Author's note: All right, might as well get this one kicked off. Longer notes at the end, as usual & hugs to Genjutu Dragon for the beta!
Haven
5 Drakonis, 41 Dragon
Three days before the Conclave
"Greetings, Warden."
The room was almost exactly as Talia remembered it: low-ceilinged and broad, with massive pillars supporting the weight of the mountain that this chamber and those beyond had been hewn into. Statues of Andraste stood at intervals around the room, and intricate carvings adorned the walls and the arch over the massive bronze door, but while the dust of centuries had been meticulously cleaned away, no further decorations had been added.
The ceremony and thronging crowds that dominated the village below were nowhere to be found here; guards outside maintained the inviolability of this place. A single, slanted writing desk and a stool were the only additions, set unobtrusively against one wall, the seat occupied by the robed man who addressed her now.
"Brother Genitivi," she greeted him with a smile. "It's good to see you again." The Chantry scholar had aged in the years since she had seen him last, the lines on his face deepened and the fringe of hair around his bald head thinned and gone completely grey, but his features still reflected the quiet strength that had been evident to her the first time that they had met, the serenity in his clear, grey eyes even more pronounced than it had been then.
"Likewise," he told her, shaking that hand that she offered him. "I don't suppose you've decided to try again?" he asked hopefully.
Talia chuckled, shaking her head. "You know as well as I do that it wouldn't work," she chided him lightly. Few enough had managed to pass the Gauntlet that guarded the path to the Sacred Ashes even once; Talia was one, Genitivi another. None of those who had succeeded had ever attempted to repeat the feat, though they had been urged by others to try. "I just … thought I'd pay my respects."
He nodded ruefully. "Hopefully, the Maker will forgive my presumption. It seemed to me that if anyone might pass the Gauntlet twice, it would be you." His words were as sincere as the approval in his eyes, but she shook her head again.
"Not me," she said softly. If any were likely to be granted access to Andraste's ashes a second time, it would be someone like Genitivi, the humble scholar who had been the one to find the location of the earthly remains of the Maker's bride, a place once dismissed by even the most learned minds of the Chantry as a place of myth and legend. His faith was genuine and heartfelt, his devotion to the Maker unswerving, his humility, despite his achievements and renown, remarkable. He had been offered any number of teaching positions and patronages, turned them all down to remain at Haven, recording any events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and penning accounts of his life's travels during the long stretches when little of note took place.
Her eyes turned now to the third – and final – individual in the chamber. "He still doesn't talk?" she asked Brother Genitivi.
The scholar shook his head. "Only to those who would attempt the Gauntlet." Both of their voices were instinctively hushed, but the Guardian's demeanor likely would not have changed had they been shouting. Unlike Genitivi, the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes had not changed; his face had remained as ageless as it had been when Talia and her companions had stood here a decade earlier, his expression serene, his light blue eyes focused on some vision that only he could see. He had never been observed to eat, drink, sleep; he never moved from his post in front of the door that led to the Gauntlet; his armor never rusted or grew dusty; and he spoke only to the supplicants who thought to win their way through to the Ashes.
"Even the ones who have made no public declaration; he knows, sometimes even before they do," Genitivi went on. The grey eyes cut to her significantly, but Talia just smiled at the unspoken suggestion before turning to approach the Guardian.
"Hello again," she said quietly. The pale eyes stared through her; not a flicker of recognition or acknowledgment touched the ageless face. "I just … we're here; it seemed rude not to come. Leliana will be here later, with Justinia." Her lover was currently making last minute preparations for the Conclave, her focus chiefly upon the safety of the Divine amidst both templars and mages who had rebelled against the authority of the Chantry to settle centuries of accrued grievances and distrust in a war that threatened to tear the south of Thedas asunder. "I figured I'd miss the crowd." Justinia's visit to the holiest site in the Andrastian faith would surely include a throng of onlookers, hoping for either the validation or the repudiation of the Chantry's highest office by the last disciple of Andraste. Talia's own visit would likely have drawn attention, but she had chosen to come almost immediately after their arrival at Haven, before word of her presence had spread.
