Back in the Wilds, decades earlier…
Morrigan stared at the little bird in her hands incredulously. It was a miracle, really. How much it had changed in just a few days. Still she held it with all the care in the world, like a precious treasure – just like she had done numerous times before. Yet, it did not feel like that anymore. How much joy it had brought her a few days ago and now the sight of it invoked…nothing. It had lost all its magic.
Though, to be fair, that might have something to do with it being dead.
It might have a little to do with that.
With a sigh she tossed it away carelessly. She had come here to bury it. That had been the plan. It seemed stupid now. Because now, finally, she had understood the lesson.
Her throbbing head bore witness to that learning. As she knelt down before the little pond and stared at her own image she half expected to see dozens of the bruises. Bruises of the beating-that-never-happened. Of course there was no sign of the endless strokes.
There never is.
Yes, she could remember the first slap. The one she had deserved for her own stupidity. She had been enraged and in tears when she had found the lifeless sparrow with the broken neck on her bed. Of course she had understood that it must have been her – Mother had been far too friendly the whole evening. That was a bad sign, always. Yet in the heat of the moment she had impulsively turned towards the elder witch, standing there in the doorframe with nothing but curiosity on her face. That had been when she snapped and tried to go after Mother.
First mistake.
The blow had come out of thin air, no, it had been thin air. Mother never beat her with her hands. She just raised her hand and let the air throw Morrigan back with all its force.
No bruises that way.
The reason was obvious: That way Morrigan would not see the marks on her face when looking at her own mirror image. No sign of Flemeth. No bruise she could wear like a trophy to remind her that it had been Mother who had done this to her, that she had stood up to her. No, there was no trace. Just the pain. 'You have done that to yourself,' that was the absurd message.
Even more absurdly, it worked.
Attacking Mother in rage had been the first mistake, an act born out of fury. Her own doing.
If only my foolishness had stopped then.
But it hadn't.
Mother had given her the chance – a few seconds to calm down and find her focus before she had asked: "My, my. So much rage. Could it be that you still have not learned the message behind that, my Morrigan?"
The smug smile had been enough to send her on her feet again and to go after her again, screaming: "The message is that you are a cruel monster and that I hate you!"
Next mistake.
She had gotten another chance after that blow - and the one Mother had sent after that for good measure. "But no, Morrigan. Can you really be so foolish? Think, girl! The lesson has been there all along."
Oddly enough, she had calmed down. Oh, fury had still been raging inside her, but her mind had taken control. She had understood then what was required of her – the message. She had to show Mother that she had gotten the message.
"I…should have protected it from you…?" she tried.
Dumb mistake. I really deserved that one.
Flemeth had rubbed her hand after that – as if she had actually felt something when dealing the next stroke. "A question, was it? Not actually a lesson, is it? And of course that is a foolish notion and you know it. How could you have protected it? How? When you cannot even protect yourself…" Another. And another. She had hoped for blood to show at that moment, just to signal that the pain was actually real. But of course there was no blood.
It never happened.
"We have been over this, but I will just say it once more because you seem really slow today: Know that I am not taking any pleasure in any of this. I am doing this for you, child," Mother had continued, as the next hit had pushed her against the wall. "Anyway: You could not have protected it from me even with a lot more power, girl. Because I am everywhere, for I am every human in the world – and every animal. A bigger bird on the hunt. A disease. Or old age, killing it from the inside. You could not have protected it either way. Now, what do we learn from that?"
I should have understood by then. She could not have made it any more plain.
As she rubbed her aching jaw, Morrigan wondered whether it had been anger or fear clouding her view or just stubborn defiance that had prevented her from seeing it yesterday.
Maybe I wanted not to give her the satisfaction.
It had been a long night and it had ended with her sleeping outside once more. But during the long and futile lesson Mother had not seen that she still held the sparrow in her hand. An odd sense of satisfaction had overcome her when she had taken it to the woods just an hour or so ago – to bury it.
Defiance.
Unfortunately, that was when the message finally struck her. It had never been about the sparrow. She couldn't have saved it either way. It was about her. About all the disappointment, the pain, the anger and the despair her little 'friendship' had caused her.
She used the water from the pond to wash a tear away – the last one she would ever cry. That she vowed. And she just knew that it would be true, that never again a tear would leave her eyes because even if it was hard to admit: Mother was right in the end. There was an important point in that lesson. Maybe the most important point of all: the key to invulnerability. A lesson so plain, so simple…and so true.
Never connect.
Never bond.
Never care.
Chapter 3
Flames
As she followed Isabela through the streets of Hightown, Morrigan's last words were still resonating in her head – hollow as an echo. But they weren't hollow words, were they?
They sounded…poisonous. Like her old self.
Leliana was restless – and it was not at all the right time for that. She had to focus on the task at hand, concentrate on the chantry, on Elthina. Everything had to work perfectly. It had to be clean, she couldn't allow for any missteps once she entered.
And the fear of Morrigan's words did not help at all with that.
"You will have a lot of time for dreams if you choose to wait". What was that supposed to mean?
Of course she understood the underlying implication, but there was no way that Morrigan would throw it all away like that, right?
Right?
"Still brooding, songbird? You shouldn't overdo that. It'll give you nasty wrinkles in the long run." Isabela's voice cut through her contemplations like a…well, not like a knife really. More like a blunt object. Which was necessary, considering how dense that web of thoughts and fears had grown in the past hours since Morrigan had been gone.
After that she had done everything to get away from the thoughts. She had put on her chantry robes and left all the other belongings at the estate, getting ready for her task. Isabela had kindly offered to show her the way to the chantry, even if it wasn't necessary. Leliana had agreed nonetheless, hoping that talking with Isabela would clear her head. But there was not much talking. Not at all.
