Translations at the end.


Memories

I left Lisell rubbing her eyes and yawning as she walked me to the door - an exercise I would have spared her, but that she wouldn't dispense with. She raised her face to be kissed as I opened the door, and I had to laugh. "Do you really want me to?" I asked her.

"Oh, I forgot," she said, coloring. "But...yes."

So I kissed her, lightly, one hand on her waist, and lingered another moment as she leaned her face briefly against my shoulder. "I don't know why you insist on sending me to war against myself," she complained before stepping away.

"Because I am no kinder to you than to myself," I told her. "Ir abelas. On nydha."

"On nydha," she returned, sounding dissatisfied.

I found upon returning to my room that I felt the need for no more sleep, so instead, thinking of my long conversation with Lisell, I went to find the missives Eliwys had sent.

Tamorian, ever conscientious, had them neatly put away in the second place I looked, organized by date. I had read the first few, but decided to read them again, wondering if my perception would change now that I knew Lisell had given her maid confidences she hoped would be passed on.

I had forgotten the sketches. Eliwys was a lively storyteller, and she often included little sketches in her missives. Sometimes to the point - such as the one of the crossbow that had been built with modifications that made it easier for Lisell to reload with one hand and her teeth. And she is fast, Eliwys had written. Faster than you would ever, ever think. I have suggested that she let me teach her tumbling, and she seems intrigued. Her balance is off, now that she misses her left arm, but I think those lessons, the same lessons I began with as a child, would help her relearn her body.

Sometimes her sketches were frivolous. The Inquisitor's newest court gown, one was labeled, and it depicted Lisell in a flowing gown, her hair curled and dressed high on her head. Beneath it were other sketches - a mask, halla antlers, labeled "in silver," meant to be added as a headdress, options for a collar to be worn around her neck. Dark colors are all the rage this season - I will send her to the next masque in glimmering white, and they will stare as though she were a spirit of grace and beauty come to bless them with her presence.

I shuffled through pages, looking for a sketch that interested me. A new tea set. An embroidery pattern. The bouquet of her favorite flowers Varric sent when he visited Val Royeaux. Heraldry from some noble - I paused. Receding into the background of the pennant Eliwys had depicted, a pattern of lightly-sketched figures of wyverns and birds of prey. In the foreground, emphasized with forceful lines, a tall, cylindrical tower flanked by two low hills. The Inquisitor asked whether I thought the De Collines men insisted on it to assert some control over their legendarily obdurate women, or whether the women themselves designed it as a means of boasting of their conquest over the male half of the house. Crude, but it made me smile to myself - the design was, after all, conspicuous in its imagery. I could hardly imagine it hadn't been done purposely.

A few pages on, something of more import - two figures, one with her back to the viewer. That was Cassandra. Eliwys had captured her posture so precisely that I recognized her even with a helm covering her hair. Opposite her was Lisell, apparently in the act of twirling a dagger, perhaps changing her grip on it. First practice with bladed weapons, the caption read. The Inquisitor has taken to tumbling as a cygnet to water, Eliwys went on below the sketch. Though I never had the opportunity to see her on a battlefield before she lost her arm, I can hardly imagine her balance was any better then. As soon as was feasible in our lessons, I began binding her right arm, too, to force her to learn the way her weight behaved in space absent any compensation she might attempt with her arms. Her old weapons were too heavy for the new style, however, so we moved to a dagger. Better for her new role in any case, I judge, for she may hide a dagger anywhere. Already she presses the Seeker. I have confidence she will soon best her with good regularity.

Cassandra. Lisell had not yet even begun to grieve, putting it aside to focus on more immediate problems, foremost of which was my reluctance to let her go.

She had warned me that she was more capable, and more dangerous, than she appeared. I ought to have taken her word for it. Perhaps what she asked of me was less deranged than wildly reckless. It made me only very slightly more inclined to let her make the attempt, though. I still, almost reflexively, distrusted every one of my converts.

And my own grief - I sought it and found it buried deep inside with all the other tragedies I couldn't allow to overtake me.

It hurt. It always did. I never let it change my charted course.

