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The Fereldan nights are cold enough to sprout icicles along the low stone roof of what has become their bedroom, hers and Josephine’s; the washbasin freezes, and the floor is good as ice. Josephine had expressed mildly horrified surprise that the cold found its way indoors— she has never been so far south. That, too, is Leliana’s doing. Perhaps she could bring herself to regret it if she hadn’t missed Josie so badly.
To Leliana, it’s a strange homecoming. She hasn’t returned to Ferelden since she saved it from Blight a decade past, and the last time she set foot in this old chapel, it was filled with dragon-worshippers, when her friend in the wardens killed them one by one and the stones of the sanctuary bled.
The room they sleep in now was once an archive. It still smells like old paper and damp dust, and the ghosts of Leliana’s memory tug at her tired mind when it wanders. But it’s homey enough, with Josephine– buried up to her nose in blankets and soft flannel– watching Leliana lay down her armor piece by piece.
“Leli,” she sighs, when they are both up to their noses in the blankets. “I feel as if we have not seen each other in an age.”
“It was only yesterday morning, Josie.”
“The day before,” says Josephine, gently. “Have you forgotten? Yesterday Charter came with news from the Witchwood.”
“Ah,” is all Leliana can think to say. She had not been thinking of her spies or enemies; she had not even been thinking, immediately, of Justinia. Not with Josephine tucked against her and the light burning low… “It must have slipped my mind. I apologize.”
“None of that. I only wished to thank you.” Josephine’s face sparkles when she smiles. “You promised I would be interested. So far it has all been… most interesting.”
“Ha! I suppose. That will teach me to make promises.” Now she is thinking of Justinia. That wretched temple… for some absurd reason she remembers the urn of ashes that cured the foul old arl. Then she had believed Andraste’s own body saved him; now, nothing is certain. But she wishes someone had saved a little more of the stuff before it was destroyed forever.
A warm hand catches her cheek. Josephine, kind and concerned, and completely exhausted. “You have always kept your promises to me.”
No spies are listening— yet. Things will change if the rift-walker survives. Leliana allows her aching head to drop into Josephine’s hands. “…You think too well of me.”
“Nonsense.” Josephine squirms further beneath the sheets; her round knees knock into Leliana’s thigh. She presses her forehead against Leliana’s cheek and the world shrinks to her breathing against Leliana’s chest, through an inch of soft wool. “Isn’t that my duty, as your dear friend? Here, I will ask for another. Please don’t stew in your tent all day. Come and see me. You don’t need to say anything, just come and… and wave.”
“Oh, dear heart…” It is so cold here, and so quiet; and Josephine sees no one but four stone walls and an endless queue. Leliana kisses her nose. “I’m sorry. I won’t forget.”
“And maybe you can bring some of that excellent peach brandy… for warmth, of course.”
“Josie!” She laughs, and blows out the candle. Two blanket-warmed hands fold around hers in the thick winter night. “How practical.”