Every time Areina closes a rift, the dark world gets just a bit brighter, Leliana notes, as Cassandra and Solas crowd around the young elf's body. The power she must have expended to seal this rift in particular must have been immense, but Solas assures them that the girl will, in fact, live. She can't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the thought. If those voices they heard were any indication, Divine Justinia's murderer is still out there, and Areina just may be their only hope of stopping them and maybe even closing the Breach. What a heavy burden for such a young girl to bear.
Leliana herself must have been around Areina's age when she volunteered to assist the the Grey Wardens with stopping the Blight almost a lifetime ago. She still remembers that version of herself, idealistic and foolish, with messy hair and bright eyes, wearing those ugly Fereldan leather boots that were bought for her by her old lover. Months of companionship and struggles, and it all amounted in Leliana getting stabbed in the back by the very "hero" she vowed to help.
These are different times, however, and Leliana has long since put the past behind her. It still creeps up on her in whispers of regrets and long sighs, but her time serving the Divine has made it possible to heal and move forward. However, now that Justinia is dead, all of it comes rushing back. Justinia -no, Dorothea , had been standing like a statue against the floodgates, arms outstretched with that same warm smile on her face, tiny wrinkles spidering away from her bright azure eyes -and just like that, she's gone, and Leliana has to stand alone.
Haven is bustling with activity, with villagers anxiously trying to get a look at the girl with the magical hand, the girl cast out of the Fade by a divine hand -the Herald of Andraste. But is she really the Maker's answer to the deaths of his most faithful servants? A Dalish elf who likely doesn't even believe in Him?
Cassandra pushes through the faithful with magnificent force, causing the great sea of people to part and make room for Solas, who is cradling Areina in his arms like a limp doll. The party rushes through the village like a storm, heading towards the healer's cottage with purpose.
Leliana does not concern herself with them after arriving; Areina will live, so there is no point in dallying around her like she's a fragile flower. Besides, Leliana has her own people to consider -brave people who risked their lives to find survivors in the aftermath of the conclave explosion. The workstation she has set up adjacent to the Haven chantry is already buried in reports, many of them, she knows, will not be pleasant to read. She will have to discuss the official death count with Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine later, an inevitability that clings to her like a shadow.
"Sister Nightingale," one of her scouts, the agent known simply as Squigs, bows her head respectfully. "We have reports of more survivors coming towards Haven."
Leliana nods solemnly, bracing her hands against the table and looking down at the mountain of paperwork. "See if there are any available healers."
Squigs shifts uncomfortably, causing Leliana's steely gaze to hit her in full force. "Well, that's not all. They're Grey Wardens."
"Grey Wardens?" Leliana repeats incredulously. "How many?"
"Just three, but one of them is injured badly."
"Three wardens? Alone?" she mutters to herself, turning her gaze back to the papers on her desk. "Have the injured warden sent to a healer, and have the other two brought to me."
Commander Cullen is a large, sturdy man. He wasn't always. His hands are calloused under his leather gloves and he points them towards his men, barking out orders to get the relief efforts moving along. His voice is sharp and cuts through the confused atmosphere like a beacon in the dark. Between his men and Leliana's, they have a small, but skilled group of people loyal to their cause and willing to lay down life and limb.
Honey brown eyes find the commander's second in command, a Starkhaven man and fellow ex-templar named Rylen. He dashes over as soon as he's beckoned, bowing his head and reporting his status briefly.
With a curt nod, Cullen dismisses him and turns to the next person urgently demanding his attention, the Lady Amell, clad in a large fur coat, her silky golden hair pinned around her head in intricate braids. She seems ready to make an appearance at the Winter Palace -all she's missing is the mask really.
"Cully Wully," she coos, caressing his face with one of her hands the way a distant aunt would at a family gathering. "What a darling effort you've put into this small army of yours. You're hardly the boy you were the last time we saw each other."
Cullen sighs, rolling his eyes before saying, "I was a different person ten years ago, Lady Amell. And yet, you've remained the same."
She titters musically, covering her lips with a gloved hand. "I was already perfection, my dear. Why change?"
He lets out a terse chuckle. "Was there something you needed?"
"Oh, it's nothing, dear. I was simply making sure you're alright. You've been straining that voice of yours all morning."
He crosses his arms and raises his brow. "Is this your roundabout way of telling me you want me to… quiet down?" He wouldn't be surprised at all if that were truly the case. Miriam had always had a manipulative way about her during the time he knew her at Kinloch Hold, back when the only title she held was "Mage". It hadn't been an inherently malicious sort of manipulation, but if Miriam wanted something, she would find a way to get it.
She gasps in mock horror. "Perish the thought, my dear. I merely wanted to make sure you were taken care of."
