Chapter Text
Sky-blue eyes gradually opened to the soft, golden light of early morning, which filtered through the timeworn wooden shutters of the Chantry barracks. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, casting a gentle glow over the modest room where the sisters had found respite for the night. The air was fragrant with the earthy scent of the nearby herbs and flowers, remnants of the evening prayers lingering like a sacred promise. Leliana lay among her five fellow sisters, a warm blanket draped over her, enveloping her in comfort as the chill of dawn clung to the air. Four of the sisters, devoted and serene, had already taken their vows, their faces reflecting a tranquil commitment that came with their choice. Each had a sense of purpose that radiated from them even in sleep, their expressions peaceful and untroubled. In contrast, Leliana and Fiona remained lay sisters, their paths diverging at a crossroads where faith and choice met. Both of them found themselves at the Lothering Chantry, a place of refuge and community within Ferelden, grappling with their decision to embrace a deeper commitment.
The revered mother, a figure of strength and wisdom within the Chantry, had approached both Leliana and Fiona on numerous occasions, her voice a blend of gentle encouragement and steadfast conviction. "You must consider the beauty of your vows," she would say, her kind eyes searching theirs for understanding. Typically, lay sisters were separated from those who had made their sacred commitments, a precaution to prevent any temptation that might arise. However, the constraints of their humble quarters meant that such separation was a distant ideal, leaving them to navigate their spiritual journeys side by side, intertwined in purpose yet uncertain of their futures. The echoes of prayer and quiet reflection filled the barracks, as the world outside began to awaken, hinting at the adventures that lay ahead for them both.
Leliana could hear the soft rustle of her companions awakening, the sound of blankets shifting and quiet morning murmurs filling the air like a calming melody. As she lingered in the warmth of her bed, contemplating whether to rise or simply enjoy a few more moments of rest, a delicate voice broke the tranquil ambiance.
“Are you okay, Sister Leliana?” Turning her head slightly, she met the worried gaze of Sister Mika, who was sitting upright in her own bed just a few feet away. Mika's expression was filled with concern, her brow furrowed slightly as she looked at Leliana with genuine care. A soft smile spread across Leliana’s lips, grateful for her companion’s attentive nature.
“I’m okay, thanks,” she replied, though her tone was careful to mask the turmoil that lurked beneath the surface.
Mika tilted her head, studying Leliana with a perceptive eye. “Are you sure? You looked quite distressed throughout the night. I tried to wake you when I heard you moving,” she said, her voice low and soothing, almost as if she feared disturbing the fragile peace of the morning.
A pang of guilt shot through Leliana at the thought of her restless night being so apparent. She cursed her treacherous mind, which had dug deep into her memories, forcing her to wrestle with spectres from her past. Thoughts swirled in her head, and she felt a heaviness settle in her chest. The very last thing she wanted was for her companions to witness her vulnerabilities. They had no idea of the darkness that haunted her dreams, the nightmares that echoed the struggles she had fought so hard to escape. She was determined to keep that side of her life hidden, far removed from the safety of her newfound family.
“I’m sure, I promise,” Leliana reassured, her voice steady, yet warm with a hint of vulnerability. She sat up slowly, a small, genuine smile spread across her face, seeking to alleviate any worry her companion might have felt.
Mika observed her with a careful, knowing look. “If you need to talk, I’m here,” she said, her voice imbued with sincerity. With that, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet touching the cool wooden floor. Mika began her morning routine, the gentle rustle of her clothes and the soft sounds of her movements providing a comforting backdrop.
Leliana smiled appreciatively, feeling a sense of warmth for her friend’s concern. She reached for her simple robe, it’s comforting weight and soft texture enveloping her as she pulled it around her. Reluctantly, she remained tucked beneath her covers for a moment longer, savouring the warmth and security they provided. She had cultivated a habit of waiting until last to bathe, a strategy she had perfected over the years. This routine ensured that her companions would be ready to leave the room, allowing her space to prepare for the day without the anxiety of prying eyes.
Although she had once relished the freedom of her body during her days as a bard—seducing audiences with her grace and beauty—the scars now etching her skin told a different story. Each mark was a reminder of battles fought, both physical and emotional, and she felt a deep sense of unease at the thought of her current companions discovering those hidden wounds. For now, Leliana chose to keep those tales locked away, wishing to protect her newfound relationships from the darkness that lingered in her past.
As the room emptied, Leliana got up and headed into the small bathing area. She slid her robe off and relieved herself of the urine that had collected in her bladder overnight, the relief of fullness evaporating. Illuminated by the soft glow of morning light pouring through a narrow window, the fountain bubbled gently, its clear, cool water flowing in a continuous, serene dance, feeding into a small well that lay just outside. She recalled a tale she had once heard—how ancient enchantments had been placed upon it by skilled mages, ensuring that the water would never cease its refreshing cascade. Crouching down, she cupped her hands underneath the cool stream, feeling the crisp water flow through her fingers as she collected it. Leaning down, she splashed her face, the invigorating droplets revitalizing her senses as they rolled away, carrying with them the remnants of sleep and weariness. As she lifted her head, the sunlight played upon the surface of the water, casting tiny reflections that danced like fleeting memories.
