but her eyes. Maker, I've never seen eyes like that. They seemed to have a light of their own and as Elaria got closer she thought she recognised the shifting waters of The Fade reflecting out at her.

When they were before the platform the two younger women upon it stood and bowed to them. Isabela did the same and Elaria followed suit, the elder merely nodded her head. The dark and light women greeted Isabela warmly in their own language and she responded in kind, the crone however only seemed to have eyes for the mage. As the women continued talking she tore her eyes away not wanting to seem rude.

"Leave us," the elder barked suddenly in the King's Tongue. If the other women were shocked by her sudden command they did not show it. Before she slipped out of the room Isabela squeezed Elaria's hand in reassurance. The crone did not stir again until all was silent around them.

"It is a terrible thing, what that man did to you," her speech was almost a whisper, a croaky sound coming from deep within the woman's ancient throat. It felt like a thunderbolt had hit Elaria, she opened her mouth to ask a question but the woman spoke again before she could. "Do not ask me how I know, child. It is a question I grow wearisome of and one you very well know the answer to. It will suffice you to know that time in the Fade is an illusion that one, if one is learned in the right fields, can manipulate at will. It enables me to see not only the past but glimpses of the future." Elaria looked up at the woman, stunned. She could feel the power emanating from her frail body as The Veil pulsated around them.

"In Rivani we teach this art to our mages, it has only ever been women who were blessed with the sight. We gather them to our bosoms in hope to sharpen their abilities, much like your Circle pretends to, but here they are not prisoners, their every move is not watched, our people do not fear us." The woman leaned forwards in her chair with a quickness that Elaria would have thought impossible for one so decrepit. Her wrinkled face began to manoeuvre in the strangest way and it was a while before she realised the old crone was smiling. A small papery sound emerged from her throat and the cackle echoed around the high ceilings. It sliced through Elaria like a chill and she had to stop herself from shuddering.

"I would like to know how you feel about this child. You who know so well the double edged sword that we wield when we pierce The Veil. Answer me this; is it a gift or a taint?" The elder twisted her head to one side as Elaria pondered her answer, meeting those all-seeing eyes with her ordinary green ones.

"I don't think it can be defined so easily," Elaria sighed at her lame answer. "It is both at the same time, a terrible curse and the sweetest gift." Her answer made the mage cackle again, but this time it broke off into a dreadful heaving cough. Elaria went to move to the shuddering woman but an ancient palm was raised to stop her.

"An interesting answer," she gasped through her coughs, when they had dulled down she continued. "Most of our own philosophers believe that every choice we make is one of either love or fear. They argue that the Chantry have taken the path of fear and this will one day be their ruin, as treading this way often is. Here, they say, we have taken the road of love; we grant our mages their freedom, they can come and go as they please and see their families at will. They are comforted by the knowledge that they and their Templar are oathbound; in the rare event that a mage has to be struck down the one to wield the sword will be their closest friend, sometimes even their lover. Often after such tragedy the Templars chose to take their own lives rather than continue without their mage. They are the blade and pommel of a sword; one without the other is either useless or uncontrollable." Elaria couldn't help compare their ideas with the friendship her and Alistair had forged on the road. When she first met him she had been appalled at her luck, to have just escaped the watchful glare of the Circle's Templars, to walk straight into the only Grey Warden Templar, perhaps in the whole of Thedas. Given time, however, she realised just how lucky she'd been to find him. As her powers changed and evolved so rapidly that some days it had taken every ounce of her willpower to control the violent energies. Whenever she felt this he would know instinctively and take appropriate action. Towards the end it only took the touch of his hand to bring her back. The Seer's papery voice broke through her reverie.

"Your answer shows your caution child, but it also shows your wisdom. You know that the path of love is not one that is taken easily; it is full of broken promises, of treachery. You must not let this taint you, do not become hard from the pitfalls. Instead let them flow over you, knowing that the pain from these hurts will fade and make you stronger, given time." The woman smiled down at her again and Elaria could not help but to reflect one back at her. A very heavy sigh rattled in the woman's throat and her smile fell abruptly.