I took a breath and turned back to the stack of missives. The next sketch that caught my eye depicted Lisell staring forlornly out a window. This one Eliwys had embellished with touches of colored ink, and I could see that that the architecture of the window casement was not Orlesian. Flowering plants shaded with hints of red, yellow, and orange bloomed in pots around Lisell's folded knees, and her fingers brushed one absently as she leaned her head against the glass. It was labeled Starkhaven, Princess's Solar.

Ah.

Though I wanted to move on, Lisell's posture drew my eyes to the words Eliwys had sent. Today the Inquisitor is not in charity with either the Divine or Prince Sebastian. Though she tentatively agreed to the marriage while we were still in Val Royeaux, conditional on the satisfactory completion of final negotiations, I do not think she truly believed it would happen. Perhaps she thought the prince would balk when she told him she did not and would never regard the commitment as personally binding - for her it was no more than a legal arrangement for the distribution of property. But he smiled that glorious smile he has and told her how clever she was for seeing so clearly to the heart of the matter. He had no jealousy regarding her conduct, he assured her. He needed this, a way to clearly determine succession, to keep his own nobles in line. The Divine, of course, reiterated her own interest in the matter, and reminded my lady what is at stake for the Inquisition - but I do not believe my lady cares very much for the Inquisition at this moment.

She fled the room, and wrote her acquiescence with a shaking hand before giving it to me to deliver. She will go through with it, I think, because duty stiffens her spine whenever necessary, but I am not certain she will ever entirely forgive the Divine for asking it of her.

The narrative continued, dated the next day: Preparations for the wedding begin. I asked the Inquisitor if she wished me to incorporate anything related to her Clan in her dress, and, for the first time, she was short-tempered with me. She apologized immediately, of course, as my lady has a strict sense of justice. But this dress is to be entirely Andrastian - and with that in mind, I have an idea.

I turned the page. The next was half taken with sketches - I recognized the wedding dress whose picture had surely circulated throughout most of Thedas. Someone at the wedding had been hired to take its likeness and make numerous copies for distribution, complete with exaggerated descriptions of the romance of the moment - two servants of Andraste, committing to each other as chastely as Andraste had committed herself to the Maker. Several of the pamphlets had come to my domain in other communications from my agents, and had circulated freely among my people for several days, though they were quickly hidden any time anyone spotted me nearby.

Wise, as I had dropped more than one I found lying about into the nearest fire.

It was a beautiful dress, with clever references to the chiton favored at the height of the Tevinter Empire, layered under a himation that served, at the beginning of the service, as a head-covering. Elaborate goldwork around the hems was reminiscent, though not a clear depiction, of rising flames. It seemed, based on these sketches, Eliwys had designed it in its entirety.

I found her words, beginning halfway down the page. The Inquisitor has approved the design, though in truth I think she would approve any design I submitted just now, so I have taken the additional step of clearing it with the Divine - who gratified my vanity with compliments on my creativity.

On the subject of the Divine, she has not tried to apologize directly, but today she sent the Inquisitor the latest book written by my lady's favorite author, as well as a galley proof for the Viscount's next novel, the binding so fresh it still smelled of glue. It must have been brought by special courier at impressive speed. My lady only set them aside on a table and asked me why everyone closest to her continues using her for their own ends, even as they apologize so profusely for it.

I fear I was rather sharp with her. "Everyone is used, and everyone uses someone, sometime. Not everyone has the good fortune to be loved enough by those who must use them to receive an apology for it." I ought not have said it, I know - no matter how close I judge our connection, it isn't my place to say such things to her.

But in this case I had not misjudged. She stared at me for a moment as though struck, and then threw herself into my arms to cry on my shoulder as any young woman forced into an unwanted marriage of convenience might. I do feel for her, as she was not raised to this life and has never had to grapple with the likelihood of such a step before - though I think she will find it means little to her once it is finished and her life fails to change. I feel worse, perhaps, for you, if you can accept such a feeling from one such as me.

