Cassandra

"I do not believe I have ever been more thoroughly disgusted in my life." I snapped.

Leliana and I stood outside the gates of the Trevelyan estate, watching a young woman, presumably Tristan's personal servant, supporting the young woman as they tread the considerable distance from the gate to the door of the estate. It had been a long walk here from the tavern. Midway through, Tristan had begun to lean heavily on Leliana; her face had been whiter than bleached bone, and her breathing had been short, rapid gasps. I would grant the young noblewoman that she had grit, but it might have done her some good to swallow her pride. With her name and station, she could have ordered a carriage and a healer, riding the distance in comfort and safety. Instead, she had demanded for us to allow her to walk.

Though the swallowing of pride is a lesson that I, too, am still learning. I cannot fault her overmuch, for, at her age and in her position, I might have done much the same.

"Even in the heart of the Chantry in Val Royeaux, I never saw such ostentatious displays." Leliana nodded, her eyes shooting blue fire.

The pillars of the house were ornate, carved stone. Each one had been exquisitely rendered into a frame of the prophet Andraste's life. From the top of the manor, banners hung, fine material with embroidered memoirs to the sacrifices the Trevelyan family had made in the name of the Maker. My throat tightened with nausea and disgust as I saw the faces of their family members, forever stamped in cloth that must have cost a fortune, that had been lost in the Exalted March, or dedicated themselves to the Order of the Seekers or the templars.

"It is one thing to honor the Maker in a house of worship built for his glory." I claimed, remembering and realizing that, not so long ago, I might not have had this reaction towards the Trevelyan's décor. While I might not have approved of the expenditure, I would have honored their faith and their pride.

But I saw the wounds on a young woman's body, wounds incurred because those who wear her name have dishonored the Maker's will in neglecting the overseeing of their people. No faith, no pride is worth blood spilled for needless purpose, anger that could be calmed.

"It is another entirely to have the home of your family made to look more as a Chantry than a noble's estate." Leliana turned her back and I saw her hands clenched into fists.

"Something is troubling you?" I asked as we began the walk back to the tavern, hoping to receive at least a few candlemark's rest before the meeting tomorrow.

"The state of this world, Cassandra." Leliana answered. "The state of the nobility. They are puffed up, proud creatures. They do not know justice, but excess, they do not know service, but mastery. They are enslaved by both hands, chained to their wealth and chained to the service of those who are wealthier and more powerful than they." the former bard, an elegant woman by all counts, shocked me when she spat in the streets, ultimate derision. "That was not the original intention of nobility…that was not the original intention of power placed in the hands of the proper people…the proper bloodline."

I paused and looked at her. The fire in her eyes would soften many a heart, I knew, for it was beautiful and fierce. What I wanted to know, what I wanted to understand of her, was how her mind had changed. Justinia told me of the woman Leliana had been, the woman who had paraded among the nobility of Orlais, taken part in the Game with a skill unmatched and a dexterous hand that many would envy. Leliana might have been chief of her profession, save that the woman who taught her had chained her with love…and betrayed her with a kiss.

"Do you truly believe that any noble, any person who is given power, would be better than those we have now?" I asked. "Is there a proper person any longer, Leliana? Are not all bloodlines tainted with greed?"

"No." Leliana shook her head and her eyes burned into mine. "Cassandra, I understand that you have your beliefs about the woman who was my wife. I know that…that many unfortunate things happened between the two of you but you…but you did not see the woman Salem was. In all Ferelden, never once did I hear the Cousland name reviled. In spite of knowing her duty as a warden, in spite of knowing that she needed to survive, Salem sacrificed herself to torture for me and two others. And when…and when we returned to Highever, Cassandra, Salem bowed low before her people and begged their forgiveness for abandoning them for so long. All of this, I witnessed. All of this…after all that I had believed nobility to be, silks, satin, and that infernal Game that means nothing to me now…all of this destroyed whatever pride I might have left. And it has made me despise those who sit in the seats of power."

"So you admired young Trevelyan, I take it?" I asked, feeling humbled by the force of her words, seeing her love for a woman many years dead shining in her eyes. "Doing as she did, attempting to help her people?"

"Less admiration." Leliana admitted and we continued our journey. "More sorrow. She fights a losing battle in this city, against her family. If she continues to do as she is doing, then she will soon be dead…or jaded."

"You laud one woman's attempts to aid her people and decry another's." my voice hardened; I disliked Leliana's wavering on her approval of what I considered to be similar actions.

"I do not decry Tristan's attempts." Leliana said, and I believed her. "But she is unlearned. She has been neglected. What she attempts to do comes from a place of mercy, but also a place of rebellion against that which she has been subjected to. In her efforts to do good, she might do more harm." Leliana sighed. "Do we not both know, Cassandra, in intimate ways that scar our souls, that good intentions can lead to utter ruination?"

Her words, once again, humbled me in their earnestness and truth. "Yes." I admitted. "These are lessons we have learned in blood."