Behind her, she heard the faint pop of the stopper being removed from the inkwell. Brother Genitivi was still holding out hope that there would be words to be recorded, but Talia knew better.
"You know I won't try again, don't you?" she asked the Guardian. "I didn't make it through the last time because I was a good person, or because I believed. I made it because it was part of the Maker's plan." The Ashes had restored Eamon Guerrin to health; the Arl had been instrumental in defeating Loghain Mac Tir, which in turn had allowed the Grey Wardens to defeat the Blight that had threatened to overwhelm Ferelden and Thedas.
"I didn't know His plan then, and I still don't," she went on, studying the lines of his face, tempted to reach out and touch him, test his reality. Others had, she knew and had read of their attempts; no amount of poking or shoving could disturb his vigil, or even shift his position. No pleading or exhortation, no shouts or threats could pierce his detached mien. "I wish I did. You knew before, some of what was happening in the world; do you know now? Can you feel it? People are dying; they're killing each other because of the Maker and what they think His will is, because nobody really knows. You knew Andraste, spoke with her; your words might sway people at the Conclave, if you would just speak, say something to them ..." She trailed off, regarding him intently, searching for any sign of a reaction, finding none.
Giving up with a sigh, she sank to her knees, bowed her head in prayer. She had visited Chantries across Thedas, had never felt the Maker's presence, and she did not feel it now, but this was the place where she had finally accepted her role as an instrument of His will. Her faith was not the earnest piety of Genitivi, nor the steadfast conviction of Leliana. Hers was the loyalty of a warrior given to a skilled but ruthless general. The Maker had taken everything from her to force her onto the path He had chosen for her, shaped her as a smith forged steel into a blade, through the fires of battle and loss, and the unending pressure of duty and choices that she had never sought. That He existed, she had no doubt; that He had a greater plan, she was equally sure of, but she never forgot that His plan had included allowing His bride to be burned alive, and that there was no one who was not expendable in the furtherance of that plan.
For as there is but one world,
One life, one death, there is
But one god, and He is our Maker.
Faith had been a part of her upbringing, but she had never given the teachings any deep thought, never pondered whether the Maker or Andraste were real. She had obediently parroted Mother Mallol's lessons and let them slip from her mind as soon as she left the Chantry.
O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me.
Stand only in places You have blessed.
Sing only the words You place in my throat.
After the betrayals at Highever and Ostagar, there had been little left in her but hate and hurt and the relentless hunger for vengeance. Leliana's initial attempt to comfort her with talk of the Maker's plan, of faith in darkness, had been rejected savagely. The Maker didn't exist, or, existing, didn't care. Only after learning of the horrors the bard had endured had Talia begun to regard her faith with something besides scorn, though it had seemed impossible that she could ever feel anything similar.
My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace.
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.
Tell me I have sung to your approval.
Haven and the temple on the mountain above had changed her. Her rashness and lack of control had nearly gotten Leliana killed. The Gauntlet had brought her face to face with a power that could be neither explained nor denied, forced her to choose, to set aside her pursuit of revenge for a more noble calling. She had accepted, the bargain sealed by flames that had healed, rather than burned.
I have faced armies
With You as my shield,
And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing
Can break me except Your absence.
The scars that had been healed by the flames had long since been replaced by new ones; she harbored no illusions of invulnerability. If her death served His purposes, the Maker would let her die, as countless others had already died. She did not depend on Him to stay alive, or to protect the lives of those she loved.
That was her job.
For You are the fire at the heart of the world,
And comfort is only yours to give.
She rose, gave the Guardian a last, searching look, then bowed to him and returned to Brother Genitivi. "Told you," she said with a wry smile.
"Just an old man's foolish hope," he replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Perhaps it is blasphemous, but I cannot help but wish that he would offer some guidance in these troubled times."
"Justinia will visit later," Talia assured him. "If he's going to speak to anyone, it would be her." The Divine's faith was genuine, but she had not seemed to be expecting any revelations; the pilgrimage was a blend of piety and protocol in the midst of final preparations for the conclave.