Should I have run after her?
And there it was again…
Will she come back at all?
She must, no?
She will.
She can't leave it at that. Not after all those years.
She must come back.
It can't end like this. It…
Concentrate!
A gentle pull to the side ripped her out of her trance. "Really, Leliana. I get that this upsets you, but that poor old woman there didn't deserve being almost run down by you." Leliana stared in Isabela's eyes, taking some endless moments to comprehend. When she turned around, the lady she had in all likelihood run into a few seconds ago had already faded into the crowd.
"I'm sorry," Leliana muttered. "It's just…"
"Complicated? It usually is." Isabela smiled warmly.
"She isn't like that normally."
"Oh, really? So I just met her on a particularly good day?" That smile again.
Leliana sighed. "Well, it's not easy. I'll admit that."
"Songbird, believe me: The easy ones aren't worth the trouble. The complicated ones, the impossible ones…well, that's where it gets interesting."
She was surprised to hear herself chuckle. Yes, of course Isabela would be into that kind of relationship. Adventurous. Exciting. Impossible.
"You know, we could take a break if you want to? I know a lovely…establishment just around the corner where we could have a drink. Just like in the old days." The smirk on Isabela's face did bring back some memories. Years ago, it might have made her blush, but it did not have any power over her now.
"No, thank you."
If only I had shown that before. When Morrigan was around to see. Why didn't I?
"Are you sure?" Isabela made a sad face, "The chantry will still be here in a few hours. And a drink might do you some good."
It was rather plain who really desired that drink, but Leliana did not have time for any further distractions. Better get it over with and then concentrate on Morrigan.
"No, I'll be fine."
Isabela shrugged. "Well, it's your loss." As she turned her head around to face Leliana, there was a curious glimpse in her eyes. "How long has this been going on anyway? You and her, I mean?"
"Three years."
"That is…something."
The subtle pause would have given it away, but more clearly the look in Isabela's eyes betrayed her thoughts. A woman with less control over her own countenance might have just stared at her blankly.
She can't believe it. Even she – a person who loves to go against all odds – would have thought it impossible to last that long. What did she think? That is was just a little fling…
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realized it. That was it, right? That was the point. That was what went on in Morrigan's head, too.
She was afraid that it couldn't last! She must have feared it all along. And after the vision…oh, no.
Morrigan's fears had always been a…problem. Yes, she had opened up to Leliana. And yes, she knew of the deep scars Flemeth's philosophy had left in her heart. Yet even after sharing their darkest fears in long nights, it was still hard to grasp how much Morrigan was still affected by that. Infected by that. After she had broken the ice, after she had established the bond, Leliana had felt that Morrigan had gotten better. Her behavior certainly showed that she was in control. She was supposed to be the strong one.
And I completely overlooked how much she needed me. How fragile it all was. No! How fragile it is, not was!
Her greatest fear had been that Morrigan would some day grow tired of her and lose interest. That she, in the end, wouldn't be good enough for the witch. Never had the thought occurred to her that Morrigan might have been paralyzed by the fear. The fear of her mother speaking the truth. That no one could ever truly love her.
Love. We never even named it.
In this respect as well, she had expected Morrigan to be the one saying it first. The one to take the initiative. The strong one.
It should have been me.
The thought burnt, consuming everything around her. It was her fault. She should have been the one standing up for what they had, not waiting for Morrigan to do it. She should have shouted the words right into the witch's beautiful, beautiful face. I love you. To purge every shred of doubt and to cleanse Morrigan's souls of the terror she'd lived with all of her life.
You blind fool! How could you not see it?
"Rivaini!"
The male voice was just a blur, something almost getting lost in the usual background noise of the city – and drowning even more in the furious waves of Leliana's thoughts. It was a familiar sight when the beardless Dwarf appeared before Isabela, but Leliana couldn't care less at the moment.
Think, Leliana. How can you fix this?
"Varric, what are you doing that close to the chantry? Please don't tell me this whole situation has made a repentant sinner out of you…," she faintly heard Isabela's voice.
…if she shouldn't return…
"Nah, wouldn't dream of it. My sins make for a too good story to waste them on an audience of templars and sisters."
…no, she must return! She has to…
"Figured that much. But why the worried face? Too much frowning will give you the wrinkles, you know? And what a shame that would be!"
What is it with her and wrinkles? And who cares? Concentrate!
"Oh, Isabela. Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings."
"The rumors are true then? You actually have feelings?"
…should have gone after her…
"I am all about emotions, Rivaini! My heart almost broke that night Bianca made those strange squeaky noises."
"I don't even want to know what that means."
"Sadly enough, you do. And you know you do. But hey, you have company?"
It took a moment for Leliana to realize that he actually meant her – the woman who had been standing next to them without taking any part in their conversation. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one embarrassed by that.
"Oh, right…," Isabela seemed to have forgotten about her as well, "You do remember Sister Nightingale?"
"Of course! Weren't you the age…" The dwarf paused in mid-sentence as he realized how Leliana's eyes were shooting daggers at him for the mere possibility that he might speak the word 'agent' out loud. "…the ageless beauty we encountered at the Hanged Man months ago, right? What a funny coincidence."
Much better.
"Ah, that is right. Greetings to you, Varric."
The dwarf turned towards Isabela: "You sure do know how to keep...interesting company, Rivaini."
"Oh, and you don't even know half of it yet. You'll never guess who is in her company. Trust me: You're going to love this!" A quick look towards Leliana made her reconsider blurting it out right now.
Good girl.
"But, well, that is a story for another time, my friend. And you did not answer my question. The one about the frown?"
