To say the invitation was unexpected would be an understatement on a level with saying that Anders was occasionally moody or that Lowtown had an unpleasant odor in the summertime.
But if there's something Varric never turned down, it was an unexpected invitation. Which is how he found himself sitting down for tea in Leandra's parlor with Aveline and Sebastian.
"Would you like some tea? Perhaps a scone?" Leandra offered him some delicacies.
"Much obliged!" he said, grabbing a tart and munching with gusto. Another thing Varric never turned down: a free meal.
Aveline waved her hand, refusing any pastries. "Leandra, what is this about," she asked in a tone of concern mixed with irritation. "You know how busy I am."
"Oh," Leandra busied herself with pouring some tea for Sebastian. "I just thought it might be nice to get to catch up on old times. And get to know some of Laica's friends a little better."
Varric glanced around. There were only four seats. Leandra had summoned the three of them for a specific reason. He bided his time.
"I would like to thank you for offering such a gracious invitation, my lady," Sebastian said. Varric carefully controlled the smirk that wanted to sprawl across his face. Nobility.
"Oh," Leandra laughed. "I'm not lady anything, ser. You can call me Leandra. You, too, Varel."
"Varric," he corrected without rancor.
"Oh, yes of course. I know that she's said so much about you. So much about all of you and..." She took a deep breath and set the teapot down. "As a matter of fact, that's why I chose to invite the three of you here, today. I have a problem and I need your help."
Aveline's mouth narrowed into a thin, hard line. "Is somebody bothering you? Just say the word, Leandra, I'll have the best of my guard patrol your street. No, better than that: I'll do it personally."
"Oh, no," Leandra got up and began to pace. "Nothing so... criminal. I'm just..." she wrung her hands. "I'm so worried about my Laica and the company she keeps." She paused. "Present company excluded, of course."
"Of course," Varric nodded.
"It's just that," Leandra continued to pace. "When we were living in Lowtown it was different. What does it matter what a refugee from some little country does with her spare time? But now she's important. She's reclaimed the family estate and made a name for herself. She's made so many gains. And I can't stand the thought of her... of her..." She choked back a sob.
"Leandra!" Aveline got to her feet, looking alarmed. "What could have gotten you so worked up?"
"What are these!" Leandra cried, producing a handful of pamphlets. "I keep finding them all over my daughter's house. Stuffed in books," she threw a handful on the table, "laid out on tables," she tossed another handful, "delivered in the post," and another, "and this!" She held up a half-burned bundle. "This one I found in the fireplace! Please," she turned imploring eyes to Varric. "You're a young person. What does this mean? Is it some kind of courtship ritual?"
Sebastian picked up one of the pamphlets. "Is this... Anders' manifesto?"
Leandra strangled a cry and covered her face with her hands "Yes! You must help me. Such a man will ruin my daughter and all she's worked so hard to accomplish."
"But," Varric was so confused he couldn't help but be honest. "I'm sorry, but wasn't your husband an apostate?"
"My Malcolm was nothing like this... this..." her chest heaved as she struggled to control her temper. "Person," she finished, snarling the word in such a way as to make it the most vile insult Varric had ever heard.
"My lad- Leandra," Sebastian said gently. "Please. Surely it cannot be so dire as you're imagining."
"He's over here all the time!" she exploded as she resumed her pacing. "And when he's not, she's wandering off with him. Maybe you've spent too much time in the Chantry, ser, but I have born three children! I know what the looks he's giving her mean."
Sebastian nodded and tented his fingers, frowning thoughtfully. "True, but unless she returns such looks, it cannot be such a worry, can it?"
Leandra wrung her hands. "It doesn't matter. If her reputation is ruined anyway, I'll never be able to arrange a good match for her."
Varric choked on a biscuit. "Arranged match? Laica?"
Leandra straightened her shoulders. "We're respectable people, Varric. We must behave like it."
"But, with all due respect," he coughed around a bit of cookie still lodged in his throat. "Laica's never shown the least bit of interest in getting married."