The scholar nodded, though his wistful expression suggested that he knew as well as she did that the odds were long. "It was good to see you again, at any rate. Perhaps we can meet at the tavern before you go?"
"I'd like that," Talia agreed readily. "I'll be leaving today to travel to Denerim, but when I get back, I'll let you know." She had resigned herself to several weeks worth of bureaucracy surrounding the conclave, but at least she had an excuse for escaping the tedium for a time.
Outside, the sun shone brightly overhead, a few wisps of clouds pale against the blue sky. There was still a decided chill in the air; spring came late to the mountains, and here and there, drifts of snow still lay in the shadows and crevices. Ideally, such a gathering would have been held later in the year, but circumstances were far from ideal, and the conclave had been scheduled as early as weather conditions permitted. Talia's eyes turned, instinctively seeking out the spot where they had fought the dragon, where Leliana had nearly died. The rubble had been cleared away from the ruins, the last remnants of the dragon's carcass long since carted away by those who collected and sold such items. She'd been told that a small pedestal in the ruins bore a bronze plaque commemorating the battle; she didn't look for it. She had no need of the reminder; she never forgot that fight, and what it had almost cost her.
A trail had been cut along the side of the mountain as an alternative to the labyrinthine caverns that wound through the stone; those were off limits to all but a handful of Chantry scholars who were still mapping the layout and cataloging centuries of artifacts gathered by the dragon worshiping cult. Talia had no desire to revisit those caves or the memories associated with them; she followed the path, encountering few on her way, exchanging nods and murmured greetings when she did. Below, she could see the growing crowds moving among the restored village of Haven. Hundreds were expected to attend the Conclave: members of the Chantry; mages and templars; emissaries of Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra, Antiva. The conflict had affected every nation in southern Thedas; almost every monarch and leader had sent representatives to observe and report. The town was already close to capacity, even with the most suspicious of the delegations choosing to encamp in the outlying wilderness. There were even qunari: a Tal-Vashoth mercenary company had been hired by the Chantry as part of the peacekeeping forces.
Emerging below, she joined the milling crowds with no fanfare. She wore no armor, and was garbed in a simple tunic and trews, a grey woolen cloak draped over her shoulders. Whatever the people thought the Hero of Ferelden looked like, evidently she wasn't it, and that suited her. It had been a decade since the end of the Fifth Blight, and Talia now felt as different from the Grey Warden who had killed the Archdemon as that Grey Warden had been from the girl who fled Highever with Duncan. Undoubtedly, as news of her identity became more widely known, she would draw more attention, which was part of the reason that she intended to absent herself from Haven until after the conclave. Regardless of the fact that her only unwavering allegiance lay with a certain redhead, she was viewed by many as a representative of both Ferelden and the Grey Wardens, and she had no interest in spending the next several days weighing every word before it was spoken for anything that could be taken out of context.
And she was quite certain that nobody, Leliana included, wanted her speaking her mind to these idiots who had dragged half the world into their war.
Most of the houses and buildings of Haven had been preserved and repaired when the Chantry had assumed stewardship of the town; they had been sturdy and well built, suited for the mountain climate. One exception had been made: the temple where the dragon cult had worshiped had been torn down and a Chantry erected on the site. While some effort had been made to keep the architecture consistent with the rest of the town – over the objections of those who wanted a temple to rival the Grand Cathedral at Val Royeaux – it was still by far the largest building in Haven, but also one of the best guarded, given the fact that it was where Justinia had set up her temporary headquarters.
The guards all knew Talia, and she was allowed to enter, stepping into a bustling domain that seemed only slightly less crowded than the town outside. She knew a good many of the people here, however, exchanging nods and murmurs of greeting until she spotted a friendly face … and a not so friendly one.
"Out of the question," Roderick Asignon, Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, snipped at the woman before him. "I have already set the Most Holy's schedule for tomorrow. There is no time for a meeting with a minor dignitary."
"Arl Teagan Guerrin is no minor dignitary." Josephine Montilyet gave no sign that she noticed the disparaging glower that the bureaucrat was directing toward her. "He was the uncle of King Cailan, and holds no small influence in the court of Anora and Fergus. Not to mention that the traditional boundaries of Rainesfere include Haven."