That's good. Change the topic. You can tell him about me and Morrigan later – spin a tale wild enough to make it utterly unbelievable. And it will end up as just another pub-story.
The dwarf sighed. "Ah, you just know me too well, Rivaini." And that's when his face darkened from moment to the other. "You know, I might be getting paranoid with all this tension in the air, but I swear to you: I just saw Blondie coming out of the chantry."
…but it is a wild tale, no? Something that no one would believe. Perfect! Now my doubts are back again…
"Really? Now that's a surprise," a smile brightened up Isabela's face, "Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, Varric: Sometimes our friend just does weird things."
"Oh, really? And here I thought throwing hundreds of those pamphlets around in the city was just a kind and perfectly healthy way to remind the good people of Kirkwall to stay sharp."
…I'll have to do something…
"So, what's your theory then, my friend? Oh, wait, I got one! You think he and the Grand Cleric might secretly…you know…"
"Isabela! Not the right time for that now. Though I do appreciate the effort." The momentary smile on his face – obviously a result of whatever little inside joke was going on here – vanished quickly. "But, trust me: There was something amiss. He did look kinda suspicious."
…it's up to me to save us from becoming a dirty little story in a pub…
"Well, I sure have a hard time picturing him going anywhere near a chantry without looking suspicious."
…oh Morrigan, how could I fail you like that?
"Yeah, but he, well, he had that other look. You know…" A glance at Leliana gave away that he wasn't exactly comfortable saying anything more. "Also: he and Hawke had quite the fight earlier. Believe me: Something here stinks worse than a nug-wranglers garbage bag. And if my late brother can be trusted, then that's quite something."
…I should have known it. Seen it coming. Prevented it…
"Have you seen Hawke since?"
…need to concentrate…
"No, that's the thing: He's nowhere to be found. Same goes for Aveline, Choir-Boy, Daisy and Broody."
Wait? Are they still talking?
"Don't worry about Merrill. I've seen her just a few hours ago and she is…in safe company. I guess. But the others…"
"Why don't you go look for your friends?" Leliana was surprised at the sound of her own voice, just realizing how awfully quite she had been the whole time. Still, she had better and more important things to consider than these two gossiping about their friends. So she turned to Isabela: "I really should have no problems locating the chantry from here, Isabela. So why don't you go with him and look for your friends?"
"You would be okay with that?" It was an unusually polite question – even more so since the pirate's face heavily suggested that she would indeed much prefer searching her friends than visiting a chantry (and Leliana was very sure that the glorious quest for the lost companions would start at a place with the additional benefit of serving drinks).
Leliana smiled: "Yes, I'm sure I won't get lost. I have seen a chantry or two in my lifetime, you know?"
Isabela nodded in relieve. "Well, it was my pleasure, songbird. You know where to find me."
"Usually right at the bar." That one earned Leliana a roaring laughter from Varric.
As she watched the two of them moving away she couldn't help but think how soon they might start talking about her and Morrigan. Surely, Isabela would keep her mouth shut for a while and if she trusted the dwarf well enough to actually tell him then he probably earned that trust.
Yet it might be wise to move out rather quickly once this is done.
'…once this is done' – now that was a way to get back to business. Leliana took a deep breath and turned around. She could see the chantry from here and once she started to move forward she could feel her mind becoming clearer again, concentrated on the task at hand.
A familiar feeling returned and Leliana embraced it. It was like a dance with her older self – wild, enthusiastic, daring, a bit crazy even. Constantly trying to move in every direction possible. A passionate dancer – and a dangerous one. But she was the one leading that girl. She had to be the one making the rules. Firm. Concentrated. Calm. It needed both of them to make this work. Oh, had she missed this dance!
As she took the stairs up to the impressive building, she was in complete control again. She knew what to do with Morrigan. Once this was done, she'd go searching for her at Sundermount. She'd find her. And she'd scream it into that woman's face – every last detail of how she felt for her. She would not let it end like this. Never.
Arriving at the top of the stairs she pulled the hood over her face. It might have been Leliana climbing the stairs, but it would be Sister Nightingale who entered the chantry.
This will be your tomb.
For a moment she could see Morrigan's face from the dream again. But she refused to give in to that as she stared at the doors.
No, it won't. You will not be my demise, Morrigan. I won't let it come to that.
And so she stepped in.
As the doors were shut behind her, Leliana plunged into the silence only a chantry could offer at this time of day. It was as if she had left the mortal world behind, pried away from the noises of Kirkwall by the massive doors, as she entered a chamber of serenity and calmness. No matter how often she made this transition in her life, no matter which city or which chantry – it would always remain a moment of awe for her.
She loved it.
The Kirkwall chantry was said to be the biggest one in the Free Marches and as she made the first step into the magnificent building, witnessing the rows of statues lined up at either side of the main hallway she had little doubt about that. She had been here only once before, a few months ago for her first visit, just to witness with her own eyes that the messenger really brought her request for a meeting to the Grand Cleric – and admittedly because she also wanted to actually see Elthina before meeting her officially.
Never any harm in getting a first impression beforehand.
So now she could easily identify the Grand Cleric at first glance: The elder woman up there in the center of the building, quietly talking with a few people in front of her; troubled townsmen in search for answers and guidance, no doubt. The line of people standing before the stairs indicated that they weren't by far the only ones in that.
This might take a while.
However: the fact that her entrance hadn't been noticed by anyone played into her hands. When she was sure that neither the crowd, nor the Sisters inside had looked her way, she carefully turned around to the left, looking at the templar guarding the door. Meeting her glance, he nodded. Leliana waited a moment and then turned to his comrade on the right. He casually put his hand down the hilt of his sword and nodded as well. Twice.
The signal. Good.