"Worry about your husband then, my lady," he tells her. "I will be alright when we've accounted for all the dead and wounded."
She nods graciously at him, smiling at him with deep blue eyes as she slowly turns around and saunters off, making a show of the way her robes floated about her body. Somewhere under that egocentric facade there must be a normal human being -or a least, that's what Cullen hopes for her husband's sake.
"Commander!" a young man calls out to him. It's always someone, isn't it?
"Yes, is there something wrong?" Cullen asks, noting the anxious expression on the boy's face. He barely fills up his armor and it causes the commander's face to soften ever so slightly.
"There's Grey Wardens at the gate. Their leader's injured pretty badly, but they refuse come inside," the boy reports.
Sure enough, Cullen can hear a commotion coming from the direction of the main gates. He sighs, thanks the boy, and makes his way over. Why would Grey Wardens be interested in the conclave in the first place?
"Watch it, kid. Don't make me kick yer sodding ass," a dwarven warden growls, shaking his fist at the group of scouts that had formed around him.
"Ser, we have orders to bring you in for -" one of the scouts attempts to say, only to be interrupted by the dwarf again.
"Heh! And I have orders to shove my sodding boot up yer ass. How's that sound?"
As Commander Cullen approaches the scene, he gets a better look at the three wardens. The loudest one, the dwarf, was a man with a heavily scarred face and a bright red beard that looks tangled and matted beyond all repair. He spots one human warden, a quiet man with a dark blonde beard carrying the smallest of the group, a small elf soaked in blood.
His heart drops to the bottom of his gut in recognition, but he attempts to keep his face firm and neutral as he steps in between his scouts and the volatile dwarf. "What's going on here?"
"These thunder humpers don't wanna help the Hero of Ferelden , that's what!" the dwarf complains, taking a menacing step towards Cullen. "If she dies …"
Cullen sends a sharp glare at one of the scouts. "Show these men to our healers."
"That's the thing, Commander, Ser," the recipient of the glare sputters. "They refuse to come any further than the gates."
With a long sigh, Cullen runs a gloved hand down his face in fatigue. "We can't heal the Hero of Ferelden if you don't bring her into the village."
The dwarf grunts. "No can do. We have direct orders from our Commander to go straight on back to Weisshaupt."
Cullen glances back at the commander in question. Her petite body is limp in the blonde warden's arms, and her legs from the knee down look like an indistinguishable mass of bone, flesh, and leather. Her eyes are tightly shut and it's hard to tell whether she's conscious or not, but her face is very pale, and arguing with the dwarf is only going to make her situation more dire.
"Your Commander is very nearly dead. Is now really the time?" he snaps at the dwarf.
"If she survives and finds out that me and this blighter here aren't at Weisshaupt, she'll skin the both of us and eat us for breakfast," the dwarf replies firmly.
It's clear the dwarf isn't willing to budge on this, and his human friend has been suspiciously quiet, too, but now is not the time. "Fine. You may leave."
"But, Ser," a scout interjects. "Sister Nightingale said -"
Cullen groans impatiently and scoops the unconscious warden commander in his arms; her skin is cold to the touch and her body is heavier than he remembers. "Do you want to be the one to tell Sister Nightingale we let the Hero of Ferelden die because we were busy arguing with her companions?"
"She's lost a lot of blood. You should hurry. She may need the limbs amputated," he hears a hesitant voice call after him -the blonde human finally speaks. Something about his voice is familiar, but Cullen can't quite place his finger on it. Nonetheless, he keeps the man's comments in mind when he rushes her to Solas and Adan.
There's something about that voice…
Something…
He hands the warden commander over to one of the healers, hastily repeating the comment the blonde man had told him. The healer purses her lips in thought briefly before taking the warden into her arms and carrying her her into the makeshift clinic.
Cullen shivers and stretches his now empty arms over his head. The wind traveling through Haven is colder than death, and it's a wonder the wardens had been able to survive long enough to deliver their injured commander to their doorstep. That blonde bearded one, the one who had warned him before he left, must have been a healer, a mage…
Wait… A healer and a mage?
His eyes widen in realization and his body twists around abruptly as he finds himself jogging as quickly as he can back to the gates, his entire body exuding an aura of alarm.
The Hero of Ferelden couldn't have possibly…
No, of course she would. This isn't the first time she's surprised him, and it probably won't be the last either.
Cullen is intercepted by one of his captains, Lady Amell's husband, Cedric. "Commander, is something wrong?"
Cullen's reply comes breathless and quick. "The two wardens that just left Haven. Find them! Quickly!"
Varric has only once met the Hero of Ferelden and it was on a day he counted among the worst of his life: the day Blondie blew up the Kirkwall chantry. Were his actions a long time coming? Yeah, maybe. Could the situation have been handled differently? Fuck, if he knows. Was the entire day an impossibly shitty fiasco? Absolutely. Quite frankly, the Hero of Ferelden showing up was just the cherry on top of the disaster cake that his life had become.