"These lands have been ceded to the Chantry!" Roderick bristled.
"And done so most graciously," Josephine reminded him, "but the number of people attending this conclave cannot be contained within these lands, and Arl Teagan has generously offered the hospitality of Redcliffe to the mages and many others."Generous, but not so surprising, given that his nephew was numbered among the mages.
"And there's also the fact that his brother was healed by the Sacred Ashes," Talia put in helpfully as she joined them. Eamon had died the previous summer, after enjoying several years of excellent health following his had succeeded him as Arl of Redcliffe; a new bann for Rainesfere had yet to be chosen.
The flat stare that the Chancellor directed at her was nothing new. Between the fact that she was one of the few to pass the trials of the Gauntlet (he had tried and failed … twice) and her unrestricted access to Divine Justinia, Talia Cousland had been a burr under Roderick's saddle from the moment they had met.
Not that she ever did anything to exacerbate that feeling, of course.
"I can manage half an hour tomorrow before the Most Holy's tea with the Grand Clerics," he said at last, in the tone of one conferring a great favor at great personal sacrifice.
"That will be more than sufficient." Ever the diplomat, Josie smiled warmly at Roderick, who regarded her with a haughty disdain that had Talia resisting the urge to needle him. "I will inform Arl Teagan's emissary at once; he will be most pleased, I am sure. Thank you, Chancellor."
"As long as it doesn't happen again," Roderick sniffed. "In the future, such audiences should be brought to my attention well in advance. The Divine's schedule is set weeks ahead of time." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off, the picture of a man on important business.
Josie sighed and shook her head, the smile fading. "That man!" she exclaimed once he was out of earshot. "Divine Justinia would never have refused a meeting with Arl Teagan, and he knows it!"
"He's just trying to make sure you know your place," Talia told the Antivan.
"Maker willing, he will never know my place," Josephine countered. The sentiment was a heartfelt one. Ostensibly, the former Antivan ambassador to Orlais had been recruited to assist with coordinating the events of the conclave, and if all went well, that was as far as her authority would ever extend. While word of the conclave had spread throughout Thedas, only five people apart from Justinia knew of the Divine's full intentions, should the meetings between mages, templars and Chantry prove unsuccessful in bringing the widespread conflict to an end.
"Where's Cullen?" Talia asked her in a low voice.
"Nearby and out of sight," Josephine replied. "Bethany and Leli are guests at Redcliffe."
Sensible precautions in both cases. Justinia had heeded Talia's advice and recruited the templar who had survived the chaos of the circles in Ferelden and Kirkwall, but he would be an even more polarizing figure in the delicate negotiations than Talia, hated by the mages for being a templar, and hated by the templars for marrying a mage. In the old order of things, Leliana's namesake would have been taken from her mother at birth and given to the Chantry to raise, and both Cullen and Bethany would have been punished for daring to love each other. Even if the conclave was successful, Justinia intended for changes to be made.
If it failed, the Inquisition would be reborn, and the Chantry – and most of Thedas – would be turned upon its collective ear. Maker willing, it would not happen, but like Talia, Justinia knew that the Maker could not be counted on to intervene. The writ had been drawn up, the groundwork laid. Cullen would command what military forces could be recruited; Josephine would take the role of ambassador, representing the Inquisition, negotiating the alliances that would be crucial.
The Left Hand of the Divine was to be the spymaster of the Inquisition. It was not a role that Talia was pleased with; the things that Leliana had done on Justinia's behalf as Divine would pale in contrast to what would be required of her in the coming upheaval. It was for that reason that the Warden had declined when the Most Holy had offered her the office that had ultimately gone to Cullen. Her bard would need her if worse came to worst, and Talia had no intention of putting herself into a position where she might ever again be called to choose duty over her love. That part of her life was done.
"How is it going?" she asked Josephine. The Antivan had been in Haven for the better part of the last week, monitoring arrivals and keeping feathers smoothed.