Thus the preparations had been made, just as Cassandra had promised. The templars inside the chantry were all initiates who knew what would happen here tonight and how they needed to react if Leliana had to 'persuade' Elthina to go.
…which is rather likely, no?
Leliana sighed silently. They had argued about this long enough when the plan was made. Personally, Leliana respected the Grand Cleric's position and her determination to remain where she was.
Where she is needed!
When asked, she had made it abundantly clear that in her opinion a Grand Cleric leaving her city in troubled times could potentially send the wrong message, especially when all potential danger was based on hearsay and rumors. Elthina leaving the city could be seen as a sign of weakness…or that the chantry was insecure if it could hold up the peace. Of course, Kirkwall was far from safe and calm, but still no immediate threat to the Grand Cleric was evident, Leliana had argued. Removing a Grand Cleric against her will when there was still hope for things to calm down, did not sound very appealing to her.
Cassandra had spoken against that, naturally, claiming it would only be a matter of time that Elthina would become a target – and a dead Grand Cleric would be much more of the disaster for the Chantry than one who had left before push came to shove.
Leliana had held the upper hand at first. After all, the Divine trusted her in these matters. However, when the Knight-Commander's second request from (for more templars to 'control the situation') in less than three months had arrived, the tables had turned. Reluctantly, Leliana had to reassess the situation and admit that it had become more and more obvious that hope for a compromise seemed to dwindle with each passing day – which had earned her a second journey to Kirkwall.
So, here we are again. I apologize, Elthina, but this time you do not get a vote in this.
Unfortunately, the situation at the center had not relaxed yet, so Leliana had to prepare for the worst part of an agent's job: the waiting.
With yet another sigh she silently moved into one of the side-rooms of the hallway – unseen, of course.
Let the waiting begin.
It turned out worse than expected. Much worse. Morrigan wouldn't have minded the hours on her feet when travelling to Sundermount. In fact she might have enjoyed the journey out in the wilds.
If it weren't for her.
She hadn't exactly looked forward to travel with Merrill, but the Elven girl turned out to be a lot more annoying than even Morrigan had foreseen. As much as she had struck her as the shy and nervous kind upon their first meeting: she was also the talkative kind. Morrigan never really understood why some people just seemed unable to deal with silence and obviously felt the urge to fill any second of it with mindless blabbering.
It was even worse with Merrill since there was little doubt that the mere presence of Morrigan seemed to make her nervous. The girl seemed respectful, even fearful towards her. Maybe she could sense that she was a mage – or maybe she was just afraid of anyone. Who knew? The result was the same: an endless waterfall of nervously uttered words and sentences, more often than not interrupted by the obligatory and yet fruitless self-observation "I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk so much."
"Indeed. You should not." Morrigan had put particular effort into making this proposition an absolutely unmistakable matter-of-fact statement without any room of misinterpretation.
Of course that hadn't stopped Merrill from starting all over a few minutes later.
Unfortunately it was annoying on more than one level because Morrigan felt painfully reminded of a certain bard who had, during their journeys with the Warden, behaved in much the same way. Less nervous possibly. More cheery.
Yet just as irritating. You could put these two in one room for a whole day and they would talk until late midnight – without either of them remembering a single blasted word of what the other had said the next morning.
If there was one thing that Morrigan didn't want to deal with now, it was without the shadow of a doubt being reminded of Leliana.
Which made it all the more annoying that – for reasons that were completely beyond Morrigan – Merrill actually started to talk about Leliana at one point. They had been resting for the night (after all they had started their journey too late to make it to Sundermount the same day) and there was no way to reconstruct how that monologue had turned into that direction, or why, yet suddenly the girl seemed to feel the urgent need to tell Morrigan what a nice person her companion was.
It was pretty obvious that the fool had no understanding of the true intimate nature of their relationship – which, Morrigan had to teeth-gnashingly admit, was something she could relate to. But still Merrill seemed to think that she desperately wanted to hear what a decent lady 'the Sister' was. So she told her (in detail) how their little group of four had met Leliana a few months ago. At least that part of the bard's story seemed to hold true, then.
Or maybe Leliana has set her up to this? Making her tell me some colorful lie about the innocence of her acquaintance with the pirate-whore?
Still: Due to the lack of any other useful activities, Morrigan decided to join in on the game as soon as Merrill mentioned the cheerful reunion between Leliana and Isabela:
"So they did know each other? Say, how did they react on that 'coincidental' encounter?" The emphasis on the word 'coincidental' would obviously be lost on that foolish girl, but Morrigan included it nonetheless. Just for the sake of it.
"Oh, they were…happy? I guess?"
"And in what way would you say they were…'happy'?"
"Well, like…friendly. I would say. Old friends, I think."
Morrigan sighed. This was going nowhere.
Merrill beamed: "Oh, Isabela even complimented her on her beautiful nickname. They had a good laugh about that."
"What kind of laugh?"
The girl looked entirely overwhelmed by the mere idea that there was more than one kind. "A…laughy laugh?" she offered helplessly.
Blasted, they could have made out right in front of this one without arising any suspicion of being more than just friends.
Morrigan rolled her eyes and turned away. This was indeed a fruitless effort. If anything, she could now discard the notion that anyone had set up the elf to tell any convincing fake story. If you would put Merrill up against an unusually insecure yet highly choleric Pride Demon who asked her if it would look cute in a red dress she would still not be able to tell a lie in order to save her skinny arse.
A hopeless case.
Morrigan started to move again, signaling that this conversation was over. She quickened up the pace, hoping that this would somehow help to prevent further gibberish.
Let's get this over with.
It seemed to work…for a few minutes.
It was curious: The longer Leliana stared at the walls of her hideout in the side-room, the more she was under the impression that they did look oddly familiar. Yet all her contemplation did not bring forward any result as to why and how she could have seen these except maybe at her first visit.