I put the stack of sheets down, letting out a slow breath. The way Lisell had spoken when she defended her choice - it created the impression that it had been her choice. She was perfectly justified in defending it in any case - the miracle was that she still loved me at all, not that she had to sometimes compromise her feelings as this adversarial relationship between us played out. But now I thought that, had she been more physically able, I might have been given a sample of her new combat skills after I said what I had. Would an apology mean anything, or only serve to wound her again? Perhaps if an opening came, otherwise I would let it go. She knew my reasons, and now I fully understood hers, as well.

I was still reading when dawn came. When Tamorian approached me, I decided that continuing to tune the eluvians might wait for a day. I would get a clearer reading if I allowed the weave of the Veil to settle first, which was as good a reason as any to put it off. Tamorian, to my surprise, voiced his support for the wait, almost confessing that my exhaustion had worried him the night before. He brought me a meal, and I went back to reading.

Had I read the notes earlier, I would have known Eliwys had been identified as an agent well over a year ago. I recognized strategic dropping of information when it was offered to me - information meant to flush out more of my agents when they acted on it, or meant to influence my own choices. I wondered if it had. Some of it Tamorian had dutifully brought me, though much of it he had discarded as too unimportant for my attention. But had he given orders based on any of this information? I wasn't involved enough in day-to-day operations to know, and likely it mattered little now. Not after the attack on the Grand Cathedral.

I wondered what I would have done with Eliwys, had I known. Sent her elsewhere? No - not that. She had possessed all the skills necessary to protect Lisell, and that had always been her first duty. Perhaps I might have tried to convince them she had decided to double-cross me? Dangerous. And I knew Leliana - she never would have fully trusted such a conversion. Eliwys would have been sent somewhere less sensitive. Likely, I decided, I would have done nothing, and simply let her continue to serve Lisell, though I would have treated her information with more suspicion.

I continued reading through the stack as the morning wore away, skimming unless something caught my eye. Occasionally Eliwys had pinned rough copies of letters or notes in Lisell's hand, discarded after Lisell made fair copies to be sent to their intended recipients. On the whole, these were mundane - newsy letters to Varric or Dorian, more carefully-worded missives to Vivienne, clever double-entendres for Bull or the other Chargers. She was more careful with her important correspondence. I found only one note to Sera, although the tone of it made it sound as though they talked often:

No, Sera, it's not a limerick if you don't stick to the meter. That's the point. If you want to say, "anyway, let's do it," just say it. But if you really want one, try this:

Several blotted false starts at dirty poems followed, with two completed at the end of the page, though Lisell apparently deemed one substandard. Does it even work if you lead with pie and then don't use food in the final double entendre? she had asked - whether rhetorically or not wasn't clear.

Underneath, Eliwys had written, She spent a whole day last week coming back to this whenever she had a moment. From what I gather, Sera used both completed verses to good effect, though whether with the same woman or two different ones, I couldn't say. I assume as a matter of course that any woman Sera pursues has a taste for dirty limericks.

A wise assumption, considering...Sera.

Two years of missives made a substantial pile, and once I had finished the highlights, it was well into the afternoon. I had promised Lisell that I would read every word, and so I went back to the beginning and began to read again, this time more carefully. Not all of it would get finished today, or likely for some time, but I might as well make a start as long as I had decided not to do any other work until tomorrow.

I brought up my reading as we dined that evening. Of course Lisell had never seen the pages, so I brought a few to show her - mostly sketches I had particularly admired. Tonight she had again dressed - or had again been dressed - in the gown my converts had made for her, but I could tell she had gone foraging again. She smelled of rain.

She looked at the first page I handed her - the sketch of the gown with the halla antlers - and smiled. "They certainly did stare when I wore that at Lord and Lady de Guise's masque."

"A bold thing to do, to show up at an Orlesian gathering and remind everyone you are a Dalish elf," I commented.

"Orlesians love boldness as long as it involves new, preferably complicated, styles of clothing," she replied, making a face. "That masque was rather enjoyable, but by the next, 'heretical' deities were all the rage, and I ended up having to duel someone who came dressed as Sylaise. I didn't start it," she hastened to explain. "She kept fishing for compliments and then got offended when I finally offered a backhanded one. But, of course, backhanded compliments are simply the way the Game is played, so her overreaction got her struck from guest lists all over Orlais for at least a month."

