Leliana

We moved through the despicable hallways, seeing more victims, more suffering. I had not seen a scrap of food or a drop of water in this place, and I could but imagine the horrors that they were subjected to. Many of the women who had been brought here as virgins would not leave in the same manner.

I sped up, wanting to be away from the elves that were caged here. I did not want to endanger their lives when the guards came. I had come to save them, not let them be killed. A door stood at the end of the hallway, and Alistair kicked it in. The hall opened into a much more well-lit storeroom with wooden flooring instead of dirt.

There were five guards in the room and as we entered they rose and drew their weapons. Five against four, I assessed my situation. Easy odds, considering my company.

Burrow charged the man closest to us, bearing him to the ground. The other four guards began to corral us in hopes of pinning us against the wall, to prevent our escape. Morrigan tapped her staff on the ground, emitting a wave of magic that bowled them over. A sword flew from one of the guard's hands.

In accordance with my training, I took advantage of the situation, running for the man who scrabbled across the ground after his weapon. An acrid scent filled the air as another soldier met with a burst of Morrigan's lightning.

I stepped on the soldier's hand as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Bone crunched beneath my feet and I winced as the man screamed. One, I delighted in the causation of pain. I did not do so any longer. The thrill of blood rushing over my hands had vanished. I no longer rejoiced when putting a blade through another's skin.

My hands are skilled...Marjolaine told me that the very moment we met. I had never raised a weapon in combat. I had never taken a life. My heart has still not reconciled to these talents. How strange it is, to take pride in my skill, but not joy. Salem, when this Blight is ended, I no longer wish to wield a weapon. Even though it seems your destiny mandates that you never lay down your sword, I pray you understand.

I knelt down and ended the man's suffering, withdrawing my hand before it became coated in his blood.

This is why I prefer the boy, I thought as I watched the light leave his eyes. The boy is...gentler...easier...less painfully intimate.

I rose to my feet, shaking the thoughts from my mind. It would not do to dwell on my weaknesses, not now, when faced by men who did not care if they took life, who gloried in the scent of blood...men whose sole purpose was to trade in flesh and bone. They did not deserve the air they took into their lungs. They did not deserve their freedoms.

"Is everyone all right?" Alistair asked, examining the quick work we had made of our enemies.

"Fine." the witch answered, dabbing at the blood spatter across her chest. "Though 'twould seem these are but the forerunners."

"Well, if all in this enterprise as are as skilled as these," I gestured to the quickly dispatched bodies, "then I believe we have nothing to fear."

"No." Alistair looked grim. "Loghain would not allow his operation to be managed by incompetents. Organizations...operations such as this require...lackeys to accomplish their work. I would know." his tone turned bitter. "It was much the same among the templars. New recruits were sent first against the blood mages, in order to protect the senior warriors, who had a chance of surviving. The loss of a seasoned man was a devastating blow, while the loss of three fresh trainees was...acceptable."

"'Tis the nature of the beast." Morrigan shrugged her shoulders, offering no condolences.

"And the beast must be killed." I cleaned my dagger of the blood on it, staining my clothes, wondering if I would ever again have the opportunity to wear something that had not been stained, not been torn by some weapon of war.

I doubt I shall ever know that luxury. I miss Orlesian silk, fine, Antivan leather, music, and dancing. Maker, I miss dancing. I wonder if those days are forever ended; if the only dance I shall ever again perform is the dance of death.

"Leliana," a warm hand on my shoulder, "are you certain you're all right. You went a little distant there."

I reached up and took Alistair's hand, needing to touch something good, something solid.

"I am simply fading into introspection at an inappropriate time." I laughed, ridiculing myself. "Forgive me."

He chuckled. "Well, then, you are in good company. But I would prefer to end this unless you wish Morrigan to turn us into toads, or bats, or some other...unsavory creature."

The man looked ashamed as I removed his hand and started forward, walking towards large, ominous, double doors. The sound of the sea could be heard behind them. I felt that whomever was spearheading Loghain's slave trade would be found in the room beyond.

"Leliana, I'm...I"m sorry." he said, catching up to me. "I...I honestly do not think that we would have made it past the alienage gate without you here. When Eamon told me that we were to go...without Salem...I had my misgivings and...I still do. I have not performed to her standards, as she would wish, but..."

"Think nothing of it, Alistair." I told him, attempting to focus my thoughts on our mission.

We must act before the elves suffer the backlash from what we have done. Now is not the time for apologies or a crisis of identity. It is a time for decisiveness and fighting.

"But..." he pressed the matter and I turned to him.

This needs to be ended, now. I know Alistair. He is a good man with a strong heart and all that he needs is confidence and to believe in himself as we believe in him.

"Salem meant for you to come into your own and find your feet, Alistair." my voice held intensity, but I kept my volume low. "She has done nothing but push you towards finding your own strength, a strength that she has seen and depended on, a strength that I have witnessed. The man who spoke to me in the Temple of Andraste, who gave me the difficult truth with no apologies or fear, that is the man who would be king. That is a man who can speak with eloquence, who can persuade with passion, who struggles and fights for what he believes is right. You are more capable than you perceive yourself to be, Alistair. Salem cannot carry you forever, nor should you desire her to."

The warden backed away, nodding his head in affirmation, resignation, and remorse.

"I understand." he whispered. "I know...I am...I am afraid, Leliana."

"Fear is natural." Morrigan sauntered up, her tone not laced with acid or mockery. "'Tis something we all experience. Cowardice, however, is when we allow fear to divert us from the truth of who we are."

Alistair bristled, turning to the witch. "As if you have ever felt the tiniest bit of fear." he challenged, then turned to me. "And you? I know you feel fear but...but you hide it so well. You rushed into that dungeon and dragged Salem out of it, even though you were terrified. I'm...I'm not like that."

Morrigan arched her eyebrows. "Though 'tis not in my nature to admit, in interest of aiding Salem, I will tell you that I have, in fact, known fear. However, I have no interest in such a limiting emotion. So it is disregarded, in favor of whatever best holds my focus."

Alistair scoffed. "You make it sound so simple."

"And it is, for one such as I." Morrigan smiled. "But how many like me have you ever met?"

"Very, very...none." the warden admitted.

"'Tis as I thought." Morrigan pointed toward the door. "Now, meditate on our words when time is allotted. Until then, keep your focus here."

Keeping focus seems to be growing more and more difficult. It seems that Salem unifies our focus, as well. It seems that Wynne was right, those many months ago when she took me aside, asking me of my intentions towards Salem. She said that if Salem lost interest and focus in our mission, if something distracted her to the point of abandonment, that the Blight would never know an end. Because, if Salem were to divide herself, her support would fail. It would fail because she not only brought us all together, but keeps us so.

"Are you ready?" Alistair looked from Morrigan to me. The both of us nodded.

The warden opened the door and we entered the room beyond, finding ourselves on a balcony overlooking a shipping yard. Crates with cage bars lined the walls, filled with elves awaiting transport to new countries and new owners. A group of armed men waited blow. Their leader, a man in mage robes, glanced up at us, smiling with too-bright teeth.

"Welcome." he said. "We have been awaiting your arrival."