…and she had a lot of time to contemplate. She had to hand it to Elthina: The Grand Cleric did care for her followers passionately. No simple words and a line from the Chant, which would suffice for many a Revered Mother in chantries all over Thedas to be counted as 'counsel' for their subjects – no: Elthina actually talked with the worried city folk. At length. Good for the fine people of Kirkwall, bad for the Left Hand of the Divine, patiently waiting in her little hideout as the hours seemed to stretch endlessly.
Finally Leliana could hear the doors shutting as the last person – a particularly thorough and dedicated Sister – left the building.
Time to act.
Without further ado, Leliana entered the main hallway again, giving a silent nod to the most nearby templar and strode up the stairs in a determined pace. She was almost up when the Grand Cleric finally seemed to notice something and turned around to face her.
"Your Grace," she muttered with a polite bow.
"Greetings, young Sister. I had not even noticed that any of you were still here." A warm smile played around her lips. "But, say: Why the hood? Surely there's no need to hide your face in the light of Andraste."
For a brief moment Leliana was taken aback and considered the situation. There was no actual demand for secrecy – yet, despite her sympathies for the Grand Cleric, there was also no particular need to reveal the full facial features of the Left Hand of the Divine to Elthina and, more importantly, all the templars in the room. These were men sent by the direct command of the Divine herself, of course, chosen by Cassandra personally, no doubt. But still, why take a risk? Why make herself identifiable by more people than necessary?
"I do apologize, Your Grace, but there are more urgent matters to discuss than my outfit."
A frown appeared on the old woman's face. "There are? That is interesting, young Sister. And what might those be?"
"The will of our Most Holy, Divine Justinia V, on whose behalf I am here tonight."
That took her by off-guard: the frown deepened, but it didn't take too long until a realization dawned upon the elder woman's face. "You are her! The Left Hand…Sister Nightingale."
The mentioning of her agent name sent a little tickling sensation down Leliana's spine. It was a foolish and silly reaction, of course, but still the bard in her seemed to give a squeaky laugh. Oh, the joy of the Game!
Careful, Leliana. Don't let your guard down.
"I am," she simply replied. "I apologize that last time we did not meet in person. Indeed it seems that Serah Hawke did unfortunately forget to forward my…proposal to you?"
Of course he hadn't. As soon as she had met him, Leliana had been fairly sure that she knew this man, Hawke. He strongly resembled a nice and honest young man from Lothering. It was a bit far-fetched that he could be here, but then again: maybe he had fled Lothering before the end. So, yes: she had trusted him to do as she had asked of him the moment they met. But just to make sure, Leliana's 'eyes and ears' had also witnessed the Champion going into the Chantry the day after their meeting, so there was no reason to believe that the bidding had not reached Elthina.
The question was one of pure etiquette – and to see if the old woman would lie about it when given a chance. You could learn a lot about people by studying their behavior when given the chance to lie their way out of a situation. Elthina could easily take the bait and claim that Hawke had never told her about the Divine's request.
"Oh, but he did," the Grand Cleric answered truthfully, "He did his duty, as did you. The fact, however, that I did not heed your proposal was my own free choice." Her eyes fixed Leliana calmly. No challenge. But also no sign of resignation. "Now, what does that tell you, Sister Nightingale?"
Leliana returned that analyzing look without any indication of her feelings whatsoever. "It tells me", she responded calmly, avoiding the urge to blink, "It tells me that you really care for your people and that you are a woman of strong will." She smiled humorlessly. "It also tells me that the Divine was wise to rephrase that request this time – in form of an order instead of a proposal."
Elthina sighed. "That woman really wants me gone, doesn't she?"
"It is a matter of precaution, Your Grace."
"And what about the people of Kirkwall? What precaution do they get?"
"Even if I knew, it would not be my place to share with you." Leliana added a subtle, yet unmistakable nuance of sharpness to her tone when she added: "Neither is it your place to judge the Divine's orders…Your Grace."
"You seem to have planned this quite neatly, Sister Nightingale."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"I assume that besides you waiting for the city folk and the Sisters to leave, you have taken under consideration that some of the templars here are old friends of mine, who might not be too happy to see me leave against my will?"
"If you were indeed trouble yourself with looking under the helmets of these men, Your Grace, you would be surprised that your old friends have all been reassigned to other, more pressing duties today." She was surprised at the coldness of her own voice. She was doing this pretty good.
A little too good, maybe? I must pay attention to not fall too much into old patterns.
She almost gave a start as a sad laugh escaped the Grand Cleric's lips. Elthina shook her head. "And here I was wondering why Patrick over there was much less chatty than usual. Well played, Sister Nightingale. So how does this end?"
"It ends with me and these men escorting you down to the Gallows where you will enter a ship taking you to Ostwick, where you will continue your duties as Grand Cleric of the Free Marches until Kirkwall is considered safe again."
Elthina shook her head sadly. "Ostwick? That's ridiculous."
"…and also quite calm and safe at the moment. It is only temporary, Your Grace."
"So, this means the Divine has plans for Kirkwall, I assume?"
Leliana's gaze remained completely neutral.
"I see," Elthina replied. "Let me guess: Even if you knew, it would not be your place to share that information with me?"
"I apologize, Your Grace."
She turned toward the statue of Andraste and sighed. "You know, I never imagined that this would be the way I left this place. Alone. Unnoticed. During a time of need."
"I apologize, Your Grace."
"Yes, you mentioned as much. Well…" she turned around. "It doesn't seem like I have much of a choice, so…"
The sounds of the doors being opened interrupted her. Leliana spun around to witness two people, a man and a woman, entering the chantry, breathing heavily.
