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I
It was an impulsive purchase, something different to distract Leliana from the dire circumstances their group had found themselves in yet again. They had finally reached Orzammar, much to Brosca’s disdain. Necessary as it might be, she did not envy her fellow rogue’s situation, having to face a place he never wished to set foot in again. She understood all too well, and the memories awakened by the comparacion did not allow her a restful sleep in the days since.
It was due to those nightmares that she caught herself eavesdropping on a conversation she had no business listening to. Wandering around the tavern’s top floor they had rented for the group, the old instincts of a good bard had her pause by the left-ajar door, listening to Morrigan recount another horror history of her childhood to the dwarf, about a pretty mirror and the consequences of wanting things she should not.
She told the tale like it should mean nothing, like Flemeth’s actions had been correct. Brosca traded her a story of his own, of his drunken mother’s beatings and the contempt in the eyes of every casted dwarf he ever met.
Without a sound, Leliana left them to their conversation. Everyone in their little group had a past, she knew, but her animosity towards Morrigan almost made her forget. Her own life could not be called an easy one, but she had memories of a loving mother, and of Lady Cecille’s kindness.
It was not right, that Morrigan had been so mistreated by the one person who should know better. Her heart ached for Brosca as well, but he at least had a sibling who loved him unequivocally. Morrigan had been alone with the monster that was her mother.
Sleep did not find Leliana for the rest of the night, and she was glad for Brosca’s request she accompany him, Zevran, and Wynne in another walk around the Orzammar streets. They were ostensibly searching for more information and resources around the disputes over Orzammar’s throne. But mostly, Leliana though Brosca enjoyed being able to walk around the city and smirk at anyone and everyone who looked at him askance. She did not blame him.
A glint of gold caught her eye as they passed the Commons, and she stopped in front of one of the vendors. It was a beautiful mirror, and she had the coin for it.
“That’s a good one, you should get it,” Brosca’s voice at her elbow was almost expected, his eyes knowing as he glanced at her.
“I think I shall, we need beautiful things to keep our spirits up on this quest.” It wasn’t a lie, precisely, but it wasn’t the truth either and they both knew it. Brosca grinned good-naturedly, his tattoo made more prominent by the movement. Leliana did not miss how Zevran’s eyes lingered on him, even as the elf made a show of inspecting a couple of finely honed knives in the next stand over.
She was not surprised by either of the men. Brosca had been trying to make their group run smoother, claiming a band that was so at odds could never last. Leliana had to grin back, certain her footsteps last night had not been as soundless as she might have thought. And that Zevran was fond of their intrepid leader was no secret.
She bought the mirror, and the knowledge it was safe at the bottom of her backpack had a strange comfort for Leliana. I will leave it for Morrigan to find in her room, next night. She will not take it from me, I’m sure, but she should have it.
The next night, they were in the bowels of the Deep Roads.
-
The fire crackled in their little encampment, finally back under the sky. Leliana had not realized how much she missed the stars until their terrifying trip into the underground. They had seen horrors there no one should, and it affected them all.
Even Sten, who shared this turn watching over the camp, seemed somehow ill at ease. Leliana knew he would keep an adequate vigil even so, and that he did not approve of campfire conversation. Her thoughts veered towards the woman sitting by the close-but-not-too-close nearby fire, as did her gaze.
It’s now or never Leliana. Rising from the log she had been sitting on, Leliana took the item she had kept in her bag for weeks now, and moved towards Morrigan’s camp. Feral eyes took her in, a barely contained scowl threatening to take over Morrigan’s features. For once, that did not arise the irritation Leliana had become so familiar with. She had a purpose here, and she would follow it through.
“Well then, chantry sister, come to alleviate my worries with more incessant drivel?” Morrigan, on the other hand, sounded as annoyed as ever.
“Not this time, no. The Maker’s words can be a comfort, but I have learned that’s not the case for everyone,” she allowed faint amusement to color her voice. It might have happened, once or twice, that her recitation of the Maker’s words may have been a little exaggerated, just to get a rise out of the other woman.
She invited herself to a stump to the left of where Morrigan sat, offering the wrapped mirror without preamble. Morrigan’s eyebrows arched, a spark of curiosity overtaking her irritation for a moment.
“And what is this? A holy book, so you can spare your breath for once?” Leliana merely shook her head, offer still in hand. Morrigan approached carefully, reminding Leliana very much of a curious wolf in that moment, and took the bundle from her hands. Still standing, she unwrapped it, and Leliana saw a thousand emotions pass in her eyes, before the scowl was back in full force.
“Did the Warden ask you to do this? Or did you merely think to prank me in some way?” For a second, it looked like Morrigan might smash the delicate mirror in her hand, but she hesitated. Letting the breath she had been holding go, Leliana shook her head.
“No, there is no prank, no hidden insult. I saw the mirror in Orzammar, and it reminded me of you. It is beautiful, and should it help you as this,” her hand tugged at the string of the necklace she kept under her tunic, the pendant in the shape of the Sword of Mercy shining silver in the light, “has helped me, then it will have been worth its price.”
Morrigan eyed her warily, but the mirror was cradled in her hands now, almost unconsciously. And why should she not? I have not been kind to her. Getting up, Leliana turned towards the main camp, feeling eyes burning into her back for the rest of her watch.