Here's the scene. The Kikrwall chantry? In total ruin. Blondie? On his knees and ready for whatever judgement Hawke decides to pass. Hawke? Conflicted and angry. First Enchanter Orsino? Speechless for once. It's raining fire and ashes; the tension in the air is so heavy you could cut it with a knife.
And out of bleeding nowhere, she shows up. Mind you, before this very moment, the Fereldan Commander of the Grey had been in hiding for three solid years. Everyone thought she was dead or worse, rotting in the blighted Deep Roads. Then she shows up in Kirkwall, on the very day that Blondie destroys the chantry. She's got more beef on her arms than he imagined a mage would, and she's lugging around a sword bigger than Broody's.
The look on Blondie's face when she holds her sword up to Hawke's chest and demands that he be freed was the same kind of look you'd imagine a child would make when his mom tells him off in front his friends. Broody would have jumped out of his skin if Hawke hadn't calmly told him to settle down.
In truth, Varric thinks Hawke was just relieved to have Blondie taken off her hands. Deciding your friend's fate isn't exactly the most comfortable situation, especially when half of your friends want him dead and the other half want him alive. So the Warden Commander took Blondie and hauled ass, and nobody would have believed that story if he put it in his book, so he didn't -a convenient thing too, he realized, because he wouldn't have had to tell the Seeker about it either.
Two Grey Wardens, now having dumped their blue uniforms in favor of nondescript mercenary armor, are standing beneath a cluster of pine trees with a golden-haired dwarf, most accurately characterized by his beautifully well-maintained chest hair and his golden tongue -in direct contrast with the second dwarf in the group who looks like he's never bathed in his entire life and absolutely does not intend to.
"I owe you one, Varric," the blonde warden says to Varric, who's leaning against a large pine tree and fiddling with his gloves.
"No, you don't, Anders," Varric replies. "You're just lucky my people found you before Leliana's people did. They've got scouts all over the mountain looking for you."
Anders smiles softly at his old friend. "Can you believe it took Cullen a full ten minutes to realize who I was?"
Anders' red-haired dwarven companion, a portly fellow named Oghren, lets out a guffaw. "That blighter ain't exactly the sharpest stone in the stack, huh?"
Varric let out a chuckle of his own. "Who? Curly? It took him six years to realize Hawke was a mage." He shrugs and then shakes his head. "Terrible templar really. Not a bad commander though… at least, I hope."
"I got a guy -Antivan fella -ready to meet us at the pass up north, close to Orzammar," Oghren says, rolling his shoulders and neck. "Best not to keep him waiting."
To say that Leliana is furious would be an understatement. If the warden commander were not on the brink of death, Leliana would at least have had someone to vent her fury at. Unfortunately, all she can do is glare daggers at the elf's unconscious body as Adan and his healers clean her wounds and attempt to remove her boots, which at this point have fused with her legs. If Leliana had to guess, she'd say they were crushed in the explosion. The warden is lucky to be alive, and she'll be lucky if she stays alive after Leliana is through with her.
She finds Cullen waiting for her outside of the clinic with hunched shoulders and tired eyes. He's leaning against the wooden building and staring at the ground. It's his fault the apostate got away, after all. No, Leliana can't blame him for this as much as she would like to.
"I can't believe Anya would bring Anders of all people to the conclave!" she snaps, bringing Cullen's attention to her. "If she had anything to do with Divine Justinia -"
"We don't know that, Leliana," Cassandra's voice interrupts. The Divine's Right Hand has been pacing in the vicinity for the better part of a half hour. "She saved Ferelden -no, not just Ferelden -all of Thedas from the Blight. Would she truly be involved in something like this? We will have to question her."
Leliana sighs. Cassandra is right -far too optimistic, but right. Leliana once knew Anya Surana, the so-called Hero of Ferelden, quite intimately, but now? It is hard to say what she is capable of. What she does know, however, is that Anya is not really the Hero of Ferelden. That title belongs to the man who struck her down, the man who disappeared ten years ago after plunging his blade into the Archdemon's neck, but perhaps it is best that history has forgotten him. It doesn't matter now, she supposes, after all, the title of "Hero" was passed on to Anya eventually.
"That apostate murdered Grand Cleric Elthina and the sisters of the Kirkwall chantry," Cullen reminds them. "Can we really put it past him to murder the Divine as well?"
Leliana has been mulling over the exact same idea in her head. Perhaps Anya had been a hero once, but the Blight has been over for ten years. The Inquisition will find out the truth, and if the "Hero of Ferelden" had anything to do with the Divine's murder, she will answer for her crimes.