Maker's breath! The templars outside were supposed to let nobody enter anymore. Anger flashed through Leliana's head. She hated it when things as carefully planned as this were forfeited by a surprise.
"Oh, such a shame." Elthina's voice sounded mildly amused – and indeed: when Leliana turned her glance from the unexpected visitors towards the Grand Cleric again, there was a broad smile on the elder woman's lips. "That would be Gaindrik and his wife. They do have a habit of showing up late." Her eyes were intent as she stared at Leliana questioningly. "And they show up very often. Such a shame that I will have to turn their pleas down now, isn't it? I do imagine that it will not sit well with Old Gaindrik witnessing how I would be forced to go now without a chance of a last council, a last talk about their worries. I presume he'll have a lot to tell about that at the Hanged Man – and all that while discretion is of such vital importance to you, right? But, alas, we are in a hurry, are we not?"
Leliana's mind raced, reassessing the situation. They could proceed, of course. It would be possible to find an excuse why the Grand Cleric had to leave right in front of her 'subjects' without any word. However: How plausible this excuse would be, she could not predict in the least.
On the other hand: Could there possibly be any harm in waiting a little longer? Let Elthina finish a conversation with her most devout city folk? She could already see one of the templars at the door all but rushing outside, undoubtedly with a pretty sharp message for his comrades at the front door. Someone was in for a lecture about following orders to the point…
She noticed that Elthina still looked at her with the question in her eyes.
Leliana sighed. "Alright, but make it quick."
It was only as she slowly went down the stairs step by step, that she noticed how she had forgotten the 'Your Grace' in that last statement.
"You…you don't have dealings with the Dalish themselves, right? It's Sundermount we are going for, not the camp…right?"
Merrill's question took Morrigan by surprise. She couldn't actually decide whether it was the curious phrasing or the mere fact that the girl had become unnaturally quiet during the past hour or so.
The closer we get to her people… Now that is curious.
"And what if I told you I was? Looking for the Dalish camp, that is."
The girl's facial expression seemed a nuance closer at the brink of panic – but given the general nervousness in her face that impression might be deceiving.
"They…might not be very…cooperative…"
"I have met Dalish in the past. Their reserved attitude towards humans is not new to me. Nor is it something I would not be able to deal with."
"That's not exactly…"
Morrigan sighed. "Yes, I know. Look, if you fear me bringing any harm to your people, I may relieve you of that worry. I do not mean ill by them. My…mother, she taught me a certain respect for the Dalish people and their customs. I have no intention to contradict her."
…at least in that matter.
Merrill looked a bit reassured – a truly annoying sight, which lead Morrigan to quickly add: "This respect for the People, however, does not extend to City Elves in the least."
"I'm not a…"
"…and certainly not to Dalish living and acting like City Elves. By their own choice."
Seriously: Who would do that voluntarily?
That, at last, seemed to have the desired effect and made the girl shut her mouth for a moment, possibly contemplating whether these words would include her. Morrigan hoped she would come to the right conclusion because she really had no idea how she could be any clearer.
And then came the arrow.
Morrigan had nearly missed the rapid movement slightly to the left – just in the middle between her and Merrill – but her reflexes did the work: In the fracture of a second she had rolled to the right and in one fluent movement raised her staff in protection.
"Fenarel?" Merrill's astounded voice rang in her ear. "Fenarel, it's me!"
Morrigan stared at the girl – and then at the two elves who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. More likely they had hidden behind the slope just ahead of them, but Morrigan preferred the 'out of thin air'-idea over the realization that she and Merrill had foolishly walked right into an ambush.
No matter what: Here they were – two Dalish elves, obviously hunters judging from the looks of their light and practical green armor. The dark-haired female held her bow ready, the arrow already notched. The man with the fair hair, however, he hesitated as he seemed to recognize the girl.
"Merrill?"
"Fenarel! You could have hit me!"
"No, he should have hit you," the woman grunted, not giving the slightest indication of lowering her weapon.
A warning shot then.
Morrigan slowly rose up again, still ready to defend herself if need be.
"I'm so sorry, I should have warned you that it could come to this," Merrill whispered.
"That would have been a decent thing to do, indeed," Morrigan hissed.
She realized that this had possibly been the girl's intention when starting their earlier conversation, but even so: Why stammer around the subject when a simple 'Look, my people might try to kill us' would have sufficed just as good?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shout of the man named Fenarel: "What are you doing here, Merrill? I thought we made it very clear that you are no longer welcome after…"
He did not complete the sentence but his pained expression mirrored on Merrill's face, making it abundantly clear that both of them were well aware what would have followed.
Interesting.
"We need to get to Sundermount. Look, Fenarel, we are not here for the clan. Just let us pass…"
"We will not let you go back there." The woman's voice. Angry. Vengeful. Interesting. "Have you not brought enough pain and sorrow down on this place?"
So, there is a story behind that foolish façade of hers...
Fenarel looked a little less agitated than his comrade – which was a good thing; otherwise this would already have turned into fight – though he did seem to share her concern: "Indeed, Merrill. What could you possibly want there that you have not already taken from us?"
There was a lot of pain on his face. Memories, obviously. But also a wound torn open by Merrill's return.
An old friend maybe?
"I don't want anything from there, I promise. I am just accompanying her."
For the first time since the conversation had started, all eyes fixed on Morrigan. She didn't like it. Not a bit.
"And what would a shemlen woman crave from these grounds?" Fenarel asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Nothing good, I suspect," the woman added. "Speak up, shem! What would you want here at Sundermount?"
Morrigan suppressed the rising anger. The tone of the 'ambushers' didn't sit well with her, but she forced herself to calmness. It was their place after all. Sort of.