"Peaceful thus far," Josie reported. "Both templar and mage delegations are wary, but seem genuinely willing to at least listen to the Divine's suggestions for ending the conflict." She paused, then added, "I would note, however, that both Grand Enchanter Fiona and Lord Seeker Lucius sent intermediaries in their place, albeit with full authority to negotiate preliminary terms."
"Not really surprising," Talia observed. "Or necessary." While Fiona and Lucius ostensibly led the opposing factions, anything remotely resembling organization had long since disintegrated. Mages and templars fought – and killed each other – wherever they met, with the rest of southern Thedas caught between.
"True," Josephine agreed with a rueful moue – diplomacy was made more difficult without a clear cut leader to negotiate with, "but it would have set a good example. Ah, well." She gave a pragmatic shrug, clearly resolved to work with what she'd been given. "You are fleeing to Denerim, I believe?"
"I am." Talia met the tease with an unrepentant grin. "I've a niece I've yet to meet, and two nephews who have likely doubled in size since I saw them last."
"That does sound more appealing than what I have planned," Josie said, adding with an air of wistful resignation, "however, since my siblings have yet to present me with any nieces or nephews, I have no such excuses for my absence."
"You wouldn't miss this if you could," Talia accused her good-naturedly. The pomp, circumstance and ceremony were meat and drink to the woman who knew the proper forms of address for the nobility of every nation in Thedas and could determine with precision the difference in rank between a Free Marches viscount, an Antivan merchant prince and a Fereldan teyrn.
"Perhaps not," her friend conceded, the gleam of enthusiasm in her eyes making it clear that there was no 'perhaps' about it. "It is invigorating to be in the midst of events that will affect all of Thedas." She paused, giving Talia a sidelong glance and a slightly sheepish smile. "I suppose you have had your fill of such things."
"Something like that," Talia murmured. Luck – or the Maker – had put her at the forefront of more fateful events than she cared to remember, but at each one, there had been a choice to refuse, to walk away, that she had not made. She couldn't complain, but that didn't mean that she was going to volunteer when her presence would not be a vital one. A few days as a sister and an aunt to refresh herself, and then she would return to Leliana to assist in whatever duties Justinia's Left Hand assumed following the outcome of the conclave. With luck, a truce to be nurtured, a new foundation to be established that would give mages some of the freedoms they deserved while maintaining the protective strength of the templars as guardians, not jailers. Without luck -
"When do you leave?" Josie's question interrupted the bleak turn of her thoughts, and Talia let them go without regret. That river would be crossed when – if – they reached it.
"As soon as I find Leliana to say goodbye," she replied, glancing around the great hall.
"She and Cassandra are with the Most Holy in the conference chamber," Josie informed her, nodding toward the closed door at the far end of the structure. "Please inform Divine Justinia of her audience with Arl Teagan tomorrow, if you would."
"I will," Talia promised. Roderick was perfectly capable of 'forgetting' to add the appointment to the schedule that he provided Justinia each morning, though he likely would not do so, knowing that she had witnessed his agreeing to it.
She wove her way through priests and clerks, lay clergy and scholars, until she reached the conference chamber, but when she reached for the heavy bronze handle, the door swung open, and she stepped backward just in time to avoid a collision.
"Oh! My lady, I am so sorry!" The petite blonde woman – girl, really – stared up at her over an armful of books and parchment, blue eyes widening in astonishment. "Oh, Maker's breath, you're her! You're the Hero of Ferelden! And I almost ran you over!"
As she didn't look as though she'd weigh seven stone soaking wet, even with the books, that seemed an unlikely hazard; her dismay would have been comical had it not been so genuine. "I've survived much worse," Talia assured her with a good-natured smile. "No harm done."
"It's all right, Alex," Leliana put in gently when this didn't seem to soothe the girl's distress. "She doesn't bite."
"Not in public, anyway." The Divine's voice was bland enough, but there was a glint in the blue eyes that most folk never saw, and a faintly wicked smile that utterly defeated Talia's resolve not to blush. Trust Justinia to remember the one time she'd been a bit overly amorous and left marks on the fair skin of Leliana's neck … and to bring it up in mixed company.