Turning her attention to a small corner of the bathing area, she located her modest bar of soap, a faded relic of better days, and a cloth that had seen countless washes but remained steadfast in its purpose. With purposeful determination, she began to scrub her body, the gentle friction a reminder of her humanity. Yet, beneath her diligent efforts, a profound sense of uncleanliness clung to her, a visceral reminder of the scars left by her past. Even now, after all this time, she struggled to feel truly clean—not since the Orlesian Chevaliers had imposed their will upon her, leaving indelible marks on her mind and body. Their haunting presence lingered like a shadow, weaving itself into her thoughts and dampening her spirit, as she yearned for a sense of purity that continually eluded her.
After drying herself off, she wrapped herself in her soft Chantry robes, the familiar fabric brushing against her skin like a comforting embrace. With practiced efficiency, she made her bed, the sheets smoothed and tucked neatly, before dashing out the door to join the morning prayers. The price of solitude was a perpetual time crunch, and each morning found her in a frantic rush.
As she slipped quietly into the Chantry, the scent of incense and polished wood enveloped her. She carefully navigated her way through the solemn space, her eyes darting to avoid the sharp, disapproving gaze of the Revered Mother. That gaze felt like a dagger each morning, cutting through her resolve. With a soft sigh, she settled on her knees beside Sister Fiona, who welcomed her with a gentle smile. They positioned themselves slightly behind the other sisters, a subtle act that separated the Lay Sisters from those who had fully committed to their vows.
She often wrestled with her reluctance to take those vows. It wasn’t just the sacred promises that unsettled her; it was the fundamental difference in her beliefs about their Maker. Unlike the Chantry’s teachings, she held firm in her conviction that He hadn’t abandoned them. Moreover, the Chantry's harsh treatment of mages weighed heavily on her conscience. It frustrated her to see those gifted with magic treated as though they were inferior, cast in shadows for abilities bestowed upon them. Yes, some had strayed, dabbling in blood magic and forging dark pacts with demons, ultimately becoming abominations, but she believed that the majority of mages were innocent. They were unjustly punished for the actions of a few, and that, to her, felt like a profound injustice in a world that should strive for compassion.
After her heartfelt devotion, she would step out into the cool morning air, a blend of crispness and warmth that marked the beginning of another day. The Chantry, with its stone walls and stained-glass windows reflecting vibrant colours in the sunlight, stood as a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil unfolding just beyond its reach. As she made her way to the Lothering refugee camp, the path was lined with the remnants of a recent turmoil: abandoned belongings, the signs of hastily gathered possessions, and echoes of despair. The camp itself was a sprawling collection of makeshift tents and tarps, bustling with life yet cloaked in sorrow. People of all ages milled about, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear, seeking shelter from the raging battles of the outside world. Many had fled from the terrible confrontations near Ostagar, where the brave forces of the kings’ army had faced off against the darkspawn in a dire struggle for survival.
Leliana’s heart ached for them; although she had never encountered a darkspawn in person, the harrowing stories shared by the refugees were forever imprinted in her mind. Visions of twisted, gnarled creatures with monstrous features and glowing eyes haunted her thoughts, anthropomorphizing the nightmares that had driven these innocents from their homes.
That day, the atmosphere in the camp was charged with a new, tense energy as she learned of recent developments: the darkspawn had not only overcome the king’s mighty army but had also claimed the life of King Cailan Theirin himself, who had fallen tragically to a darkspawn ogre—an enormous and terrifying beast known for its brutal strength and relentless fury. Campfires crackled as conversations turned serious, cluttered with murmurs of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, who had reportedly survived the conflict. Now, he had taken on the mantle of Regent of Ferelden, a position filled not only with the weight of leadership but also with the shadows of uncertainty cast by the death of the beloved king, his daughter remaining Queen. In the faces of the refugees, Leliana saw a mix of hope and despair, reflecting the tenuous state of their realm, caught in the grip of both loss and the faint stirrings of resilience.
She spent her morning deeply engaged in the vital work of healing, her hands skilled and gentle as she assisted the dedicated healers who were tirelessly tending to the painful wounds of the weary refugees. Each individual they cared for bore the marks of suffering—scrapes, bruises, and bandaged injuries that told stories of despair and loss. As she moved through the makeshift camp, the air hung heavy with apprehension and the faint scent of antiseptic mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding landscape. She distributed the scant rations of food—meagre portions of bread, dried fruit, and thin soup—offering not just nourishment, but a glimmer of hope to those who had lost loved ones, who now grappled with the void left by their absence.
As midday approached, with the sun climbing high and casting its warm, golden rays over the scene, she realized it was time to take a well-deserved break. The little gold coins she had left jingled softly in her pocket as she made her way to a nearby refugee merchant’s stall. She exchanged a few of those precious coins for a small selection of Savory meats—salted and smoked to preserve them—and a hearty loaf of bread, the crust crisp and golden, promising satisfaction. Being a Chantry sister required her to surrender all worldly possessions, but she found comfort in the knowledge that her daily allowance for food and essentials, provided by the Chantry, was considerably more than what most of the surrounding community had to rely on.
