Chapter 2

Elissa thanked the Maker that the only people who saluted her the following morning were the soldiers who were stationed around the camp. She still had a distinct feeling that she was being watched, albeit much more covertly than before, but at least she wasn't in any danger of being asked to bless someone's baby or heal the wounded with her tears.

Elissa rolled the dull ache out of her shoulders as she walked around the small village; She could hear the distinct din of people training to her right, the clanging of metal somehow soothing to her– familiar even. Her feet had found their way back to the merchant to look through his goods, noting the sword she had been admiring the previous day was no longer available.

"Someone bought it already, Miss," the blond man said when he noticed her at his stand. "Not too long after you were looking at it actually."

Elissa managed to hold in a squeak but couldn't quite hide her flinch at being spoken to.

"Oh? Thank you for letting me know; it was a fine sword... I think. I don't know if I know too much about them, but it looked like it would serve its wielder well, Master-?"

"Seggrit. Just Seggrit. Not to worry though; you were right, it was a good sword. But I don't think they bought it because it was a good sword. They bought it because they wanted to believe it received your blessing. Managed to make an extra 2 gold off of that, thanks to you. Please feel free to keep touching anything else you want here."

"Y'know, if you just stopped talking two sentences earlier, Lady Flash Hand here wouldn't be looking at you like you just whipped out your own sword for her to bless."

Elissa turned on her heel to see Varric Tethras grinning up at her, Bianca being cleaned on his bent knee. She quickly bid Seggrit a good day and sat on a log beside the charming dwarf, grateful to have someone familiar to talk to.

"Morning Varric," she greeted as she tucked her bare hands between her legs for warmth.

"Morning Stormy."

Elissa furrowed her brow at him, curious as to the nickname bestowed upon her. He chuckled at her confusion as he searched for a secondary rag to start polishing up his prized crossbow.

"Your magic. Hard to ignore all the lightning and thunder you have at your fingertips."

She smiled at the simple term of endearment and agreed that it made sense. He could have dubbed her Thunderella or Sparky-Pants, so she guessed she should be thankful for some small mercies.

"It also matches the grey of your eyes. They're probably the first thing everyone noticed about you—apart from the green glowing hand of doom you got there. Hey, would you pass me that cloth besides you?" He asked with his arm out expectantly.

Elissa mindlessly handed it to him as she felt the words 'thanks, they actually lean more blue like my father's' on the tip of her tongue, except she had no idea if that was correct. She had tried to recall any image of her father, her mother, or any siblings, and nothing came to mind at all. Just a series of doors she needed to unlock in the haze of her mind.

"So now that we're as alone as we're ever going to get in a camp full of people, how are you holding up?" He asked with a genuine look of concern. "I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining an army of faithful and becoming somewhat of a figurehead here."

"Urgh, you saw that yesterday?"

"The dwarves deep in Orzammar saw that yesterday," he snorted at her, pleased to see that at least she hadn't let everything go to her head. "I'm just saying that most people would have spread that kind of character development out over more than a day."

Elissa kicked at the snow with her boot until the brown earth was revealed, relieved to see the ground hard and real beneath her.

"I can barely keep up, Varric," she said, her voice small but her honesty resonant.

"Well, that makes two of us."

Elissa looked up at the rogue and smiled, chasing off days of confusion, sadness, and fear from her pretty features. Varric could feel his gut tingle with the well-known feeling he got whenever he looked at Hawke, and he grimaced. That was not a good tingle.

"Listen, I know you want to help and that you're a good kid; that much is obvious," he stated as he gently put Bianca away. "But you may want to consider running away at the first chance you get; I've written enough tragedies to know where this is going. We're going to need a miracle to get us out of... whatever this is."

She nodded, and her expression turned sombre, her mind twisting upon itself to make heads or tails of the entire situation. The Mark. The Mystery Woman. The Sky. The Villain. The Faith. Too much.

"I'm not quite sure that I believe this isn't still an ale-driven dream and that I'll wake with no trousers somewhere and a penis drawn on my face."

Varric laughed loudly and slapped his knee, agreeing that that would be a sight indeed.

"I honestly don't know if this is all really happening, Varric."

He stood up and clasped a calloused hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Me too, Stormy. And if this is all the Maker just winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punchline coming."

"Yeah... But I just don't want to be the joke."

Elissa's expedition around town was a resounding success. From somehow irritating the Quartermaster just by breathing, helping Adan find some misplaced potion notes – which were literally in the first drawer she opened in the cabin he told her to look in – and then Solas.