II
“Leliana, look out!” Alistair screamed, a second before Leliana saw the hurlock charging at her. There was no time to shoot an arrow or draw her daggers, the creature practically on top of her in the time it took to blink.
A bolder the size of the Warden’s mabari took the screeching grotesque out, just before it’s hands reached the bard. Morrigan stood a couple of feet away, the volley of fireballs she had been aiming at the main force of Darkspawn resuming as soon as Leliana’s eyes locked on hers.
It was far harder than expected, but Leliana just about managed to contain the smile that threatened to break out, focusing instead on dispatching Darkspawn.
III
Sometimes, Leliana missed hearing Orlesian. Ferelden was her mother’s tongue, but her first words had been in Orlesian, and not hearing it anywhere made her feel a bit more lonely than she expected sometimes.
“What is it you are singing now? We should be on watch, that includes being able to listen to attackers.”
Her words where sharp, but Morrigan’s voice did not have near as much venom as they might once have had. Leliana noticed, with a start, she had been singing a song of Lady Cecille’s, quite without her own input.
“Ah, I’m sorry Morrigan, it was just a little song from my childhood. I will stop now.”
Silence fell over them, and Leliana continued the repairs to her boots that had her so distracted in the first place. The old things were, truthfully, past salvation, but they had at least a week of travel before they reached the nearest place that might, hopefully, have a vendor of some kind.
“... What is it about?” The question was asked in a carefully neutral tone, but it still made Leliana’s head snap up in surprise. Morrigan was studiously measuring the herbs she had gathered to make more much needed poultice, and for a moment, Leliana wondered if she was hearing things.
But no, she had heard the question, and with a grin, she began her tale. “Have you ever heard of Alindra and her soldier?”
IV
She knows where I am. The words ran around Leliana’s mind on loop, nothing Brosca or Alistair or anyone else could say breaking the circle. The mercenaries they had encountered earlier had given their employee’s name quickly once they were defeated, and since them, Leliana’s blood ran cold.
Marjolaine had come all the way here, back to Fereldan, back to Denerim, just to see Leliana dead. Her heart twisted, even after all the years that had passed. Despair and gut-wrenching shame filled her.
Brosca, bless his heart, had bared his teeth and announced, without hesitation, that they would deal with that woman , and his tone had been scathing, as soon as Leliana wished to. She had only been able to nod, and off they were. Brosca, Alistair, and, much to the human warden’s surprise, Morrigan had stepped up for this mission.
The fight to reach Marjolaine, and the confrontation with the woman she had once loved herself, were all but a blur in Leliana’s mind, cruel words spoken in a voice she had adored the only think she could clearly remember.
Now she sat in a bed, in a tavern room somewhere in the city, eyes looking into nowhere, lost to memories. Old scars ached again, old conversations like a mirthless play in her head, and only her will stopping any of it to come out in the form of screams or sobs, she wasn’t certain which would be.
A soft thud in front of her had her eyes refocus, a pair of boots sitting unceremoniously in front of her. With a confused tilt to her head, Leliana followed the boots up to the hand that had been holding them, and to the pale face of the mage in front of her.
For a moment neither spoke, until Morrigan seemed to draw herself up, leaning against her ever-present staff.
“You had need of a new pair, and since there was limited time for you to go ‘shopping’,” the distasteful curl of her mouth at the word made a small smile appear on Leliana’s face, “well, there they are.”
The small smile grew at the abrupt end of the sentence, Morrigan indicating the boots with a practiced careless nod.
Leliana took the boots closer to herself, feeling the supple material. Nice leather, well made , tough soles and, with a delighted gasp, the blue satin ribbons that were carefully wrapped around the top.
For the first time in days, there was a true smile on her lips.
“Morrigan, thank you! Where did you even find these, this leather must be antivan.”
Hesitating for a moment, Morrigan took a seat by the edge of her bed. She hand-waved the question away. For a moment again there was silence between them. Morrigan looked up, and this time Leliana could see worry in her eyes.
“Once, you bought me a gift, in a… difficult time. I am merely repaying the favor.”
“There was no need, a gift is given freely. Knowing it helped you would have been enough.”
Surprise filled Morrigan’s face, but she nodded. She was careful when she next spoke.
“What that woman said, you must not pay attention to it. You were the stronger, better bard, and she could not abide it.”
There was much Leliana could have said to that. She could not find the words. Instead, she took Morrigan’s hand in her own. Surprising both of them, Morrigan allowed the contact.
She even squeezed back, once Leliana began talking about Marjolaine, and what she had done.
V
A ring was pressed into Leliana’s hand, and lips covered her own, moments after the Archdemon fell and brave Brosca appeared on top of the beast’s carcass. Zevran had him in his arms in a moment, and Leliana was just about to join in their commemoration when Morrigan stepped in front of her.
Dazed, she could only stare at Morrigan in surprise.
The witch could not look her in the eye, “If you ever need to reach me, use that ring. I will hear you, and I will come to you, if I can.”
In a moment, Leliana understood. She could ask questions, could waste time on useless pleas. So she did not, and instead pulled Morrigan in for a bruising kiss this time.
“I will see you again, I promise.”