"A fate only just preferable to death," I commented dryly.

"Yes, exactly," she agreed with a grim smile. "Everyone watching the duel had a good time, anyway - nothing is more enjoyable for an Orlesian noble than a party upended by scandal. And I have gained considerable skill with a rapier - some of the chevaliers seemed to appreciate seeing it on display."

I looked through the pages and showed her one from Skyhold. "You filled your room with plants," I commented. Eliwys had drawn her watering them. Underneath was an attempt to phonetically transcribe a Dalish song.

"The view is too vast," Lisell explained. "The greenery makes it - friendlier. And we can never have too much elfroot. It never occurred to me that Eliwys would be interested in the song. Actually, I forgot she wouldn't understand it. It's just a habit to sing it whenever I'm tending plants."

"A song from your Clan?" I guessed.

"I suppose," she replied. "There was an older boy, Radavur, when I was a child - he used to tend the plants wherever we stopped, and he sang to them as he did it. Later it turned out he was a mage, and he was traded to another Clan since our Keeper already had a First and a Second."

"Will you sing it for me?" I asked.

She looked genuinely taken aback and hesitated a moment. "But it's for tending plants."

"And?" I didn't understand her objection.

"And...singing it for you would be...like I was performing it," she attempted to explain, apparently as puzzled by my lack of understanding as I was by her reluctance.

"Exactly like you were performing it," I told her. "I want you to perform it for me."

"No," she said in a reflexive denial. "I don't perform like that, and it isn't a song for performing in any case."

"You were singing a courting song when I arrived last night," I pointed out.

She blinked. "No, that was a song about courting, not for courting. It's for passing time while doing something you would rather not. I was tidying the room a little, since I was out all day yesterday." She raised her chin and I knew further argument was likely to be fruitless. "If you want to learn my plant-cultivation song, you will have to find me some plants to cultivate - or join me somewhere I am already cultivating them."

I tried to accept defeat gracefully - which meant, for me, trying to carve out a partial victory when it became clear I wouldn't win all I wanted. "Will you at least recite the words for me? This attempted transcription makes my head ache."

Da dalavur, rad dalavur, small leaf, green leaf - I had to leave briefly to borrow a pen and ink, and wrote the correct runes next to the attempt Eliwys had made. Lisell had to hum snatches of the melody to remember the order of some of the lines, so it was a greater victory than expected, though I would never have been able to put the whole of it together into anything resembling music.

Lisell asked to look at my work when I was finished, tracing her fingers carefully over the runes, sounding out those she knew. Like most Dalish, she could speak her language with a degree of fluency, but she was all but illiterate in the Elven runic system. Still - "Have you been studying?" I asked. She was working her way through more of the runes than I would have expected.

She blushed. "A little, when I have time. So a very little."

"Enough that the difference is noticeable," I assured her.

"Mm," she equivocated. "Do you remember the memories Ameridan passed to me?"

"It would be impossible to forget," I told her truthfully. "A fascinating piece of magic."

"The people of the Dales spent the entire length of their independence trying to reconstruct the language of our ancestors," she said. "Telana, as a dreamer, helped pull memories of it from the Fade. Ameridan knew considerably more than I was ever allowed to learn. I can't - I can't get at all his memories, I don't think he wanted me to, but when I study something he knew, it fits into place like there was a space in my memory just waiting to receive it. So I have studied very little, and reaped unwarranted rewards."

"Yes, vhenan," I agreed dryly, "to gain those rewards, you had only to assault an ancient Tevinter fortress held by a war-obsessed sect from a people renowned for their fighting prowess, followed by slaying a spirit-possessed high dragon. Unwarranted."

"It isn't as though I did it alone," she said under her breath, and I wasn't certain whether she had meant for me to hear or not. "Besides," she added, her eyes fixed on the page, "the dragon was after he gave me the memories."

Apparently she had intended the first part for me. "Ma delathe," I said, amused by her diffidence.

"I'm just letting you know - I'm not much of a scholar. I still spend more time than is probably healthy hitting things until they stop moving," she said, still not looking at me.

