Leliana

Oh, Maker, I hurt.

Every joint ached, every muscle burned. I did not know how long I had been walking, but the sky had begun to turn pink in the east. The sun would rise soon.

I do not even know if I am going in the right direction, doubt tore at me. I do not even know if Salem and the rest will still be there. I was such a fool! Why? Why did I give into my fears?

"I should never have left." I muttered, furious with myself with the state I was in, crushed by guilt and sick with worry over Salem.

She was so badly hurt. If she went to find the Ashes in her current state...Maker's breath. Have I realized my mistake too late? Will I return to find them all in mourning, with Alistair left alone to continue the fight against the archdemon?

I removed my waterskin from my belt, squeezing the last drops of water into my mouth. My throat still felt dry, though it was swollen with tears.

I was not even able to bury them, my thoughts drifted to Aaron, Lisbeth, and Shira. I had to leave them to the mercy of the elements. I hope their souls are at rest; I pray that they are not wandering in the Fade. I wish I knew that they would be reunited with their son and brother.

The sky grew brighter and I shielded my eyes from the waking sun. I could no longer feel the fingers of my left hand. I cradled my left arm against my body, trying to alleviate the stress and pressure on my broken collarbone. The bolt twisted inside my skin from the movement and I bit my lip. I did not know if there were more enemies in the area, more darkspawn, or wild animals who could smell my blood and sense my weakness.

What I would not give, however, for Morrigan taking one of her early morning runs in wolf-form. I laughed, shaking my head and sighing as I realized I had just wished to see the witch. Of them all, she is the one I understand the least, like the least, but any familiar face would be welcome. Even Morrigan's disdainful sneer would be welcome.

I continued, hopefully towards Haven, straining the limits of my sanity and endurance. I tried to keep my thoughts focused on Salem, remembering her strength, the way she pressed on in the face of impossible odds. How she had first gone to Morrigan after the battle with the dragon, even though she herself was pouring blood. How she had taken Marjolaine's poisoned blade in my stead. How she had first greeted me...

The warden stands in the middle of Lothering's tavern, holding her blade against a man's throat. I stand beside the hearth, knowing the time to intervene will soon be here. I have seen this, all of it, in my vision...a tumultuous beginning with the shedding of blood ending in a river of destruction.

"I should kill you where you stand." the warden growls, pressing the blade hard enough to nick the man's skin. "For believing Loghain's lies, slandering the wardens, and attempting to take my life!"

Now.

"Let him go." I walk forward, making my presence known.

The tavern-goers stare at me, the reserved lay sister of the Chantry, stepping between two armed combatants. I have done many things far more dangerous, but they had no knowledge of this.

The warden's head snaps towards my voice. Her eyes meet mine, a fierce, unquenchable, silver-blue flame. I feel myself falter under her gaze.

All that...that rage and grief bound up in one soul is unfathomable. How can I tell her, my throat goes dry, how can I look this woman in the face and tell her that I received a vision from the Maker?

"Who in hell are you?" she asks.

Her accent is rough, thoroughly Ferelden, but her voice...it is deep. Edged. Almost lyrical.

"I am Leliana, a lay sister of the Chantry." I feel the need to say more, to pour out my soul. I refrain.

"Oh, Salem," a haughty voice catches my ear and a hooded figure comes nearer with slow, easy strides. "I do believe the Maker disapproves of your violence in this, the most holy of holies."

"Quiet, Morrigan." the warden speaks.

Salem, I run her name through my mind, hearing its sound, tasting it at the edge of my lips. A name that means peace. The disquiet I sense from her...it is not who she is meant to be.

"What do you want with me, Sister Leliana?" she asks, kinder this time. Her blade does not stray from the man's neck.

"Look at him." I gesture to the man. "See the fear in his eyes. He is only fighting for his commanding officer, as soldiers do. He can only know what he is told. You have no reason to end his life."

Salem cocks her head, quizzical. A sorrow flits across her eyes, dimming the fire, but not extinguishing it. She turns to her hostage.

"Go back to Loghain." she orders him. "Tell him that the wardens are alive and well, and that they know the truth of Ostagar. Warn him, and pray that, in his wrath against me, he will disregard the messenger who brings him such ill tidings."

"Of course." Loghain's soldier replies, nodding his head. The rest of his comrades are dead, and no one in this town will stand beside him. "I will do as you say."

"Then go." Salem plants her boot in the man's chest and kicks him away from her.

He scurries out of the door as though all the darkspawn in the Deep Roads are after him. The warden turns her eyes to me once more and I feel, again, inexplicably drawn towards them.

"Is that your deed well done for this day, sister?" she questions. "Or must I knot this loose end as well?"

"Actually," my voice trembles, something I am unaccustomed to, "I would like to speak to you, warden. In private, if we may."

"Alistair, Morrigan," Salem turms to her companions, "wait outside."

"But..." the man beside her begins to complain.

"Outside." she orders. "Now."

They both comply, and Salem's eyes are on me again.

"You seem hesitant, sister. I am not quite harmless, but I do respect the Chantry's neutrality. You kept me from an action I would have regretted. For that, I thank you. Please, feel free to speak."

She is eloquent, I realize, shocked. A trait I thought no Ferelden could ever possess. And the way she carries herself, head high, shoulders back...she must be born of noble blood.

"I...I should like to join you, warden." I want to say her name, to feel it on my lips, but she has not given it to me, so I resist.

She rests her weight on one leg and crosses her arms, eyeing me, judging me. "Why would a sister of the Chantry wish to aid the suicide attempt of a Grey Warden?"

A glimpse of humor, dark though it may be.

I smile. "I...I..." heavens and hells, Leliana! Speak. In. Words! "...I received a...a vision...if you will, from the Maker. In it, I saw that you would come to Lothering. I knew this fight would occur. It is why I waited for you, to prevent what might have happened, an action you yourself said you would regret."

Stop rambling, you fool!

"And?" that is her reply. One word. One question. No shocked laughter, no ridicule, no eyebrow raised askance.

"I felt it was a message, for me, to aid you in your cause." I stumble as I speak, still attempting to process her reaction...or lack thereof. "I have many skills, Grey Warden. I did have a life outside the cloister once."

Salem peers deep into my eyes and I feel as though she can read my very soul. "My father once told me that a man who turns down help freely offered is a fool." she says, an intense grief crossing her features. "Vision or no, I could use another pair of hands. Welcome, Leliana of the Chantry." she extends a blood-stained, well-callused hand. I clasp it in my own. "I am Salem Cousland. "

Salem Cousland, I thought, the name that began to represent to me the sum of all that was good in the world. I cannot believe I abandoned you, my love. From your first kindness to me to the very last, you remain the only person I have ever known that was...truly pure.

The village of Haven came into view and I sighed in relief, breathing a prayer of thanks. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees, unable to take another step.

Maker, please...do not...let me be...too late.