Notes--Some of the following dialogue has been taken from or modeled off of lines in DAO. I have tried to keep this to a minimum.
Title Reference: God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. -Bible (Old Testament) Psalms 46:1^2.
"And I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy," the sister returned gravely, in spite of the smile hovering around the corners of her mouth.
"I didn't let them go to be nice," Elan said flatly. In fact, I let them go to start another, much bigger fight...one I'm not sure I can win. Alistair is right—we're going to regret it.
"Mercy can be swift and terrible as a sword," the sister said, "and yet be mercy still."
"Death—as an end to suffering—can be merciful as well, can it not?" Morrigan interjected mockingly. "Was prolonging the inevitable so merciful in truth?"
"Yes," the sister retorted staunchly. "If not to those men themselves, then surely to their families. But, I digress. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lelianna, one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was."
Was? What is that supposed to mean? Elan thought skeptically. I didn't realize people stopped being sisters once they'd started...kind of like templars. She sighed. "And was there something you wanted?" There had to be, given the way you were hovering over us, even before those men showed up...and the way things have been going lately, I doubt I'm going to like it.
"Those men said you were a Grey Warden," the sister said, apparently feeling the need to lead up to whatever she wanted to ask them. That didn't bode well, in and of itself. Whatever she wanted must be big.
Elan didn't respond.
Neither did Alistair.
Not that they needed to. The answer was all too obvious given the scene they'd all just enacted.
"You will be battling the darkspawn, yes?" the sister prompted. "That is what Grey Wardens do? After what happened, you will need all the help you can get. That is why I'm coming with you."
"And just why would you want to help us?" Elan asked suspiciously. The sister had approached them even before the soldiers had spoken. It was unlikely, but not beyond belief, that Loghain had sent her to keep tabs on them...but surely such a move was grossly out of proportion to the threat she and Alistair—even with the help of Flemeth and Morrigan—actually represented?
The sister paused, as if trying to gauge the effect of what she was about to say. Then, she relaxed suddenly, as if throwing caution to the wind. "The Maker told me to join you," she blurted out. "Surely he would not do so without good reason."
"Right..." Oh, this was sooo much worse than even a blessing would have been. "I believe this is where I back away slowly..."
The sister reached out as if to stop her. "I—I know that sounds absolutely insane!"
"Oh, well, as long as you know," Elan muttered.
If the sister heard the remark, she ignored it. "But it's true!" she insisted, leaning closer to Elan, her face alight. "I had a dream...a vision!"
"More crazy?" Alistair observed in a stage-whisper. "I thought we were all full up."
"What you do, what you are meant to do, is the Maker's work," the sister insisted. "Let me help!"
So much worse than the blessing. A whole repository of them. A walking blessing...following her—following them—about... "We need more than prayers, I'm afraid," Elan said firmly, meaning that what she wanted was to avoid them.
"I can fight," the sister reminded her. "I can do more than fight. I...put aside that life when I came here, but now...if it is the Maker's will, I will take it up again. Gladly. Please, let me help you."
No doubt my inability to think of a good reason to refuse is a sign, Elan reflected unhappily. And if prayers are dangerous, shunning aid when the Maker offers it is no doubt more dangerous still...
"I suppose we are stronger together," she admitted reluctantly.
"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother thought," Morrigan said acidly.
Perhaps. "I will not turn away help when it is offered," Elan said, reminding herself more than Morrigan.
Lelianna clasped her hands together with a gasp of delight that bordered on a squeal. "Thank you! I appreciate being given this chance! I will not let you down."
"Yes, well," Elan said, trying to regain her mental balance, "have you eaten? We were just about to."
"Save me something, please? I'm going to fetch my things—before you change your mind," the sister said.
"While you're there..." Elan pressed the key Ser Bryant had given her into the sister's hand, figuring she would have a better chance of knowing what it opened, and of opening said container without raising any undue suspiscion.
She might have expected the sister to raise a protest at the idea of...appropriating chantry supplies without official permission, but perhaps the sister assumed Elan's possession of the key was a sort of tacit permission...as, indeed, it was, because she only nodded and departed.
The crowd in the tavern seemed doing its best to give them a wide berth...and avoid looking them in the eye...not that Elan could blame after their little performance. It was surprisingly easy to find a small table tucked into a corner near the bar.
"So," Alistair said, as the barmaid they'd flagged down headed back to the kitchen, "as I was saying before Morrigan nearly got us all arrested...what's the plan?"