"And then, because you have become a consummate politician, you walk onto a ballroom floor and rivet the entire room with your performance - whatever it is you perform, and for whatever reason," I added for her.

"Don't tease," she pleaded.

"I am not - only making certain we both recognize the full truth. If you were a scholar, too, how would I go about impressing you, arasha? Most days I let myself think of it, I am not even certain how I do it now." I watched her, wondering if she was gathering up whatever links in her confidence I had knocked loose by prompting her to compare herself to me.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "It's not about you - or, it is, but only a little. The breadth of your knowledge can be intimidating. I have always been vaguely ashamed that I can't even read my own language, though. I've never understood why it has to be such a closely-guarded secret."

"Power," I guessed. "Most secrets that are not personal are about power." She pushed the paper back across the table to me. "Would you like a fair copy of this?" I asked.

"I - " I had surprised her. "I would, thank you. That's...that's kind, Solas. Now I feel a little guilty for not singing it for you."

"Don't. How much enjoyment would your discomfort bring me?" I said as I pulled out the last sketch I had brought and slid it across to her, keenly aware of the irony of the words I had just spoken.

She looked down at it, went red, and then hid her face, laughing. "She - she sent this? She sent this! That is - that is just uncalled for!"

I pulled the sketch back and pretended to regard it critically, though in truth I had it memorized. "She only drew your face, arm, and your knees, just visible over the rim of the tub. What you're wearing now is more revealing than this image."

"I know," Lisell replied, not wasting any embarrassment on my frank assessment of her gown. "But you can't honestly tell me that isn't more suggestive."

It was, and there was no use arguing about it. Lisell in the bath would never be anything other that suggestive, even if Eliwys had only given me the tip of her nose showing above the tub's edge. I knew I had told Tamorian not to show these to me, but that he hadn't made an exception for this one -

Then again, I hadn't known Eliwys more or less had Lisell's blessing to tell me what she would about the Inquisitor's personal life. Nor had Eliwys known, for that matter. Perhaps for the best, then. Seeing it before would have made me feel like a villain - a worse villain.

"'Enjoying the Viscount's latest novel,'" I read, rather than coming up with an answer. There was a tray across the tub in the picture, built to hold a book open. Lisell was turning the page with a careful finger as water ran down her arm.

"That must have been Shartan's Last Verse, just before we left for Val Royeaux for the winter this year." Lisell smiled. "Leliana told me I had to read it - and help her find a way not to officially censure it. It didn't take much reading between the lines to see Varric had made the story of Andraste and Shartan a romance, just set a few hundred years later, during the Exalted March of the Dales."

I went still at the book title, and then felt myself go cold as well, as I listened to Lisell discuss it. Surely she had seen what I had seen? "Was it?" I asked, my words clipped. "I felt Master Tethras dipped far too much into more recent history - history that had nothing to do with him."

"You read it?" she asked - a fair question, I supposed, as I had never shown much interest in fiction while we were together.

"I had a fever," I admitted. "Nothing severe, just a few days of rest. Shartan's Last Verse was the only novel Tamorian could find on short notice."

"I'm not sure what you mean about recent history," she said with a shrug. "Varric certainly took liberties with the story - changing the names, making the Andraste character the elf and the Shartan character the human, bringing the Avvar into the conflict - "

"Truly?" I ground out. "A young, beautiful Emerald Knight meets a seasoned Avvar mage who spends much of his time wandering about and falling asleep in ruins, speaking to the spirits there?"

"I suppose - " she began, but I could still hear the reluctance in her voice, so I went on.

"And in the end, when he sees his people have been detained too long in crossing the passes, and The Dales are already fallen, he chooses to save the lives of his people rather than honor the alliance."

"I suppose," Lisell repeated. "But he does come alone, to die beside her, and manages to save part of her family, too. He's a tragic hero - and I also think you're reading too much into it. Besides, even if it's true, Sigvard is treated with a great deal of sympathy, so it isn't as though Varric is spending the book telling everyone how awful you are."

"Varric's opinion is unwelcome and doesn't matter in any case," I scoffed.