Solas.

The amount of comfort she found in the older elf was surprising. He was all stories and poetry, and if she were just that little bit more naïve she'd be head over heels in love with the apostate. He never tired of her endless questions, whether it was about magic, his experiences in the Fade, or even his opinion on the lunch they were serving in the tavern; he was always patient and easy with his answers.

Solas allowed his eyes to scan the area around him before leaning towards her, the brunt of his weight held up by his staff.

"And again, she rises. Good morning Miss-"

"Good Morning. And it's just Elissa, Solas," she chided, eyes squinting at him with mock annoyance.

"My apologies. Elissa," he corrected himself with a smile, "I could not help but notice during our time out in the field. But... your technique–"

"You're kind to describe whatever I did out there as technique."

"Ah, well, if you would be amenable to the idea, I would be happy to provide whatever tutelage I can."

Elissa brightened at the offer, eager to learn all she could after watching the older mage fight.

"Yes, of course, thank you. I would really appreciate not electrocuting everyone on the field should I need to sneeze."

"You are too hard on yourself, Elissa, without any help to hone your abilities from the start–" he tried to reason before being cut off with an agitated grumble.

"That's the thing. I don't know if this is so much a start or a restart, Solas. Like I feel I should know better, but I'm just grasping blindly at air," she sighed as she leant on the cabin behind him and peered at the green-tinged sky. "I feel like I should know something, but how could I when I don't even know who I am."

Solas solemnly nodded as he copied her casual stance, the mage looking at the people who went in and out of the apothecary. The two stood in quiet companionship, both seemingly lost within their own thoughts.

"Do you remember the name of the first King of Ferelden?" he asked, suddenly causing Elissa to jump.

"Calenhad, of course," she replied without a moment's hesitation.

"The name of the town you grew up in?"

"I... Lothering? No... Gwaren? Look, I'm pretty sure I'm Fereldan. I think."

"And the pub in Denerim, what is the name of it?"

"The Gnawed Noble."

"How many exalted marches have there been?"

"Six. No wait. Seven. No, six– oh, my teacher would kill me."

"What was the name of that childhood teacher?"

"I... Maker... I don't know," she spluttered as her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "How can I know all those things but not know if I'm at least bloody Fereldan? I don't even know if I've been to Denerim, but I must have to be able to tell you that, right?"

"Give yourself some time; there is no need to rush," he tried to soothe. "I just wanted to test a theory I had– and it seems I was correct. All the memories you seem to have difficulty recollecting are those that pertain to who you are."

Elissa threw her braid back over her shoulder in frustration, a light flush colouring the apples of her cheeks.

"Wonderful, I will be able to recite the family trees of all the great houses of the country, but I will not be able to know if I am deathly allergic to anything I eat. Delightful. I can see it now, the woman who closed the Breach, killed by a strawberry."

Solas smirked down at her, unable to hide how impressed he was at the young woman's ability to bounce back from her moment of dejection.

"I would not worry too much about errant fruit killing you just yet; remember well that I have offered my help to find these wayward memories of yours," he reminded as he held up his hand that glowed with a pulse of his mana.

"I know, and I thank you," she said as she chewed on her bottom lip in irritation. "If it weren't for the giant threat looming over me and all of Thedas, I would gladly take all the time to mull over things. But as it is, the sooner my forgetful ass remembers everything, the better."

Solas regarded her with a pensive expression as a surge of unexpected emotion for the girl welled up inside of him, a perfect mixture of empathy, pity, and admiration.

"Oftentimes when things like this happen, it is for a reason Elissa. You have endured a massive ordeal and survived something no one else did. It is likely that your mind is doing its best to shield you – from what I cannot say. However, if the only thing that has gone awry in all this madness is your memory being harder to tap into than before, then it seems we have been given some sort of blessing indeed. Whether it is heavenly given or not, it remains to be seen."

Elissa turned to face him, tilting her chin up to look into his eyes, mouth slowly curling into a pout.

"That was not comforting at all, Solas. In fact, it was the exact opposite of comforting."

Solas brought the back of his hand to his mouth as he laughed through his nose before succumbing to quiet laughter.

"You're an odd, mean old man, Solas," she said as she playfully deepened her frown, lightly elbowing his bicep.

"You are not the first to say this, and I'd wager you will not be the last."