It was hard to say who was redder: Talia or Alex, though the girl's fair skin showed it far more. She stammered something that sounded like a mix of apology and prayer and scuttled off, the door closing behind her. Leliana waited until she was well away before bursting into laughter, and the sound of her giggling was more than enough to make Talia forgive Justinia the jest at her expense. It had been far too long since she had heard such merriment from her love, and for that, she would willingly play the fool.
"Maker, it's been years since I've been able to make her blush like that!" Leliana exclaimed, reaching up to pat her Warden's flushed cheek, blue eyes dancing with mirth. She was so very beautiful when she laughed!
"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch," Justinia said serenely and without a hint of remorse.
Cassandra couldn't seem to decide whether to be amused or scandalized, settling for shaking her head with a rueful chuckle. "The poor girl is probably packing her bags and fleeing for home."
"Unlikely," the Divine replied. "She's the youngest daughter of Bann Asher Trevelyan from Ostwick, the last of five born before his wife finally gave him a son. The family has always been known for their piety, and between that and the prospect of another dowry to be paid, Alexandre was pledged to the Chantry almost as soon as she was born a girl."
"She had no choice in the matter?" Talia asked with a frown.
"None," Justinia confirmed gravely. "I can't say that I favor such practices, but it's better than marrying her off to a man three times her age for a good bride token. She was sickly as a babe, and still a bit frail; childbearing would be the end of her. She does seem happy in the Chantry, at least. She's quite intelligent, loves research, and her memory is nearly flawless; she will rise high among the ranks of our scholars. Praise tends to fluster her right now, however; I suspect that she received little attention at home."
"How old is she?" Talia wondered. "Twelve? Fourteen?"
"Eighteen," Leliana supplied, laughing again at Talia's look of astonishment. "Older than you were when you became a Grey Warden."
Talia shook her head bemusedly. "Did I ever look that young?" She hadn't felt it; not since Highever had fallen.
"Sometimes even younger," Leliana advised her with a roll of her eyes. "I felt I was robbing a cradle some days."
"She's led a sheltered life," Justinia said, the mischief back in her eyes as she added, "I doubt that she understands the finer points of bondage any better than you did at that age."
"Your Reverence!" Cassandra exclaimed, nothing but scandalized now.
Talia did an incredulous double-take, barely managing to defeat the blush that tried to rise anew, and shot her lover a betrayed look. "Do you have to tell her everything?" she asked plaintively.
"I doubt she's done that," the Most Holy replied, as Leliana had been incapacitated by another fit of giggles, "but the story of how you two met came up rather early on."
"And apparently, I haven't heard it." Cassandra's curiosity was clearly winning out over her sense of propriety.
It was Talia's turn to roll her eyes heavenward. "I'd just killed three of Loghain's men in Lothering," she told the Seeker.
"With my assistance," Leliana put in smugly.
"Unasked for assistance," Talia corrected her with a smirk, "after which, she wouldn't let me kill the rest of them." There was no heat in her voice. It had been the first time that the Orlesian's intervention had stayed her hand, cooled her rage, but it had by no means been the last, and she had never regretted any of them. "Needless to say, I wasn't in the best of moods, and then she -" She jerked a thumb in Leliana's direction, "- started going on about visions from the Maker and announced that she'd be coming with us, and I told her I'd tie her up to stop her, and she said -"
"Promises, promises." Leliana's teasing tone was a precise mimicry of her words over a decade earlier, her eyes shining with delight.
Cassandra eyed her incredulously. "And you didn't understand that?"
"I was seventeen," Talia replied with a shrug, "and distracted." She glanced toward her lover, lips quirked in a smile. "I figured it out eventually."
"Spare me the details, please," Cassandra told her, shaking her head in bemused exasperation.
"You're safe." Talia hadn't even considered giving a summary account. She cast a suspicious glance toward Justinia, but if Leliana had shared that particular tale with her mentor, she was giving no sign of it. Thank the Maker for small mercies. "By the way, you have an audience with Arl Teagan tomorrow before your tea with the Grand Clerics, Your Eminence."