"If it doesn't matter, then why do you care?" she asked with the kind of inexorable logic that likely drove Orlesian nobles mad.

"I don't," I snapped.

That made her laugh, heartily, enticing her to leave behind all the manners a formal style of dress usually prodded her into using, as she rested her elbow on the table and leaned her head against it weakly. When she finally looked at me, eyes still bright with laughter, my scowl had melted into something a great deal more like chagrin. "I am going to recount this exact conversation to Varric the next time I see him, and see what he has to say," she threatened. "And then," she went on before I could protest, "I am going to write down every word he says, find one of your agents, and send it to you."

Though I didn't think she was serious, I still said, "Sathan, tel'siljosa."

"You brought it on yourself," she teased - I very much hoped she was teasing. She paused thoughtfully, straightening her posture until she once again looked like part of the court of Orlais. "Unless you want to negotiate?"

"I am not letting you risk your life in order to avoid you discussing my opinion of Varric's book with him," I told her flatly.

"I could also avoid discussing it with anyone else," she offered so very gently, with the barest hint of flirtation in her voice. "After all, since you and Cassandra are both fond - "

She broke off, her eyes going wide as her hand flew to her mouth.

I moved without thinking, as soon as I saw the expression on her face. In an instant I was at her side, pulling her into my arms, all thoughts of rules and truces forgotten. "Ma vhenan - " I began, and could find no words to go on.

"She is gone. They are both gone, and I will never - " she choked out, her voice shaking. "How - how have I - gone on? Put it aside? Forgotten?"

"You have been doing that which you are best at, ara sa'lath," I told her. "Surviving."

"Like this?" Her cry was full of self-loathing.

"You cannot let grief dull your mind and also hope to outwit me," I reminded her quietly. Did she even hear me? The sobs seemed torn from her, and were accompanied by small whimpers of pain, as though the tearing were doing real damage somewhere inside her. I looked down at her head and felt a heavy sensation in my own gut.

I was going to have to let her go, before the cage I had built crushed the life from her as surely as my grip ever threatened to do.

Not yet, my heart whispered, reminding me of all the reasons she should stay a little longer - a matter of days, perhaps, until I could be satisfied she had fully regained her strength.

I - could not decide it now. Almost gratefully, I allowed the needs of the present to wash away thoughts of the future.

I knew doing anything to harm the gown the women had made for her would only serve to hurt her more, so I led her to the bed and had her sit while I found a robe in her wardrobe. It was nothing like the one she had owned - likely still owned - at Skyhold. Rough wool, with only a little embroidery at the cuffs to brighten it even slightly, it would be warm, but I was glad she wouldn't have to wear it against her skin. I returned to her, found a handkerchief tucked into my belt and gave it to her, and then began unlacing her dress. She looked back at me once, perhaps uncertain of my intentions, but evidently my expression reassured her, because she cooperated meekly as I stripped her to her chemise, and then wrapped the robe around her.

By the time I had finished, the handkerchief I had given her was wet through, so that was clearly the next task. Returning to her wardrobe, I searched through the drawers until I found one with two folded handkerchiefs, which was a start - but not nearly enough. I didn't want to leave her, not for an instant, but I might need to if…

Glancing around the room, I happened to spot a stack of linen cloths next to her wash-basin. Those would suffice.

When I returned, she had curled up on the bed as though trying to protect her vitals from attack. "Lisell," I said, pressing one of the handkerchiefs into her hand.

She pulled herself upright with less struggle than I would have expected. "Ir abelas," she gasped. "I have been - very carefully avoiding thoughts of the future. Of what it will be like. Which also means - avoiding most of the present outside these walls. And then I just took - one of Cullen's precious trebuchets to all that effort - " Tears overcame her again, and she shook her head. "And - and I k-keep wond-d-dering, who will b-be there? Who...will help me t-t-train? How d-do I do any-anything I am supposed to d-do?" I put my arm around her. "None of that is the point!" she cried out. "They're gone and I am wond-dering about - practicalities!"