"Pain." she assented.

"Loss." I murmured, watching the red hair move in acknowledgement of my truth.

Most Holy, it seems, is correct. Leliana and I do stand on more common ground than I think either of us perceive. This mission, though I do not yet know how it will end, has at least given me insight into the woman who is the Left Hand of Divine Justinia. And, from all evidence I have seen, she is a good woman. Broken, in some places, hardened in others. Just as we all are. It was an unkind fate and the machinations of a scheming woman that first brought us together. But I steadfastly believe that, given time, she and I will be able to complete the Maker's work throughout Thedas. Justinia, myself, and Leliana. Three as one, as was intended.

"So much loss." Leliana breathed.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, and I noticed the relative quiet of Ostwick as a city. Every now and again I would see light through the window of a tavern, the people sitting inside, nursing their drinks. We heard no clanging of tankards, no loud speech of drunken men or women. No women of the night stood in the alleyways to ply their wares.

"Even Kirkwall is not so quiet as this." Leliana voiced my thoughts. "The effect is positively eerie. I wonder, Cassandra, if there is a curfew?"

"For an entire Free Marcher city?" I wondered. "It seems unlikely, but after all that we have witnessed and been told today, I would not be surprised. I do not like this silence, however. Something is…"

"Wrong." Leliana reached into her sleeves, where she carried deadly blades. Ahead, we could see the sign for the tavern where we had procured a room.

I did not know what happened next; it felt as though a burst of lightning drove me against the wall. My right cheek caught fire as it scraped against the rough rock. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I tried to regain my balance and my understanding. I reached and pressed my hands against the wall, pushing myself away from it, stumbling backwards as the world swerved.

"Cassandra!" I heard Leliana cry out and I used it to anchor me, to pull me into cognizance.

I drew my sword as I saw Leliana embattled against the man whose wrist she had broken earlier in the day. However, he did not move as a man in pain, and he grappled with her, using both of his arms, his greater strength and greater height to bear down on her. Blood trickled down my cheek. I ignored it.

I ran forward, grabbing the man by his leather jerkin, attempting to wrench him backwards, to pull him off of her. He stood strong, even with my arms laced around his chest, struggling to pull him off of her. His arm flashed out and Leliana disappeared from my sight.

Oh, Maker, please…pain exploded in my back as the man gave his ground, going limp so suddenly that I lost my balance and crashed to the streets. My lungs burned as the breath was knocked for them. I strained to breathe as the man sat up and turned. Another line of fire sliced up my left cheek, following the movement of his hand. I lay on the ground, still begging for air.

The man lifted Leliana from where she had been, doubled over on her knees, and dragged her away from my field of vision. I opened my mouth and gulped down air, pounding my fists against the streets as I heard the clashing of blades and several muttered Orlesian curses. I had to stand up. I had to fight. I had to protect the woman that Justinia loved as though she were Leliana's own mother. After a struggle, I managed to roll over and push myself to my knees, propping myself up with my sword, dragging myself to my feet just as the man fled the shadowed corner he had dragged Leliana into.

His body slammed into mine, that impressive, unlikely strength forcing me down once again. I hit the street for a second time, gasping out my pain. His boot landed in my chest and his eyes were wild when I looked into them.

"Don't meddle in another's blood feud." he ordered, stamping his boot down on my breastbone with force enough to leave heavy bruising, but I heard nothing break, and he vanished into the night.

"Cassandra!" I heard Leliana's voice, thick with worry. A moment later she emerged into the moonlight and dropped to her knees beside me. "Are you well? Can you breathe?" her hands roved over my chest, pressing on my ribs in an uncomfortable diagnostic manner that I knew all too well.

"I am shaken and bruised, that is all." I extended my hand so that she might help me up, but she did not take it.

"He cut your face rather badly." Leliana whispered, her fingertips applying a light touch to my cheeks. "You will need the wound stitched. Come. He has run, but there is a chance he might return, and might not be alone. We need to get inside, behind a barred door."

I nodded and she aided me to my feet. Forsaking pride, we ran for the tavern, slowing only when we were behind its doors. With a nod to the bartender, we made our way upstairs, entering our room. I closed the door and dropped the bar, feeling safer on the second story, able to breathe a little easier. As the initial rush of battle-fever faded, I felt my face burn and my chest ache. Morning would not be a pleasant thing to greet.

"He used both hands." Leliana whispered as I finished latching the door. "I broke his wrist, but he had no splint, no bandage." I turned to face her and blood drained from my face.

Leliana stood, staring at her hands. They were covered with blood, the blood spreading across the left side of her body, staining her clothing. She looked up at me, her eyes hazed over with shock. My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Maker help me." Leliana prayed, and I could hear the pain in her voice, but could not reach her fast enough as she slumped to her knees and pressed her hand to the center of the rapidly spreading crimson stain. She looked to me in agony and need and I began shaking. "He used both hands."