After what was a surprisingly pleasant meal at the tavern, Elissa knew there was not much else she could feasibly accomplish without understanding more about the camp and what needed to be done. She had heard that there was a meeting being held at the Chantry and wondered if she should make her way down, if she would even be welcome to sit in and listen to their discussion to learn more about their group. In hindsight, it may have been smarter to say yes to joining their merry band after she had seen what they were like, how they treated their people, and receiving general insurance that they weren't megalomaniacal cultists hell bent on taking over the world with a new Divine carved out of a giant wheel of cheese.

She rose to try to clear her table but was quickly rushed out by the kindly barmaid, who wouldn't listen to a word of treating her like everyone else in Haven. With firm but polite hands on her lower back, the woman ushered her out like a disobedient child and bid her return when the sun had set for the evening meal. Elissa could feel the start of a flutter of warmth growing behind her ribcage – the familiarity of being cared for or nagged at – she didn't know, but it made her eyes sting with emotion unbidden. Shaking off the cold a little more noticeably as she headed up the path towards the Chantry, she hoped that her shiny eyes and reddened nose looked like they were just affected by the weather and not by the lingering sadness she didn't know how to explain.

Once she had reached the entrance, she paused. Should she wait to be summoned? Should she just go ahead and knock and pop her head in to see if they'd let her in? Should she send for a messenger to ask if she was needed?

"Are you well?"

Elissa congratulated herself for not flinching at the sound of Cassandra's voice and greeted the taller woman with a slight bob of her head.

"Cassandra. I am well, thank you, yourself?"

"I cannot complain. Your hand, does it still trouble you?" She asked as she looked at it pointedly.

Elissa looked at it quickly in case mentioning it sparked anything within the mark and breathed out relieved when it just remained its eerie green self, no flashes of pain to be had– at least, yet.

"You've given us more time–"

"We, not just me."

"Semantics. You've given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed—provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. But that is not easy to come by," she advised as they walked together towards the meeting room.

Elissa tried to piece together what that power would look like and paled at the thought of the Inquisition's entire force standing behind her, only to be unceremoniously squished by an army of Pride demons free falling from the Breach.

"Uh, yeah, sounds like fun," she joked as Cassandra smirked wryly at her.

The Seeker opened the door without preamble and gestured for her to walk into the room, halting the conversation from within immediately. Elissa recognised Leliana easily and was grateful that the woman did not seem to want to slaughter her on sight anymore. Her eyes drifted to another woman, with glorious tanned skin and a wonderful sense of high society fashion. She exuded respectability and held herself with the practised graces of polite society. In truth, when she compared her to Leliana, she did not know who to be more frightened of– the woman who held a dagger or the one with the quill. In between them was a tall, fair-haired man who regarded her with kind civility. In heavy armour and garments of deep red, even if he weren't so handsome, he would be difficult for anyone to miss in a crowd. Elissa clasped her hands together to stop herself from entertaining anymore of those thoughts lest she tumble down a steep hill of indecency.

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces."

He is welcome to command me–

"Such as they are, we have lost many soldiers, and I fear many more before all this is through," he said with a slight bow at his introduction, his voice even warmer than she had anticipated.

"This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat."

"I have heard much; it is a pleasure to meet you at last," the woman with the fantastic outfit greeted, manoeuvring her writing board slightly so as not to spill any ink.

"And of course, you know Sister Leliana," Cassandra added as an afterthought as she caught the redhead's eyes, "she is our spymaster."

Elissa quickly looked between Leliana and Cassandra and could feel their exasperation at each other's antics, one from trying to be as tactful as possible and the other tired of tiptoeing around something that shouldn't matter between comrades.

"It is a pleasure to meet you all, but I can't help but feel quite insignificant compared to all the impressive titles in here," she joked, trying to break the ice and earning subdued chuckles from everyone except Leliana, whose countenance was so guarded that she did not know what to make of it. Her stare was fixed on Elissa, boring through her as if she were trying to listen to her thoughts through sheer determination alone, bright blue eyes searching for something she did not feel she could provide. She was so wrapped up in her staring contest with the Sister that she did not take heed to what was being argued about until Leliana replied to one of Cullen's statements, the spy much more adept than her at paying closer attention to her surroundings.

"The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition," Josephine stated as a matter of fact before she turned to Elissa, "and you, quite specifically."