"Thank you," Justinia replied, giving her a quizzical look. "And I am not hearing this from my Chancellor because -?"
"Josephine thought he might forget to mention it," Talia replied. "I promised her I'd tell you, just in case."
"Ah, Roderick and his sacred schedule," the Divine sighed. "He means well, but he doesn't adapt well to the unexpected."
"Maybe he'd loosen up more if you let him in on these little chats?" Talia suggested, leaving the obvious unsaid. The groundwork for the Inquisition had been prepared; all of them hoped it would be a needless precaution, and did not discuss it any more than necessary, but Roderick would definitely not adapt well, if it came to pass.
"If by 'loosen up', you mean 'pass out on the floor', I'm quite certain that would do the trick," Justinia replied wryly. "I doubt he's ever had an improper thought in his life."
"Not that he'd admit to," Leliana sniffed. "Still waters run deep … and sometimes, they hide a cesspool."
"If he had any unsavory tendencies, you would have discovered them by now," Justinia chided her gently. "And I know you've looked."
"That is my job, yes?" Leliana replied pertly before turning to Talia. "I suppose you are ready to make your escape?"
Talia held out her hand, trying not to look too smug. "See me off?"
"Of course." Leliana laced her fingers with Talia's.
"Give my regards to your brother and Queen Anora," Justinia said as they were leaving.
"I will," Talia promised. She kept silent after that for a bit, until they were well away from the Chantry. "You don't like Roderick much, do you?" she asked quietly as they made their way down the path that wound among the houses.
"It's uncharitable, I know," Leliana sighed after a long hesitation. "Justinia is right: his faith is genuine … but it is also everything that has led the Chantry to this point: rigid, judgmental, self-righteous and unforgiving. Change must come, if the conflict is to end, but Roderick – and those like him – will resist it, simply because it is change." The laughter had faded from her features, giving way to the pensive, somber expression that had been present all too frequently in recent months.
Talia slowed her step, disquiet rippling along her spine. "Do you think there will be trouble?" she asked. "I can stay."
"No." Leliana shook her head. "I don't think there will be trouble … not of that kind, anyway. There will be arguments aplenty, and senseless bickering over minutiae, but I think that all but the most fanatical are tired of the bloodshed."
"They're not the only ones," Talia grumbled, releasing her lover's hand and slipping her arm around the slender waist. Leliana leaned into her readily, and Talia pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Still…"
The bard brought them to a stop, shifting to face Talia, blue eyes serious. "Go," she said firmly. "Visit with your brother and Anora. Hug Bryce and Rory for me, and tell them I will come as soon as I am able."
"That's going to cost you a few stories," Talia warned her.
"A price I will gladly pay," Leliana replied with a smile, falling back into step beside her, past the tavern, a minstrel's song drifting through the open windows, past a merchant haggling with shoppers.
"It's changed," Talia said softly, looking around at the town of Haven. Chantry banners rippling in the breeze; the houses tidy, porches swept, roofs repaired, fences mended; the people milling about wore Chantry robes, nobles' finery – most of the templars and mages avoided the town and each other. It was a far cry from the bucolic village populated by unassuming-looking and simply garbed men, women and children that they had found over a decade ago. And yet, she could still pick out each spot where they had fought, each place where the cultists had died: men, women … children.
"We all have," Leliana told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, knowing well the memories that lingered here.
Asaarash was already saddled at the stables, Talia's pack and armor strapped on behind. "You know, you can afford to buy a new pack," Leliana remarked, running a finger along one of the multitude of patches that all but obscured the heavy canvas of the duffel that Talia had purchased in Lothering, after emerging from Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds with little more than the clothes and armor that she wore and the sword that she carried.
"I like this one," Talia replied with a shrug, patting the battered thing affectionately. Wynne had stitched the first patches into place, in the Dalish camp in the Brecilian Forest. Talia had watched and learned, then taken over the task, using whatever heavy material had been available at the time: canvas, leather, sailcloth. For more than ten years, it had been her constant companion, a piece of home that she could take with her.
