Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.

Summary: A City-Elf/Bann Teagan collection of drabbles and one-shots based on a prompt table from an LJ-community. These will be more or less in chronological order with the faintest traces of added plot here and there. Will vary from drabble length to one-shot.

Author's note: Thank you so much for the reviews. I wasn't even expecting people to actually comment but every word was welcome. Thank you. Hopefully, this part will also be interesting.

In this chapter: Leaders also fear.

002.

She is used to rule her life by the Sun. When it rises, when it sets, when it holds in midday, hot above her head as she runs up and down the streets, when it hides and there's rain pouring, washing the muddy stones of the Alienage. It is her watch, her guidance, her light and ever-present aid. Perhaps it is part of her race's blood but the woman is certain she would love it as much even if born human. She is used to have it ruling over her routine and welcomes it every day. Never has it represented anything like threat and fear.

It is an unwelcome discovery and not easily accepted. Tasha doesn't even pretend to wish anything bar solitude. She rises without asking for permission, a hand moving to request the others to stay behind before leaving the Chantry. There is no need for chants, for hymns which don't belong to her kind, which are sung solely to humans.

At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows. At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords rang from their sheaths. A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming 'Those who had been slaves were now free'.

Tasha hums it under her breath as she pushes the door lightly behind her, the sole verse the Chant keeps of the once immortal people. Dissonant verse, it is called, pure heresy now. The elf cannot deny that's probably why she adores it so much. It speaks of freedom, of strength, of the heroes of old who were so much mightier than her. True, no hymn can settle her heart in this moment but this is just her little touch of vengeance, whispered in between their offers to their great Lady. Andraste did not win alone.

But no one listens – no one remembers - so the elf simply slips away, ignores everyone else as she turns west and sits down against the walls of the building.

Tick tack, she hears in her mind. Second after second, the time passes and danger knocks at their door. All the while, sunlight hits her face almost mockingly, warming while frightening her at the same time. It keeps lowering, bringing the night closer and thoroughly ignoring her silent pleas to keep still. The Castle's Gates will open then and Redcliffe will be left for horror and chaos. Even in the warmth of the light, her very bones shudder with that reality.

Ten minutes, if that much, pass before the door of the Chantry is opened behind her and closed almost silently. It is probably just some villager, so Tasha doesn't bother to look. Her eyes are closed and her face is raised, receiving the last rays of light of that day. Even when someone takes a place at her side and her body stiffens, pushes slightly to the side by pure reaction, the young woman fails to react. Whoever searches her company remains silent, respectful. It is enough for her to relax once more. Wynne, then. Wynne is one of the few who can remain in contemplation without being bodily forced to. Maker knows Alistair would need a gag and a tremendous amount of chains.

How did he ever survive inside a chantry, she asks herself absently, her mind choosing the new pattern of thought with relief. It is one of those things which seems too impossible to be real, it continues earnestly, a bit like her being a Grey Warden of all things, or having some who follow and obey her without complains. Alright, Morrigan aside. The mere thought brings amusement to her mind and a smile to her lips. For that brief moment, the fear is pushed aside.

Wynne doesn't speak or comment on her momentary good mood. She doesn't move. Her body is close enough for Tasha to feel, the faintest trace of fabric rubbing against the bare skin of her arm. It slips every now and then, as if following a pattern of breathing, but always returns. It is odd in its comfort because, until that moment, Tasha wasn't aware she needed it. Stability and warmth against her, both take hold of her fear instead of just pushing it to the side. Instead, they slip it where the elf can't find it. This time, the thought is so weird, her foolishness so large that Tasha almost laughs even as her eyes are kept tightly shut.

It is even stranger but, this way, the Sun is halted, the comfort doesn't leave and she's not afraid yet. In her mind, the Alienage is crowded. She hears whispers, the people wandering back and forth, the windows closing to welcome the night. If she struggles a little, she can even hear a few dogs barking at the rats which persist in getting into every bag of grain they manage to purchase. Shianni is by her side - or maybe Soris - ready to comment on how bad their upcoming marriage will be and of course he'll get a shrew or a witch. Maybe of the wilds, he'll be a frog and the ugly bat's dinner even before they consummate anything. But then again, he could have been pushed into Elva and Maker knows that would be worse – he is shaking his head now, side to side, the idea simply preposterous – He would have to live his whole life by her. Suicide would be the only option.