"That's another problem," Leandra sighed as she eased back into her chair. "And an even more difficult one to deal with.
"Perhaps I could be of service," Sebastian offered. "Laica's often confided in me for advice on..." he cleared his throat, "personal matters."
Aveline glanced over at Varric at exactly the same time as Varric glanced over at her. And then Aveline shook her head slightly while rolling her eyes.
"She also has taken up an interest in archery," Sebastian continued, oblivious. "In fact, we were going to practice together tomorrow. Perhaps I could broach the subject with her then?"
"Oh, would you?" Leandra gushed. "She's so stubborn with me! But maybe you could get through to her. I have a number of good families who have been enquiring about courting possibilities. If she would only consent to them."
"I shall try my best," Sebastian promised.
"You'll need better than that," deadpanned Aveline.
"Yeah, make sure to polish Andraste all bright and shiny," Varric quipped. "Divine intervention may be your best bet."
It was on a rare autumn morning, clear and bright and brisk with no hint of mist, that Sebastian decided to to broach the subject of Laica's matrimonial obligations. It had been weeks since he promised Leandra he would do it, but the right opportunity had never seemed to present itself. As Leandra's letters to him became more and more concerned and eventually turned into visits, he decided to err on the side of rashness and create a right opportunity.
Laica met him in the templar training yard, as was her wont. He had tried to convince her to change their practice area to a more neutral location, but it was all in vain. "Just let them try me," she laughed whenever he brought it up. She also scoffed at his appeals that her presence was needlessly antagonistic. To her credit, she never used magic while on Chantry property, and always made certain to greet templars she was fond of, like Ser Cullen and Ser Thrask, often enquiring after her brother's progress. And he couldn't help but admire her fearlessness, as if she were walking into a nursery and not a lion's den.
An hour passed in pleasant conversation, like it usually did, Laica pressing for details on how the current scandal among the Revered Mothers was progressing, Sebastian deflecting her giggling inquiries and prodding her for stories about her own adventures.
Gradually conversation died as Laica began to concentrate on more difficult shots. Soon, she would tire too much to continue, and his window would close. "Now or never," he muttered to himself as he knocked an arrow to his bow.
"What's that?" Laica asked, squinting at the bull's-eye, a good many yards away.
"You know," Sebastian began his carefully-prepared speech, "sexual congress is a gift from the Maker."
He waited for her response (he expected her to agree, of course) but was surprised when he was met only with silence. He let the arrow fly and watched it as it hit somewhere to the southeast of his target. "Blast," he cursed before turning to her, thinking maybe she hadn't heard him.
He was met with a pair of deep-blue eyes, wide with shock. He suddenly realized his error. "Within the bounds of holy matrimony, I mean to say," he quickly recovered.
"Yes," Laica turned her head slightly, but continued staring at him out of the corner of her eye. "What else could it be."
"There are some who believe that the Chantry frowns on physical expressions of love," he said, continuing with what he had planned to say. "Hold a moment," he paused her as she knocked her arrow, and stood alongside her, raising her elbow slightly. "There, that's better." He stepped back. "Proceed."
She drew her arrow and aimed. "All I remember from Chantry school is the word 'Don't' whenever the topic came up."
He shook his head and frowned. "This particular error in catechism seems especially pernicious in Fereldan teachings. But, truly, It is a sacred thing, evidence of the Maker's love for His children. It allows us to express more fully than words our love for one another."
Laica's shot went wild. "You really need to focus," he tutted at her. 'This won't get any easier as we progress."
She glared at him. "I don't imagine it will."
"You ought to try that again. I'll wait for my turn," he said, observing her stance as she knocked another arrow.
"Furthermore, without marital relations, so to speak, how would we propagate the faith? Produce heirs? There are many practical considerations that go along with it as well, beyond the compelling emotional and physical benefits."
This time, Laica's shot went so wild that she nearly hit a group of recruits that Ser Cullen was training on the other side of the yard. "Hey, be careful!" he shouted.
"Sorry," she shouted back and bit her lip. "That won't leave a permanent scar, will it?" she asked Sebastian, concern clear on her face.