The woman who was her true home smiled at her understandingly, then stepped to Asaarash's head. "Look after her, mon ami," she told him, reaching up to scratch an ear with one hand while producing a slice of apple, seemingly from nowhere, with the other. The roan whickered, nuzzling her briefly before accepting the offer. He was aloof to nearly everyone except for Talia, lofty disdain turning to savage aggression in combat, but he was as besotted with the redhead as his rider was.
Well, almost.
"Parshaara," she growled playfully at last, tugging Leliana into her arms. "Get your own woman; this one is mine." The stallion snorted at her, giving the Orlesian a final nudge, plainly unwilling to concede the argument.
Leliana giggled, but her blue eyes were serious as Talia leaned down until their foreheads touched. This was the moment that both of them always dreaded, and though this separation would be considerably shorter than some that they had endured over the years, Talia could not shake the vague sense of disquiet. "I could stay," she offered again. "We could go together, after the conclave ends."
Her lover shook her head, kissed her tenderly. "There is nothing for you to do here but go mad from the endless squabbling and political maneuvering. The Chantry has secured enough mercenaries to keep the peace; few will challenge one Tal Vashoth, let alone a whole company of them. I will send a bird, once the outcome is known, and hopefully arrive a few days after that."
"All right." It had been nearly a year since the last time she had returned to Denerim, shortly after concluding her journey with Devon Hawke and Alistair. Little Celia Eleanor was nearly four months old now; Bryce would be nine, and Rory six. They grew so very quickly, and she had missed so much over the last two years, as events beyond her control drew her into their orbits.
Again. As sodding usual. There seemed to be no end to such events, but this particular event did not require her presence. "Maybe a few days alone at home after we leave Denerim?" she asked persuasively. "The flowers should be blooming."
"That sounds like heaven," Leliana replied with a happy sigh. 'Home' was a cottage built at the edge of a high mountain meadow in Highever, visited all too rarely but loved dearly by both of them. They'd spent a blissful year there after Talia had left the Grey Wardens and before Justinia had asked Leliana to serve as her Left Hand, and only a few stolen days here and there ever since, but it waited for them, maintained by Highever's regent: the promise of the life together that awaited them, once their duties had been fulfilled.
"I'll send word to have the larder stocked as soon as I hear from you, then," Talia promised, already looking forward to a solid week of no visitors, no obligations, nothing to do but eat and sleep and make love in the meadow under the sky before returning to Haven and whatever duties awaited them. She stole a final kiss, tender and lingering. "I love you … and I will return to you."
"I love you, too, and I will wait for you," Leliana replied: two parts of the promise that had sustained them both through numerous partings over the years.
Steeling herself, Talia stepped away and swung easily into the saddle. "I'll see you soon," she promised before nudging Asaarash into a canter and guiding him toward Haven's gate, sparing a final look back and wave to Leliana before she lost sight of her.
A.N. - This chapter has been written for better than two years; I shoved it forcibly to the back burner until I finished Moments In Time, but I think it's time to pull it forward and set it to a low simmer.
It's showing every sign of being another behemoth, and updates will be dictated by my schedule, which has been anything but accommodating, so consider yourself warned: this is a long haul project
This is going to be more of an ensemble piece; Alex will be moving closer to front and center, but it felt right starting things off with Talia & Leliana. They will continue to play important roles, but the relationship dramas will be provided by others, and I intend them to be the stable heart of things on that front. They will disagree at times, even argue, but both of them are dedicated to the relationship and each other.
I've got a number of other pairings planned, few of which took place in the game, and as I have no doubt that some of them will change as I go, I won't even mention them here. Established pairings going in are: Talia/Leliana, Hawke/Isabela, Cullen/Bethany & Fergus/Anora.
As you may have noticed, I don't tend to adhere slavishly to the game storyline; I figure if you want that, you can play the game again. I will note one major change up front: there will be no Blackwall/Ranier in this tale, partly because his was a rare example of an NPC that I genuinely dislike, but mostly because having Talia and the Fereldan Wardens involved negates the need for him.