Elissa's confusion grew; why her specifically? Didn't she already prove that she was there to help as best as she could? What else did she have to do? Hold a placard at all times that read, 'I am not a mass murderer; try not execute.' She was just about to rebut when the Ambassador continued with her explanation.

"Some are calling you, a mage, the Herald of Andraste, a frightening notion for the Chantry. They declare it as blasphemy and the Inquisition heretics–"

"That will be the Chancellor's doing, no doubt," Cassandra sneered as she refixed her arms across her chest in agitation.

"I... I heard some of the people in camp," Elissa uttered, holding the edges of the table for support. "They were whispering something whilst they looked at me. Maker– even that merchant near the entrance was saying a sword I held yesterday had been 'blessed' by me, and I didn't even pick up on it; didn't think to ask questions."

Cullen shifted his weight on either foot and took a good look at the woman beside Cassandra, encouraged by her willingness to be transparent with them; grateful she did not feel the need for layers upon layers of diplomacy and fakery.

"Herald of Andraste, now that is quite the title," he teased good-naturedly, his mouth quirking to the side. "How do you feel about it?"

She took in a deep breath and tried to steady herself; logically, she understood why people would call her that. What with her being the only survivor of the Conclave, being spat out of a hole in the sky and then some random apparition practically hand-delivering her to safe harbour into the Inquisition's hands. However, that logic did nothing to relieve the ever-present knot in her gut or lessen the fear she felt at the mere mention of being anyone's 'Herald' of anything.

"I– uh, it's a little unsettling if I'm to be honest," she confessed, her cheeks flushing prettily as the Commander offered a small but kind smile to ease her.

"I'm sure the Chantry would agree," he snickered. He could just envision Roderick somewhere in a nearby village already avowing their descent into madness to anyone who would pay him any mind.

Leliana walked to her side and stood a little too close for comfort, forcing Elissa to pay attention to what was said next.

"The point is, everyone is talking about you. People are desperate for a sign of hope," she paused, a flicker of true emotion passing across her face as she fought for control over herself. "For some... you... you are that sign."

"And to others, a symbol of everything that has gone wrong," Josephine added sadly.

Cassandra quickly noted when Elissa's attention went introspectively, something she had done quite often since her release from confinement nearly five days prior. She took an educated guess at what the younger girl was thinking and clucked her tongue at her, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You not being here is not an option, Elissa; do not think we would be any better off without you."

"Cassandra is right," Cullen said, leaning against the large table, "the Chantry would have censured us no matter what."

Elissa saw a gloved hand reach out towards her, but as she turned to look at Leliana, she was already putting it down to readjust her tunic.

"There is something only you can do. Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you..." the Spymaster began, not quite looking Elissa in the eye.

"Suuure. Another Cleric wants to speak to me, yet this plan isn't crying out, 'Let's stick the blasphemer full of pitchforks' to anyone else?" she snarked.

"From what I know of Mother Giselle, she is a kind soul. She is tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe. Rest assured she would not involve herself in violence," Leliana replied as she fell back away from Elissa, allowing more space between them, her normal reticent façade firmly back in place.

Murderer. Liar. Mage. Heretic. Herald.

So many titles were gifted to her in less than a week, yet she would give her left tit just to know her own surname.

Hours later, as she walked out of the meeting with a plan to travel out and meet the Mother and help their forces with what she could, she looked towards the open gates of the camp and wondered how far she would get if she took Varric's advice and just ran away. As she took a look back behind her, she saw Leliana watching her, as if the woman already knew what her little brain was plotting.

She really should have run when Varric told her to.

Elissa could not sleep.

She had tossed and turned for the better part of three hours, and still the Fade would not grant her rest.

Huffing loudly, she threw the covers off her body and allowed the chill of the mountain air to steal away the last vestiges of drowsiness from her. After she shuffled into her boots, too agitated to pull them up all the way, she tied the laces around her ankles to ensure she wouldn't fall on her face as she traipsed through the camp and accidentally get run through by one of the sleepy guards on duty. She pulled off one of the blankets from the foot of the bed and wrapped herself as snuggly as she could to ward off the extra bite from the evening chill.

From the way she naturally moved, she knew she was certainly no rogue, and that stealth was never something she would have been skilled at. Still, she took extra care to close the door behind her as quietly as possible and took slow, measured footsteps so as not to disturb any light sleepers around the site. Elissa looked up to the sky, as she so often did, and despaired at how beautiful the Breach looked against the stars. It was unfair that something so picturesque had caused so much havoc and devastation to the world.