Sebastian glanced back at the clutch of recruits who had gathered around the one who had been grazed by the stray arrow. "I'm sure he'll be just fine," he tried to reassure her.
"You're a bad liar," she sighed.
"It's only a flesh wound," he repeated with more conviction, as he watched Ser Cullen help the boy to his feet and tie a bandage around his head.
Laica just frowned and concentrated on knocking another arrow. "Third time's a charm," she muttered, drawing it back.
"Hold again," he paused her, and stepped closer than before, crouching slightly and leaning his head against hers to try to suss out the problem. "Your aim appears to be true, but... Laica, are you unwell?"
"I'm fine," she said, jaw setting stubbornly.
"But you're trembling!" And he realized, to his dismay, that her face was flushed. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Are you quite sure you haven't come down with a fever?
"I'm fine!" she repeated, flushing harder and turning away. "Really!" She twisted out of his grasp. "I just... I have to go!"
He watched her run from the practice yard, baffled. "What could be troubling her, I wonder?" he mused to Cullen as the Templar returned the stray arrow.
"If you're looking for advice on how to understand Amells, you're asking the wrong man," Cullen said as he handed Sebastian the arrow with a rueful grin.
Laica drank the whiskey in one gulp and slammed her cup down on the bar. "Yes, that is exactly what he said," she insisted.
Isabela started to laugh. Soft at first, then with rapidly increasing mirth. "What in the Void did he mean by all that?" She laughed even harder, and wiped away a tear.
"I'll be Blighted if I know," Laica said grimly. "Barkeep? Here," she threw a few silver on the bar. "Just leave the bottle."
Isabela took a deep breath and tried to control the peals of laughter that still bubbled inside her. "A gift from the Maker, eh?" she snickered.
"Yeah, and one he's marked 'Return to Sender'," Laica quipped grimly, now drinking straight from the bottle.
Isabela choked on her drink. "Oh save me," she gasped. "I have liquor coming up my nose!"
"I mean, let's be honest," Laica took another swig. "The man's made any number of vows, some of them directly conflicting with each other. Why is chastity the one he's taking seriously!"
"I'm serious my nose really burns!" Isabela half-laughed, half-moaned.
"Look I thought we were talking about my burning loins here," Laica declared angrily. "Not your inflamed nasal passages!"
"Oh please," Isabela rolled her eyes. "It's your own fault for falling for a man who won't rut you."
"I didn't try to," Laica frowned miserably.
"Well, you know what I always say," Isabela said brightly. "The best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else!"
"Fine. Whatever," Laica took another drink. "What difference does it make. Just so long as it's not Anders."
"Don't be ridiculous," Isabela scoffed. "Hm, let's see. You like men, right?"
"Yeah," Laica responded, feeling even more despondent.
"Well, how about that one," Isabela gestured to an Orlesian in the corner. "He's been eyeing you up all night. And he's got red hair. That should help!"
Laica looked over. He wasn't bad-looking, at least. Maybe Isabela was right. "Sounds good." She grasped her bottle and stomped over to the man like she was going to battle an ogre. "You!" she pointed at the man. "What's your name?"
The man laughed a bit nervously and exchanged disbelieving glances with his friends. "I am Luc," he introduced himself. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name."
"Laica," she replied flatly, fighting the feelings of awkwardness that started to steal into her alcohol-fogged brain. "Let's go," she grabbed his arm and started pulling him to go upstairs.
"If my lady insists," he said with over-the-top enthusiasm.
She made it two steps inside the room before he was on her. Hands and lips and legs and everything was just wrong. He was too tall, his voice too rough, his accent wrong and his hair was the right color but not curly enough and he didn't smell like incense and armor polish and she was starting to cry anyway and that was just embarrassing. "I'm sorry," she gasped, pushing him off of her. "This was a mistake."
"Pardon?" Luc looked at her in bleary confusion. "Did I displease you somehow? I can do better, I guarantee." He smiled and stretched enticingly.
"No, you can't." She covered her mouth with her hand to fight the tears. "You can have the whiskey."