This time the elf does laugh, almost feeling his shudder rippling through her body. Maybe she shouldn't be amused– no, she definitely shouldn't – but then again, she did try to be slightly nice to the other woman. Sort of. If one gets bitten when holding out a hand, it shouldn't give it again, her father taught her. Except Cyrion was probably speaking of actual dogs but what can she do if the comparison seems too good to be put discarded?

There is another smile on her lips when the warmth begins receding. Her amusement leaves with it, the last moment she gives herself following closely as the Alienage is stored safely in her memories. Then, and only then, does she open her eyes to see the sun sinking into the West. It could be waving goodbye but, for some reason, Tasha can swear it seems more like a see you later.

It is when Wynne finally moves by her side. Only it isn't exactly Wynne. Or at all, actually.

It's Teagan.

Waiting until she moved, until she rose from the floor, until she even noticed it wasn't the older woman but the human noble who was keeping her company in her worries. The elf can almost see his mind wandering on dark thoughts, eyes straying from her to the last rays of light, from the chantry and back again. From this, Tasha learns he is just as scared as she is.

"I like the view from here," he informs her, his smile soft and almost sad. The words slip, the piece of information leaves and she doesn't get why he's saying this to her of all people. Unknown, traitor, elf, murderer, woman, she would understand if he searched for Alistair who is kin. Instead, he speaks to her, his gaze carefully settling everywhere but on her. "It never changed. Ever since I was a boy, Redcliffe is always the same. Kings come and go, armies march and leave. But these houses never change, the chantry remains. These people are always here."

Tomorrow, all of these might not be. Teagan doesn't speak these words, she doesn't speak them and neither will voice them. It is not needed.

There is a new sword lying by my side, her mind answers him immediately, solid and sturdy, fit for a Hero. I hold the taint, you are stronger than some, and I am strong too. You are not despairing yet, you can lead them. Mages. We have mages who can fight and no Chant can say otherwise. Her mind can conjure all the reasons she used on herself in a heartbeat but none of them are what he needs or wants. This, the woman knows without knowing him, just as she knows that she has no way or will to ease his worries. Not of this man who she doesn't know, who doesn't know her, who seems honorable and wishes to save a whole village, the poor fool that he is.

"The sun will still keep us company tomorrow, my lord."

There is a pause after her words. It extends through the space between them, through the square, through the lake itself and barges into her own mind which remains painfully blank. There, every one of those things seems to hope her ignorance isn't splashed all over her face because Tasha doesn't even understand what she said, never mind why she said it.

Luckily, - fortunately, finally - the Militia starts leaving the Chantry, bodies pushing and pulling against her own as they exit the building. Tasha can hear Leliana yelling for her above the crowd, sees Alistair wondering just why she is staring at his uncle as if waiting for a reply when she is supposed be joining them. Even odder than his gaze is the elf still waiting for something while wishing to leave.

Teagan pushes himself from the floor, dusts himself off carefully before grabing the shield he had placed to the side earlier. In one smooth movement it is shouldered, keeping company to the silver sword peeking over his head. In between, his hand found her shoulder and tightened. "So that is a promise. Be sure to remember it." Head tilts, another smile, fears hidden away because everyone around them is looking, wishing for strength and heroes they can follow. Because they are leaders and leaders have no fear, they are and give strength. "Until tomorrow, my lady."

By his countenance, Tasha has the oddest impression she promised more than being alive to see another sunset. But, for the life of her, she has no idea just what. Nor that she had promised anything to begin with. Her eyes want to roll, she wants to ask someone just what took place but the only thing she has time to do is to groan mentally about human inanity – and elven while she's on that particular subject.

Tasha knows that she didn't promise anything to anyone.

During the whole night, however, she acts as if she did.

Note: Prompt 002 (West) from Troyed community table of prompts.