Of course she thought of practicalities - the fate of nations lay in her hands, and she was thoughtful in her use of that power. "I fear that is because you are responsible, ma vhenan," I told her. "I read the account Eliwys sent of your marriage to Prince Sebastian today. I believe she will go through with it, she wrote. Duty stiffens her spine whenever necessary. You have trained yourself to think of practicalities first. You reap the results of that training, even when they are not your preferred results."

She drew up her knees, hid her face against them, and sobbed.

"Ara'sal sul'dan'lathas mar'abelas, ara sa'lath." True words, if not the right ones. There were no right ones. I put my hand on her back, wondering if I ought to urge her to let me unpin her hair, and unwind the ribbons from its braids, but I put it aside for later. Instead I said, "Don't let concern over practicalities war with your personal sense of loss. Neither is more real than the other. Cassandra was too dutiful herself to have held it against you, if you consider how going on without her will impact the fulfillment of your duties."

Lisell's shoulders twitched, she sniffed and let our two staccatos breaths, and then she sat up again. "That is - very true. And Eliwys - she would be appalled at the thought that I might have to appear in public wearing substandard attire."

"And more appalled that I have no one else at hand to see to your safety," I added, gathering her close to me.

She took a deep, shaking breath, then another, using the handkerchief I had given her to clean her face. "It's all right. I'm - all right."

"You are not," I contradicted, "but you will be. In time - when you have had opportunity to mourn properly."

"Mala rosa'suledin nadas?" she asked, referencing what she had heard my spirit friend say to me before she died.

"Jurosa'suledin nadas," I assured her. "And perhaps you will even be in a position to extract wisdom from your suffering, as I could not."

"I don't want it," she whispered. "Not at this price."

"I fear the price was never open for negotiation, vhenan'ara," I told her, resting my cheek against her hair. "The only choice you are allowed is what you receive for the price already paid."

She pressed herself more tightly to my side, so tightly I could nearly feel her thoughts thrumming against my skin. Grief, yes, and fear - perhaps some of it for her own sake, but most of it for me. She likely knew me too well not to know I planned to take grave risks. For my part, I used the opportunity to pick pins from her hair, untwine the braids, free the ribbons. "Would you - appreciate it if I found someone - another - " I paused and tried again. "As little as you probably wish to think of it, replacing Eliwys will be necessary. Do you want me to attempt to find someone for you?" I finally managed as I smoothed her hair with my fingers. "I will look, if you don't object to having another of my agents near you."

Her laughter sounded half-choked. "You did so well the first time, I suppose you may as well. But don't expect me to take someone merely because she has you as a reference."

"No," I agreed. "Whomever I might find - you would have to choose her, preferably without knowing for certain she was mine." I would have sought and sent someone anyway, because at least I knew any agent I chose would put Lisell's safety above everything. But it was good to have her assent.

I continued to hold her, but the thought began to grow in my mind that it was time to find a space where I could be alone, and decide what to do. And - if I decided to do what I knew was probably the right thing, begin to make plans.

Perhaps she felt me subtly pulling away, because her arm tightened around my waist abruptly. "Stay?" she asked.

"Until you sleep," I compromised.

"Oh, good," she whispered against my chest. "Then all I need do is never sleep again."


Translations - which, I'm going to start skipping the ones from the game that you should probably already have known in the first place:

On nydha: Good night

Ma delathe: My mistake

Arasha: My joy

Sathan, tel'siljosa: Please, don't do that, lit. "please, do not act"

Ara sa'lath: My only love

Ara'sal sul'dan'lathas mar'abelas: My soul weeps for your sorrow

Mala rosa'suledin nadas?: Now I must endure? The phrase Bioware used in-game actually meant like..."now endurance inevitable" or "now must endurance." There's no verb in the sentence? I was just going to quote it anyway, but I needed a verb to conjugate for his response (next entry) to make sense.

Jurosa'suledin nadas: "You will endure" or "You will absolutely endure" - the point is he is telling her that she will definitely come through this in the strongest possible terms

Vhenan'ara: Heart's desire/heart's journey

Now, for your enjoyment:

There once was a thief from the streets
Whose lust for the pie that she eats
Was so widely renowned
When she lifted a gown
Her marks often tossed in the sheets

Substandard? Discuss.