Makersaverher

The prayer had been offered up so often that Leliana no longer thought each individual word but instead drew comfort from the now rhythmical intonations which recited round in her head.

She maintained a solitary vigil over the bed where Elissa lay. Too listless to be described as peaceful and too vulnerable to be recognised as the Grey Warden of Ferelden, there was little else to be done. As Leliana feared, and the Revered Mother had quickly realised, there was no herbal treatment which the Chantry could offer that could counteract the poison which had spread throughout the Warden's body. It was true that Leliana had continued to place healing poultices over the wound but somewhere deep inside, she was aware that all that was keeping Elissa alive was the strange energy of the taint within her.

Leliana fingered the handle of the dagger which rested in her lap. The glint of the blade contrasted with the dull gold embroidery of the robes she was now dressed in. Even before the Revered Mother had discovered that all she had to offer were her own prayers, the woman had insisted that both Leliana and the Warden be cleansed. They had been stripped of their armour, washed of the grime and blood and redressed in clean clothing; Chantry robes for the Sister and light linens for the Warden. But if any other cleansing had occurred, Leliana did not feel the effect of it. Alone in the private rooms of the Revered Mother, the Maker had never seemed so far from her.

She ran a finger lightly across the sharp edge of the blade. It was not so long ago that she had heard the first alarms raised. The Horde were within sight of the city. The sound had been dull and unremarkable, deadened by the stone walls that lay between the room and the outside world. The silence which blanketed the inside of the room contrasted with the terror that Leliana imagined existed just beyond it. A long time ago, she had found silence to be soothing. In seeking peace within the stillness, she had once heard the voice of the Maker. But there was no peace to be had in this suffocating silence and the Maker no longer had any words for her.

Surely He would not abandon her now?

Leliana's finger slipped and she drew a sharp intake of breath as the blade sliced into her skin. She laid the dagger back in her lap and examined the small cut, raising it to her mouth as a small bead of blood seeped out. She was unsure whether her question referred to herself or Elissa. Both women were in as great a need of spiritual guidance as the other.

Her vision had been what had sustained her. Once, after leaving Lothering, Alistair had questioned her as to whether she wished she could have stayed to help the people of the village. She had been practical in her response; arrogant even. She had eased her conscience with the platitude of as the Maker wills. She had comforted herself with the notion that she was serving the greater good by leaving with the Warden.

What greater good was she serving now?

The brief taste of copper in her mouth made her stomach queasy. She re-examined her finger, careful not to squeeze the cut and encourage it to bleed further. She was unable to answer her own question. Perhaps this was a fitting punishment. As the weeks had become months, Leliana had turned more and more to Elissa rather than the Maker. She had sought out the Warden's guidance over His. And despite her vision instructing her to fight against the Blight, she had forsaken that when she had chosen to search for Elissa rather than remain and defend Ferelden.

It was she who had abandoned Him.

Him.

Leliana glanced up from studying the cut to look at Elissa. She reached across and tenderly brushed away a strand of hair which had fallen across the woman's face. It was a movement she had noticed he would do during the stolen moments when the two Wardens had forgotten what lay ahead of them and simply enjoyed the present with one another. Love's young dream, indeed.

An unbidden smile flickered across Leliana's face as she considered Alistair's reaction to being thought of in the same breath as the Maker. Such blasphemy, surely. The smile widen to a grin as she considered how Zevran would have ensured that such an association with the Maker could be slyly worded to guarantee that both Alistair and Elissa were reduced to stuttering simpletons. Despite being capable of defeating creatures which over the four hundred years since the last Blight had begun to fade into myth; simple and crude innuendo could reduce them both to quivering wrecks. It was an idiosyncrasy which Leliana had found endearing as well as entertaining.

Zevran. The stab of guilt which burned through her chest caused the grin to vanish and her hand to drop away from Elissa. The ease with which she saw her apparent path unfold before her had made her complacent. Yet sitting in the small room with only her own contemplation to renew her flagging faith, Leliana was forced to acknowledge how far she had strayed from it. She had chosen to turn from her original purpose; disregarded the Maker, abandoned Alistair and accepted Zevran's decision without protest, all for the sake of Elissa. In her arrogance, Leliana had presumed to understand all the Maker had intended. But her fondness for Elissa had blinded the Bard to the fact that she was only one of two Grey Wardens. And when Elissa had fled, Alistair had remained to continue the fight.

Her thumb rubbed across the small indentations at the base of the blade. Runes. It had seemed a harmless indulgence to allow Alistair to research which symbols were most appropriate to be etched onto her blade by the dwarf boy. She had little belief in them herself but she had appreciated the gesture of friendship that the offer had been intended as. A friendship she had been too quick to dismiss.

And too hasty to attempt to repair. As she raised her eyes to look again at Elissa, the thought which became increasingly louder than the prayer was the one which wondered whether she should have allowed the Warden to die in the hills. With the exception of the Maker, the only other who could possibly save Elissa was Wynne. The bond between the elder mage and young woman seemed to amplify the potency of Wynne's magic. But there was no way of telling how near the mage was and Elissa's deteriorating condition did not allow room for hope.

Leliana turned the dagger over and over in her hands. She had risked everything and everyone she held dear for Elissa. She had forsaken the Maker and turned from the path he had laid out for her. Yet there was nothing else to do but continue with the consequences she had brought on herself. She could only hope that the Maker would see her continued devotion to Elissa as some form of reparation for her sins. And that through her actions, He might see fit to bestow His mercy on Elissa.

Leliana rose from the chair, stretching the cramp from her limbs. The dagger remained in her hand, handle positioned so that the blade rested flat against her arm. She turned the bed sheets down a little further so that Elissa's upper body was better exposed. As she smoothed the readjusted sheets, she leant across and placed a loving kiss on Elissa's lips.

Once the Horde reached the city walls, Leliana knew the defences would soon be overwhelmed. The darkspawn would spill into the streets, laying waste to all that stood before them. It was too much to hope, secluded as they were in the bowels of the Chantry, that they would escape detection. But it did not matter what became of her. She would not be missed. Her only concern now was for Elissa. She would wait until the last possible moment but the Horde could not be allowed to desecrate the still living body of the Warden.

As Leliana's fingers curled tighter around the handle of the dagger, the endless recital in her head was replaced by a single utterance.

As the Maker wills.