"After everything that has happened I wish I could give you comfort, child. To tell you your path is an easy one, but paths such as yours are very rarely taken without risk. I see blood in your future child, oceans upon oceans of gore and strife. The poison that blocks your power is not just of the body, but of the mind. You will not be given the answers that you seek; you will have to take them, as you always have. I see mountains of dead crows, lining the streets of Antiva...I see..." The woman broke off as she began to cough again; Elaria ascended the steps of the dais to help the fragile woman and this time was not halted. A surprisingly strong hand grasped her arm.

"Zevran," she spluttered and when she coughed again blood came out upon Elaria's hand. "The cats have got Zevran." The woman's eyes were wild now; the oceans of The Fade crashing like ferocious waves. The cryptic tone of the statement made panic rise in her and she desperately wanted to ask more but the woman was obviously too stricken to speak.

"Help, somebody!" She cried as blood began to run from the woman's mouth in more regular spurts. The doors banged open and the three women came running down the length of the corridor followed by a trail of Templars. The young pale mage began to tear the Veil around them and Elaria felt a powerful healing spell ascend unto the crone. They were surrounded by people as the mage sundered the Veil again, warmth and peace flowing from her fingertips. One of the Templars tried to lift the woman from Elaria's grasp but the elder hung onto her dress, the blood had stopped pouring but she was still whispering nonsense. Finally they managed to part her tight grip and one of the Templars carried the ill woman away. The rest of the group stood in silence.

The pale woman put her hand on Elaria's shoulder. "Do not fear for her, she is stronger than she looks," she said, haltingly, in the King's Tongue. The Warden managed a small smile but she could not help but feel that she was somehow to blame.

Since Elaria could remember she'd always gotten comfort from the skies. Whenever the realities of life began to weigh her down she found that looking up sometimes freed her from those burdens. The vastness of space above her always managed to invoke feelings of insignificance and that was certainly comforting, at least to her. During the Blight it had become a ritual, that their mismatched band would come together and watch the sunset. The memories made Elaria ache for those moments of comfort with her closest companions, how Alistair and Leliana had begun a scoring system out of ten for every day's end, how Shale had stood complaining of the squishy beings over-sentimentalism towards nature, how it had felt to be bundled in Zevran's arms whilst Morrigan and Wynne argued behind them about philosophy and ethics.

This sunset, she had stolen a bottle of rum from Isabela's personal supply, snuck out the back way from the tavern dressed in her armour with Duncan's dagger at her hip. She'd had enough of silk skirts for one day so instead she wore a long dark cloak over her armour, with a hood to hide her face. She sat on the deserted beach occasionally swigging the lightly spiced spirit. The orb was nearly at the horizon and casting the entire deserted sea front with a fluorescent glow, when she heard footsteps she recognised behind her. Fabio had been insistent that she try to learn the sounds of all her friend's steps and these had been some of the first that she'd remembered.

"Hello Anders," she sighed without turning around. He sat down on the sand next to her, far closer than she would have liked.

"I knew I'd find you here. I heard you had a tough day," his voice was full of concern. She took a swig from the bottle and passed it to him, lowering her hood as she did so. He took a long draft on the spirit, gasping when he finished.

"Are you alright Anders?" She tried to give him a smile but he wouldn't catch her eye. He stared straight ahead, looking deep into the sunset and seeming not to hear her. His eyebrows were knit together in worry as he bit his lip. Strands of his dark blonde hair had escaped his ponytail and fell in tendrils framing his well chiselled features.

"I have to tell you something Elaria," his voice was nearly a whisper as he turned to her. He was so close to her she could feel the breath that carried his words on her face.

"Please don't..."