Seeking a moment of peace amidst the chaos, she wandered to a quiet corner of the Chantry yard. The sun-dappled grass beneath her was soft, each blade a vibrant green that contrasted beautifully with the colourful flowers blooming nearby. She settled onto the ground, the warmth of the sun kissing her skin as she unwrapped her meal, the enticing aroma making her stomach grumble expectantly. Just as she took her first bite, a small bird suddenly fluttered down to her feet, its feathers a delicate blend of browns and whites, glistening in the sunlight. It chirped softly, its tiny eyes sparkling with curiosity, as if conveying a heartfelt request for some food. With a tender smile gracing her lips, she tore a small piece of bread and sprinkled it gently on the grass before the bird. The tiny creature approached cautiously at first, then eagerly pecked at the crumbs, its movements lively and joyful. After finishing the morsel, it flitted upwards, soaring into the clear blue sky, leaving behind a sense of warmth in her heart. She watched it disappear into the horizon, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and connection to the world around her, as the sounds of the camp continued their mournful yet hopeful chorus.
Leliana savoured the last bites of her lunch, before sipping cool water to wash it down. The refugee camp loomed in her thoughts, a call to action for those in need. Just as she prepared to stand, a familiar and unwelcome sensation washed over her—a dizzying apprehension that caused the world around her to blur and spin like a tempest. “Not again… please, not now,” she thought desperately, pressing her hands to her temples, as if she could stave off the approaching storm by sheer will alone. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, seeking solace in the darkness behind her eyelids.
“Why do you shy away from me, my child?” The voice resonated through her mind, a deep and melodic timbre that seemed to echo from the very depths of her being. It enveloped her, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. “You seek my counsel, yet when I come to you, you turn away in fear.”
“This isn’t real. It can’t be,” she mumbled to herself, grappling with the throbbing ache that now pulsed in her head. Her breath quickened as she fought to calm the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “Open your eyes, Leliana. Look at me,” the voice urged, its tone shifting from authoritative to gentle, imbued with an unwavering patience. Sensing a subtle pressure on her forehead, she felt cool, spectral hands brushing across her skin, as if removing the heaviness and pain with their ethereal touch.
With a deep breath that filled her chest with resolve, she slowly reopened her eyes. Before her, in the midst of the swirling chaos, stood a magnificent figure, glowing softly with an otherworldly radiance. Its form was cloaked in shimmering light, the features graceful and serene, exuding an aura of wisdom and understanding. The figure’s smile was warm, inviting her into its presence, and for a moment, the noise of the camp faded away, leaving only this transcendent encounter.
Glancing around in trepidation, Leliana realized she was utterly alone in this vision; the bustling humanity of the camp remained unaware of the sacred conversation unfolding just for her. This moment was hers, an intimate exchange that belonged solely to her spirit. “What do you want from me?” she finally asked, her voice steady despite the myriad emotions swirling within her—a cocktail of fear, curiosity, and an undercurrent of hope.
“A blight has fallen upon these lands, as you are all too aware,” the luminous figure replied, its voice laced with urgency and purpose. “Your skills, your heart, and your resilience will be invaluable in driving the darkness back to whence it came.”
“How?” Leliana asked.
“You will once again raise your blades and bow as a light against the darkness. You will know when the time is right” The voice and figure faded as her vision of the chantry yard came back into focus.
She vividly recalled her first vision within the tranquil confines of this very garden, where the sweet fragrance of blossoms mingled with the earthy scent of damp soil. It began with a suffocating darkness that enveloped her, a swirling void filled with an unsettling, ungodly noise, like a chorus of tormented souls crying out in anguish. Suddenly, from this abyss, a striking image emerged: a rosebush, its vibrant blooms bursting into life, casting a warm, golden light that illuminated the surrounding shadows, offering her a glimmer of hope amidst despair.
Determined to understand the significance of her experience, she mustered her courage to confide in the revered mother. Sitting across from her in the dimly lit chapel, Leliana described the vision in detail—the colors, the sensations, the peace that filled her heart in that moment. However, her words were met with swift rejection. The revered mother’s gaze hardened, her voice sharp and unwavering, as she reminded Leliana that the Maker did not communicate with His children. He had forsaken them because of their sins, leaving them to wander in darkness and doubt. To assert that the Maker had chosen her for visions was tantamount to heresy. The only mortal ever to receive such divine insights was Andraste, the Maker’s eternal bride, whose greatness was undisputed among the faithful. By suggesting that she had been similarly graced, Leliana would be inflating her own importance to a level akin to that of Andraste—a prophet, a descendant, blessed with the gift of visions. This was a notion considered irreverent and shameful.
The revered mother’s warning was clear and resounding: never speak of such things again. As the weight of her dismissive words hung heavily over Leliana, she was left grappling with a tumult of emotions—confusion, frustration, and an aching desire for connection with the divine that she had felt in her visions. The garden, once a sanctuary, now felt like a reminder of a path forbidden, and she wondered if she would ever be able to share her truth without fear of retribution.
Sighing she gathered her thoughts and got to her feet and gathered her things, heading back to the refugee camp to distract her mind from what just happened.