"I am…" she started.
"She is Morrigan, daughter of Asha'bellanar. And she demands your respect!"
The words hit like a whip out of nowhere, tearing through your flesh, the surprise hurting even more than the actual pain, a thunder roaring in a blue sky, ice suddenly running down her spine during a walk through the desert. Yes: All of that. At once.
Morrigan flinched and stared at the girl beside her incredulously.
How could she possibly know?
Merrill's facial features were hard and uncompromising now, the words uttered in a steady tone Morrigan hadn't witnessed before during their endless little journey. The girl had been nervous and insecure about literally everything.
Yet not of this.
There was not the slightest shred of doubt in her voice and the tone had made it absolutely clear that the elves were out of line daring to speak like that to a daughter of the woman the Dalish called Asha'bellanar.
Asha'bellanar! Blasted, how could she know…?
At least the words seemed to have the desired effect with the elves: after a moment's hesitation the two of them lowered their bows, reluctantly realizing that words like that were not just phrased lightly.
"Does…does Merrill speak true?" Fenarel asked, needlessly.
Morrigan stared at him blankly. "Yes," she managed with a voice a little more creaky than she had intended. "'Tis true."
The elf nodded slowly. "As usual, you do keep…interesting company, Merrill." He seemed deep in thought for a moment, possibly contemplating their fate. Then he sighed. "Well, we are on the move anyway. But I would like to avoid you running into the clan, Merrill. For obvious reasons." He turned his gaze towards Morrigan: "Would it be possible for you, Morrigan, daughter of Asha'bellanar, to wait a while longer until the clan is gone?"
Morrigan nodded numbly, still feeling light-headed and trying to find her balance. Merrill spoke up, but she barely even noticed.
She haunts me. Even here.
"You are moving? But why? Why now?" Merrill blurted out.
"It is time. We have been staying here for too long. Half the clan blames this accursed place for all the ill that has befallen us since we arrived," Feneral replied sadly.
"Of course, the other half blames you." The words of the Dalish woman. Her hard face didn't leave the slightest doubt which faction she belonged, too.
Fenarel sighed again. "We came here without home. We stayed here without the Halla. We leave without a Keeper. Appropriate. In a sad way."
"I…am sorry, Fenarel. I didn't mean any of this to happen, please, you have to believe me."
His eyes rested on her for a moment, then he nodded and broke out of the melancholy for a moment: "It is settled then. Wait here until I return."
And with that, they were gone.
Merrill seemed to brush a tear away that had come unnoticed by Morrigan. "I…am sorry. I should…"
"How?" It just burst out of her as soon as the Dalish were out of sight. "How could you possibly know that?"
The girl was hardly able to face Morrigan's angry glare.
Nervous again? Good!
"I…figured…"
"You figured what?"
"Well…you are named Morrigan...that's the name she mentioned…"
Icy claws seemed to grab at her throat. The dark cloud manifested rapidly. The old familiar feeling…
"She mentioned?" her voice was hoarse, barely audible. "You…spoke to her?"
"Yes…" Merrill physically seemed to crack under her stare. "She…talked to us when we…you know…"
"Know what?"
"When we…brought her back…"
The witch's face turned to stone. She did all she could to show no sign of the suffocating grip that held her. It was almost as if she could hear Mother laugh right here, right now – in her head.
You knew this would happen, yet still she took you by surprise. Fool!
"Tell me," Morrigan commanded as she sat down on the ground. Calmly. On the outside.
"Tell me everything right from the beginning."
Finally!
A sigh of relief nearly escaped Leliana as the doors behind the city folk were closed again. Elthina really had taken her sweet time with these two, talking for half an eternity it seemed. Whether Old Gaindrik and his wife really were in such a dire need for spiritual guidance or whether it had just been the Grand Cleric turning this into a long goodbye was hard to tell. Leliana hadn't listened in on all the details. It was not her place. She just needed to ensure that Elthina hadn't given any information about leaving to the couple, but the Grand Cleric had turned out to be a woman of honor in the end.
She deserved this much.
Leliana had to admit that it was not exactly the nicest thing to do, carrying her away from her people like that, after all she had done – especially since the Grand Cleric had left no doubt that she was both: aware of the risk of staying and willing to take it to do her duty. But there was the big picture here, and no matter how hard, sometimes it did overrule all personal preferences.
Sometimes it is not our call to make. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices. Leliana knew this only too well.
Not much more to say. Leliana stepped back into the center of the hallway and noticed that the old woman already looked her way. For a moment she seemed to consider if there was really was no other way, but then she nodded towards Leliana.
Good. Better be done with this. The faster I can get her to that ship, the faster I can go after Morrigan.
She had grown increasingly worried with that bit with every passing minute. Of course, the witch had stormed of like a wild bronto after their last conversation, but it was half a day's journey to Sundermount and it was already in the middle of the night. Surely the two women would not wander through the night, even if Merrill knew the territory quite well. They were bound to take a rest for the night somewhere. So if she acted quickly…
If I can get a horse here and start to make a good run for it, I should be able to catch up with them.
The prospect of being forced to be all on her own in the wilderness did not frighten her. If the path should become unrecognizable at some point, she could still rest aside of the way.
I would have to stay up for the whole night, but that's a small price to…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cold shiver running down her spine. Just coincidentally her gaze had wandered through the hall while waiting for Elthina…and rested on the wall of the side-room. The one she had found oddly familiar before.
And all of the sudden she knew why.
They were shaking. There was a bright red light…
Her eyes widened.
The dream!
Her knees started to shake, uncontrollably.
It's the walls from the room in my dream…
She spun around towards the center of the room. "We need to go!" her voice was shrill, as panic began to rise.