She sighed then chuckled to herself at the puff of smoke that tumbled out of her mouth as if she were still a child, pretending to smoke a pipe. Surely she would be old enough to smoke? Was there a way to check a person's age like with trees and their rings... She stopped in her tracks when she realised the equivalent would be someone cutting her down and trying to count something within her bones and just decided she didn't really care how old she was after all.

Elissa did not have a destination in mind for her midnight stroll but found her feet naturally walking towards the Chantry. Perhaps she could review the map and see if staring at the world would entreat any memories to awaken, or maybe read up on any of the new reports that had come through to ready herself for what was waiting for them in the Hinterlands.

She was about to step into the Chantry when she felt a stare on her back that she had become accustomed to. Peeking over her shoulder, Elissa could make out the dim light of a candle close to burning out and the well-camouflaged figure of the Spymaster within her private tent. She was holding a quill in one hand and a missive in the other as she sat at her humble desk, a rather innocuous sight if it weren't for the intensity in her eyes as she watched her. Elissa had half a mind to just ignore her and continue with her plan to elicit her memories, but she knew with her luck she would end up falling asleep only to be found in a puddle of her drool, snoring away as the advisors held their morning meeting around her.

Besides, she really wanted one day to pass where she didn't feel like she was getting belted by Leliana's ever vigilant gaze.

Bemoaning her lack of self-preservation, Elissa turned around and plodded her way to the Sister's tent, waiting for confirmation she was welcome to enter.

"How can I help you, Herald?" she asked as if she was a tavern wench forced to attend to the town drunk.

"Why don't you like me?" she blurted out, too tired to care for small talk. Leliana sat back, a look of complete bafflement painted across her face.

"I do not dislike you, Herald," she responded as she tried her best to focus on what she had hoped to write, although failing to even remember what she had read in the first place. Elissa snorted and sat down, twisting the blanket around her to bunch up around her comfortably. "It's true; I do not harbour any ill will towards you at all."

Elissa tried her best not to roll her eyes at Leliana's words but could not help herself.

"I never know with you," she started, her eyes finally adjusting to the light and seeing all the scrolls littered across her desk. "When I first met you, you were threatening to skin my face. Call me crazy, but that doesn't seem like the friendliest offer you could provide to someone who had just woken up in chains." To her credit, Leliana appeared to have regretted that particular interaction and ducked her face away from Elissa's view, emboldening the mage to continue.

"I don't even understand what that was all about; you were perfectly civil one second, and then you take a look at me, and suddenly it's Princess Stabbity Stab the other– woah, woah! Hey, are you alright?" She panicked as Leliana fumbled with the lantern she was trying to light, the latter hissing softly at the newly made mess on her table.

Leliana swiped at the documents and swore in Orlesian under her breath. Elissa was surprised she could understand her perfectly— perhaps she had spent a lot of time in Orlais prior to the Conclave?

"I am perfectly fine, Eli–Herald," she corrected herself, her voice as tight as the grip she had on the bridge of her nose. "I am merely tired. I have a lot of work to do and am pressed for time, so if you please-"

"I could help!" Elissa offered, hoping that by taking the initiative that she could bridge whatever gap was between them. "Tell me what you would like for me to do, I really just want to help. I… I could even be your scribe!" she suggested as she picked up a spare quill and blank parchment, scribbling something at the top of the page.

"Besides," she continued offhandedly, "I can't sleep very well, so may as well make myself useful before you all change your minds and put me back in prison."

Leliana gazed at Elissa with a vulnerability that she had not allowed herself to feel for nearly a decade–a distant memory of finding her friends behind enemy bars and her assistance in rescuing them. She could feel a smile playing at her mouth as she recalled the ridiculous ploys she and the assassin pulled off in order to save their friends and leader; some people would have been traumatised by the memories, but she always found great consolation and joy in them.

"I will never let that happen to you again, Elissa," she whispered as her eyes sparked. The Spymaster broke eye contact first and continued with her task of lighting the lantern, though much more carefully.

"I should hope so! I literally hold the key to all that is good and wonderful in the world in the palm of my hand; we should not let it fester in a cell," Elissa joked as she leaned in closer across the small table, still doodling on the vellum. "Do not worry, Sister Leliana; I will ensure that I am on my best behaviour around Mother Giselle so no one will have reason to imprison me again."

"Knowing you, it will be your best behaviour that will land you in trouble," she smiled as more memories quickly danced through her mind. "You were always one to push limits."