"Elaria listen to me," he grasped her hands as he leant his forehead against hers. "Our lives are short and precious things, especially being Grey Wardens. We have very little time to do the things we do, to say the things we have to say. The journey here made me realise that more clearly than I ever have."

"Please don't do this Anders," she felt hot tears spring to her eyes and large soft fingers wipe them away.

"I have to," he smiled, and she could feel his cheekbones move as he did. It had been so long since she'd been touched like this, so gently and warmly, that tingles began to arise where they were joined. "Elaria, you are an extraordinary woman, you're strong and beautiful, ruthless but kind. Any man would be thrilled at the thought of being with you. You've probably already broken so many better hearts than mine." This brought a sob from her throat; he made soothing noises to calm her. "I just... I have to tell you, I can't leave it unsaid any longer. I love you Elaria Surana." He lifted her head up now and looked straight into her watering eyes. She felt like she was standing on the blade of a knife, on one side beamed this warmth and love and peace that Anders was offering her and on the other the dark abyss of the unknown.

"Ander's I can't..." but she broke off and he shushed her, wiping away her tears.

"I'm not asking anything of you," he whispered. "Just this one thing," and he kissed her. He parted her shocked lips with his own and before she knew what was happening she was responding. His tongue was taking deep passionate tastes of her and she could feel small waves of healing magic shudder over them both. The experience was intense and intoxicating but Elaria soon remembered herself and broke away from her friend.

"I can't," she repeated but his mouth had moved to her ear now and his hands were running down her neck to her chest.

"A wise woman once told me that we should take our pleasures when we can," his voice was thick with lust in her ear. She shuddered at the words that Zevran had once said to her coming from his lips and pulled away from the healer. She saw his stung look before he could hide it. "I'm sorry Elaria." He ran his fingers through his hair and over his stubble covered face. She grabbed his hand and held it briefly in her own before moving away from him completely. Anders sighed heavily.

"If this is about what that bastard did to you Elaria, I'm more than happy to wait. Forever if need be."

She risked a glance at him but the love and pleading in his eyes was too much for her to bear, she turned her gaze back to the now set sun.

"It's not that Anders. It's..." she trailed off unwilling to say the words. The silence hung between and the atmosphere shifted as realisation dawned.

"It's Zevran isn't it?" the words were a whisper but the bite of rage behind them was all too clear. She nodded, still unable to look at him.

"Do you love him?" Even the deep breath she took didn't steady her pounding heart or the rising feeling that came from the pit of her stomach. She had no answer to his question. Those very same words had spun her around in tight knots until she was no longer even sure what the question meant. What does love even mean? Such elusive questions plagued her even now.

"Does he love you?" Unphased by her lack of response he ploughed on. She was sensitive to the emotion welling in his voice but she no more had an answer to this question than she did the last.

"I don't know," she managed through her tight chest.

"But he left you..." he left the rest unsaid as a sob fought past her defences and escaped her lips.

"It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" he said it quietly as though he didn't want her to hear. The words pierced her broken heart as surely as an arrow would have. It tore away at months of excuses she'd used to blanket the wound, he's coming home soon, he has business to deal with, I never released him from his oath, all ripped away by two words. Her strength failed as she tried to hold back the fear, the worry, the ache. As it consumed her a howl escaped her lips. She fought for breath against her tears, huddling herself into her knees. Anders sighed heavily.

"Over the year I've known you, you've had this pain inside you," he was no longer angry, his words were filled with sadness. "I just want to see you happy, truly happy. I can't help but think that Zevran is the cause of your suffering and that he doesn't deserve your tears." She felt the warmth of his large hand on the back of her neck, massaging her aching muscles, stroking her hair as she cried.

The sun had completely set by the time she looked up and stars were starting to glimmer in the chilly night, she shuddered when she felt the cold and Anders drew her closer to him.

"Come on let's get you back to the tavern, my dear, before Isabela has my guts for garters."