"I know, Sister. I already said that I'm coming. There's just a few things…"
"No," Leliana screamed in panic, a reaction which made the templars turn their helmeted heads towards her synchronically, "We need to go now!"
…and then the earth started to shake.
It was a soft sensation at first, but the utter quiet in the room made it sound louder than any thunder. Leliana barely remained on her feet when the first wave rushed through, standing there helplessly.
No. It can't be. It can't be…
"What's going on?" the perplexed shout of one of the templars echoed through the giant building, more and more trembling as the quake intensified.
Leliana just stood there, paralyzed.
No. Please, Maker, no…
She could see the terror in Elthina's eyes as her mouth formed words, immediately swallowed by the ear-splitting roar. The word were inaudible but she could read them on the Grand Cleric's lips: 'What is this?'
Breathing heavily, Leliana could feel tears filling her eyes as it all came together. She whispered: "It's my tomb."
…and then the earth broke open.
Fragments. Only fragments remained.
It was a curious thing: Leliana had heard people who claimed expert knowledge on life-threatening situations saying that time slowed down by the end and that your last moments would stretch endlessly. But they were wrong. It had happened much, much too quickly for her mind to grasp. And thus only fragments remained.
The bright red flame.
The crumbling.
Screams.
The chantry in the sky.
Flesh torn.
Fire.
Ashes.
Darkness.
She had jumped at one point. She could remember as much. Into the side-room maybe? Some alcove? No matter. Some place that would give some shelter as the remnants of the walls finally broke and crumbled down, a place that would maybe protect her.
It had been a foolish idea.
As the wave hit everything had been shooting out of everywhere at once. The impact of the massive stones must have smashed her body for she could feel nothing but pain where it used to be.
Then there was only darkness.
And she was alone in it.
She had tried to move, of course, but that had been a futile attempt only rewarded by excruciating pain in her torso. It felt like bleeding out from the inside. Maybe she was. It didn't matter. She couldn't move anywhere at all. The massive stone must have swallowed her.
Then she had tried screaming.
Bad idea.
Apart from her voice being nearly gone, this had only consumed air – air which ran shorter by the minute, air which was not actual air anymore, but only ashes.
She was in her tomb. The vision had not lied.
Of course not.
But why couldn't it have been done after that? It surely had been for the templars gone in that magic flame. Why not her?
"Because it is not the end." She was wondering if it was actually her voice whispering or of it was just in her head.
Better be in your head. Otherwise you are wasting breath.
Still, the thought was out: It was not the end, right? It couldn't be!
And why not?
The answer was obvious: "Because He still has plans for me."
No. This was the plan.
The thought hit her right between the surely broken ribs. No, that was not possible.
Why?
"Because it would be pointless! Why should I die here? My life was supposed to have a point!"
This is a point.
It took a few moments to take that in, to process the thought. The explosion. The unnatural bright red flame. This was no accident.
"It was an attack!"
Yes. It is how it starts.
Cold despair crept up her surely broken bones as she realized that she was right: This would be how it starts. A chantry destroyed, a Grand Cleric murdered…there would be no going back anymore.
"War."
Yes.
"That cannot be the Maker's will!"
And why not?
It was hopeless. Every little straw she grasped to make sense of this, lead to a dead end. 'Why not', indeed! Who was she to judge whether a great war could be the Maker's will or not? History had shown that sometimes it was the only way…and how else could one describe the tensed situation before this if not as 'at the brink of war'?
And suddenly it all came together.
At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, long ago, the Guardian had questioned her faith. He had doubted that the Maker could have spoken with her – or so it had seemed. It had taken her some time to understand that his words actually never denied her vision, but only criticized her way to deal with it.
"You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative. It made you special."
"The Maker spoke only to Andraste – do you believe yourself her equal?"
It had been a test of faith and humility, not a question of truth. The Guardian's words had made her realize how she had elevated herself above others. And he had been right: While she should have acted humbled and grateful for the vision, she had let it get to her head. In her hubris she had shouted it out into the world proudly. Far too long she had wondered if the Maker's vision had made her like Andraste…a prophet maybe?
Yet here, today, she got the answer: She would be like Andraste in one way – she would be a martyr.
She wanted to say that this was impossible, that this couldn't be the point behind all this, but the voice in her head was right. In the end she had served a purpose. This had a purpose. Not in the way she had pictured it, but the Maker's ways could not be explained by the logic of mere mortals.
It is done.
Yet there was one last glimmer of hope left, she suddenly realized.
"But," she muttered (or did she?), "But it still makes no sense! The Grand Cleric herself would be sacrifice enough to start it! Why would I make a difference?"
It was a selfish thought. Desperate. She hated herself for being so self-centered.
And yet it was a good point, right?
There is a difference.
Of course there was and she knew it. It was all connected.
Elthina was a Grand Cleric, a figure of importance. But she, Leliana, was both the Left Hand and most trusted friend of the Divine and the lover of one of the most powerful apostates in Thedas. The two women she loved the most would be outraged at her death.
…and there would be no way back. Both will be out for blood.
"No more compromise," she whispered to herself – and with that went her last hope for some magical last minute turn of events saving her this time.
It makes sense. No more straws to clutch at. It is done.
"Yes, it is," she sobbed – or maybe the words were in her head too. She wanted to fight against them, wanted to find a flaw in that logic, a reason why this simply could not be the end. There were but ashes in her mouth.
She had always thought there would be some deep satisfaction when she finally fulfilled His purpose, but there was none. Acceptance was all there was left now. Humility.
The tears, at least, were real. And so Leliana cried as, at her very end of the road, she finally learned a lesson she should have known by heart long ago: Not all martyrs die as heroes.
Some are just victims.