Elissa's smile faltered. Was she always one to push limits? Did that mean she had known Leliana prior to all this? Was that why she was so quick to change her tune when she realised she was no demon?

"Oh really? When pray tell, did I ever push limits?" She purred coquettishly, batting her lashes and splaying one hand demurely on her chest.

Leliana's eyes crinkled at the corners as she sat back in her chair, a warm, intoxicating mirth settling over her as she allowed herself a moment to bask in the memory.

"Oh, as if you don't remember! Bann Teagan in the Chantry at Redcliffe, you giant flirt!"

She did. She did know her from before.

Like an animal who could detect a storm coming, the Sister could feel the change in the air and quickly realised her mistake. Leliana sat up straighter, and the happiness from her face twisted into alarm, and Elissa could see as the cogs in her brain whirled ever faster to spin the situation in her favour. The Spymaster knew she had been had, lulled into a cosy complacency. She had easily led herself into the self-made trap of believing something she had only dreamed about for so many years was real, and let herself get caught as if she were one of Marjolaine's fledgling recruits.

"You know me. Don't you?" Elissa asked with her voice low and steady, belying the flurry she felt within. Leliana began busying herself with reorganising her desk with the best nonchalance one could muster; if Elissa was not actually sitting at the edge of her seat with anticipation, she would have given the woman more props.

"Answer me, Sister Leliana."

Leliana cleared her throat, looked her straight in the eyes, and shook her head.

"No, I do not know you."

"I did not know Sisters of the Chantry were so well versed in deception to be able to lie so coolly under pressure," Elissa spat as she sat back onto her chair, her distaste more than evident.

"Herald, it is very late. I have many things that require my attention, perhaps if there is time before you leave for your journey to meet Mother Giselle-"

"There is time now. You will make time now," she demanded with one long index finger stabbing into the desk. "I assume you have been told that I do not know who I am, correct? That I have lost my memories?"

Leliana took in a deep breath before closing her eyes and nodding once.

"So you know how much more fucking terrifying this all is for me, yes? If you knew me, you could help me remember, and in turn, I would be much more helpful to the Inquisition than I am now," Elissa reasoned, impressing herself with how well she held herself together even though she wanted nothing more than to cry. "Every second of the day since I first met you in that horrid little cell, I have had no idea what has been happening. I've been thrust from one shit thing to another, and I don't even know if I have someone out there wondering if I died at the damn Conclave. Or if anyone... or everyone…if everyone I cared about died there."

The Spymaster opened her eyes and looked upon the distressed girl in front of her, she was so young and was not yet encumbered by the weight of the world; had not fully experienced the toll of being a hero. She was still that girl that she met in Lothering all those years ago, with barely any experience in the real world and far too willing to take on a friendship with a recently retired bard-turned-Sister, even when everyone else thought she was crazy. Perhaps she wanted to be friends because everyone thought she was crazy.

"I, I knew you once... but the person here in front of me now, I am sad to say I do not know," she replied after a minute of heavy silence. She watched as Elissa tried to work through her cryptic response before cursing and hitting the table, the noise alerting one of the guards to check in on them both. Leliana shooed him away with a dismissive wave without even acknowledging him and continued to observe Elissa.

"Have I changed so much since you last saw me then? It cannot have been too long if you say I was trying to get into the pants of this Teagan fellow you mentioned. Have I changed for the worse? Or for the better? Have I grown into my looks, or am I ugly now? Please tell me how you could know someone and then somehow cease to know them," she pleaded before quickly clasping the woman's hands between hers. "Were we friends before, and then at the Conclave, somehow became enemies?"

Leliana wanted to take her hands and entwine her fingers between hers. To remember what it was like in camp as they held hands like children as they looked to the stars, revelling in her attention whilst she retold Elissa all of her favourite stories. Or as they walked arm in arm down the Imperial Highway when the day was too long and they wanted to forget that they were fighting a battle of impossible odds. To talk of shoes. Or men. Of the fine little pastries and delicacies they both missed from Orlais. Oh Maker, did she want to take her hands and tell her everything, even if she did turn out to be a desire demon and she was handing over her life to live in this fantasy...

"We were never enemies, Elissa," she whispered, beating up herself with every word she said.

"Then why, when you look at me sometimes, it feels like you're so angry at me? Did I do something so terrible before?"

You died.

"... Did you like this Teagan then? Was I not a good friend to you and tried to take him for myself?"