She handed him the bottle as a final parting gift and ran out of the room. And then ran out of the tavern and all the way back to Hightown.
The front door slammed, jarring Leandra awake. "Malcolm!" she said sharply, still half asleep.
She heard footsteps stumbling quickly up the stairs as she realized that she was in her family's old estate in Kirkwall, and not the small farmhouse she had been dreaming about. Turning over on her side, she tried to shake the melancholy that tended to follow such dreams.
She had nearly fallen back asleep when she was awoken again, this time by her eldest child sobbing. Sighing, she climbed out of bed and tied on a robe.
"Laica," she said gently as she entered the room. "Where have you been? The sun's been down for hours. You know how dangerous it is to be out at night."
"I'm sorry, Mother," Laica quickly wiped her eyes and turned her pillow over, trying to hide the evidence. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Well, it's too late for that," Leandra grumbled, sitting on the side of the bed. "What is wrong," she said, more gently, smoothing Laica's hair from her brow.
"Nothing that can be helped," Laica said curling into a ball of unhappiness.
Leandra knew that look. She had seen it in her own mirror long before she had seen it in her daughters' faces. The girl was lovesick. "Did Anders say something to you," she asked, her distaste for the man impossible to hide.
"No," Laica shied away from her. "Nobody said anything I'm fine just leave me alone."
"As you wish," Leandra replied in a perfectly neutral tone as she got up to leave.
"I wish I wasn't a mage," Laica wailedcried, tears beginning anew. "I wish there was no Chantry. I wish there were no... no stupid vows." The last word flung from her lips as if it were the vilest epithet in all of Thedas.
And then certain things began to fall into place for Leandra. She had gravely misjudged the target of Laica's dreamy looks and giggles with Merrill and Isabela. The focus of her affection was not on the broody apostate Leandra had such little use for, but instead it had landed upon the sweet but clueless priest. "Oh," was all she could say as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "You know, I always thought that man was wasted on the Chantry."
Laica covered her face with a pillow and screamed in frustration. She lifted the pillow off her face. "He started talking to me today about the sanctity of intercourse within the bonds of holy matrimony," she said emotionlessly. "Why would he do that? Is he trying to torture me? I thought he was nice!"
"Oh, darling," Leandra cooed, trying to fight the wave of guilt that threatened to engulf her at how seriously her plan had gone awry. "I can't imagine he'd do that. He doesn't seem the type."
"He is the type to make stupid vows and then stupidly keep them. I swear, he's the only member of the clergy who takes that stuff seriously," Laica pouted, hugging the pillow to her chest.
"You know I made a vow when I was sixteen," Leandra said gently, stroking Laica's hair. "I swore I would never fall in love with any man."
"Why did you do that?" Laica asked, brows knitted in confusion.
"Oh, I can't remember his name. Some boy who had broken my heart," Leandra smiled. It was odd, after all these years she could still remember so many things. The smell of the apple blossoms in the night garden, the feel of his mouth on hers, the thudding of her heart as he reached into her bodice. But she couldn't remember his name. How odd. "The point is, I was very serious about it. And I had every intention of marrying the Comte de Launcet. It would have pleased my parents, and he was nice enough."
"But you didn't," Laica sniffled.
Leandra reached into her sleeve and handed her a handkerchief. "No, I didn't. Because I met your father. And he convinced me to break my vow."
Laica was quiet, her breathing calmed and sniffles died down. Just when Leandra was sure she had drifted off to sleep, Laica finally spoke.
"Mother, just so we're clear: you are actually advocating that I attempt to sleep with a priest," she stated, deadly serious.
Leandra smiled. "I'm advocating that you follow your heart," she said. "Maybe you'll help him find his in the process."
She left Laica to ponder this (or sleep off the liquor that was stinking up the room) and made sure to grab the latest delivery of the Manifesto on her way out.
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A/N Special thanks to NuitNuit for the fabulous beta job! Also, for those of you interested in this story: I know where I'm going with it, now. I will explain more in the next chapter ; )