You left us.

"... Did I hurt a lot of people?"

You hurt us all.

"I am, I – I apologise if I appeared to have disliked you from our first meeting. That is not true at all. The Elissa I knew, we were the best of friends," she admitted, allowing her hands to slip free from her grasp.

"Then why-"

"I was angry at myself, and I was angry at the Maker," she interrupted her, voice hitching with real emotion. "I was angry that it took me so long to recognise you in that cell and then think to hope you were a demon–"

"You wanted me to be a demon?"

"I want you to be as you are... but you being a demon would have been easier."

"I am really not following you, Sister Leliana–"

"You used to call me Lela," she said with her bright eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "You stopped calling me Sister Leliana one day after you met me."

Elissa could feel the fog in her mind shift, the endless hallway of doors visible for just a moment before rushing out of view again.

"Lela," she tried the name on her tongue, and while it clashed terribly with the image of the world-weary spy in front of her, she knew it fit her, belonged to her. "Lela," she repeated, and the haze swirled about her excitedly. She reached for the closest door to her and tried to open it, but it was stuck, but she was so damn close! She knew it! Just a little more, and she'd be able to open it and remember what was missing.

Leliana blinked away her tears and studied the scene before her; Elissa's jaw clenched in concentration and a light sheen of sweat formed at her hairline, an alarming sight considering her state of dress and the night's frigid temperature.

"Tell me something else, anything at all," she begged.

Leliana paused and battled with herself; she didn't know if it was the best idea to push this but to have Elissa back, returning whole as she used to be; there would be no stopping the force of nature she was. She would have all this business with the Breach wrapped up within a year, nothing left of it but a memory. The Sister tried to ignore the voice in her head exposing the crux of it all: her selfishness. She just wanted to have her friend back.

"I used to call you Lissa," she uttered against her better judgement.

Lissa felt right to her; she liked the idea of being 'Lissa', like a piece of her soul lit up at the thought of someone calling her that.

"I was the Lissa to your Lela," Elissa ventured slowly, smiling, a blurry memory of the two of them laughing. "You said that your name sounded lovelier whenever it was said by a friend, even if that friend was Fereldan and couldn't say it right."

Leliana choked on her breath; no one else but Elissa or perhaps Alistair would have known that.

Elissa tried to hold Leliana's gaze, but a sharp pain forced her eyes shut. She found herself back in the hallway, but the doors were shaking in their frames, as if they wanted to be opened, but something was forcing them shut. As they moved to open, she could make out sounds coming from each door– all in Leliana's lilting tone. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. All the Leliana's were singing in a mismatched chorus, which grew louder and louder as the doors continued to crash against themselves.

Elissa doubled over in pain, her mark sparking menacingly as she clutched at the sides of her head. She had thought the agony of the mark was horrific, but it paled in comparison to the war raging inside her mind.

"Elissa, Elissa! Herald!" Leliana gasped, moving to her side in an instant. She steadied her head with both hands rested atop Elissa's, sickened as she saw her fingernails starting to dig into her own scalp with enough force to draw blood. "Stop it! You're hurting yourself, Elissa!" she croaked as she tried to pull away at her hands.

Leliana stepped out of her tent and thanked the Maker that one of her scouts was passing by.

"Get Adan and Solas at once; do not rouse anyone else and do not make a scene; do you understand me?"

The scout stole the briefest of looks between the Spymaster's face and into the tent behind her, where the pained whimpers of the Herald were starting to grow louder. He paled and saluted her before stealthily running into the camp to do as he was bid.

Leliana rushed back to Elissa's side only to find her slumped in her chair and passed out, her bloodied hands hanging limply at her sides with her chin lolling on her chest, rivulets of dark red streaming down her face to stain her shirt.

"I am sorry, my friend," she apologised just low enough so no one else could overhear. She apologised for hurting her with her impatience, her carelessness. For giving in when she knew better. For knowing that she would not hesitate to do it again. For her or for Thedas.

Now she knew that the woman who fell from the Breach was none other than the Hero of Ferelden, somehow resurrected and sent back to the world to save them; as her friend, she would stop at nothing from having a chance to reclaim all that was once lost. And as her Spymaster, she would wield this information as a boon from the Maker himself. There could be no doubt now that Elissa was Andraste-sent, and with them being in the Hinterlands, it would not be long until people would start to talk about the resemblance between their well-missed Grey Warden and the new Herald of Andraste.

She would make sure of it.