“Twas less the ashes than it was the lyrium. Oghren rarely said anything of great import but he was right about the lyrium, so much of it and so far from Orzammar. What a miserable ruin it was; I wonder how many of the faithful knew the truth, all the blood, the mistrust and the singing, the cult. I doubt they would care even if they heard the story from those who were there, they’ll always claim the Maker works in mysterious way. The gauntlet, thought, that sort of old ancient thing, that is something they should all be wary of.” Not that she had given the answers others had but she cannot help but wonder what so many would have said if they’d stood there and watched someone play riddles with shades of those who had lived though given that they still whittle off Shartan’s ears and so recently made light of it all in that play to mock Celene then they’d make very little of any of it. She hasn’t thought of that in years really but can one honestly erase that much blood and what the Chantry would call profane with a sprinkling of so-called sacred ashes?
Then again, Leliana had a persuasive voice then and Sister Nightingale is a name always uttered in a whisper but those who know better than to tempt fate.
Ten years of another life and yet still here she sat, in a country where her mother’s name still frightened unruly children and where the Chasind would look away if they saw her. Whispers followed in Orlais but a different sort to those here and she’d built another life in that time, a life with masks and gowns, resources beyond her wildest dreams and all the finery she could ever have wanted as a girl. But always guarded. Never a moment save for being with her son when she could relax and drink like this, with someone that once might have come close to being a friend. All they need is a great slobbering idiot, a hound and Jonas to make it feel like old times again in truth.
“Tis almost a comfort to know the Blight is not truly upon us but we know better than most save Wardens themselves how they are upon waking from such dreams.” She took her turns on watch, she saw the ashen faces and sunken eyes just as Zevran did. And she saw Jonas and Alistair the night she offered them a way out. “And you know, as well as I, that Wardens are a boon in any battle. To cloud their minds…” Cunning. Dangerous for them all too. The world forgets so quickly when evil is no longer breathing down their necks and in Orlais they’re more than happy to say it wasn’t a true Blight though never in her hearing. Of course Jonas would be gone too and the less said about rulers the better, arguments with Celene still fresh in her mind and likely to have her revealing too much. At least with Anora there wasn’t an active usurper instigating war with the chevaliers at his disposal, the fits Loghain must be having...
A brief hesitation, her hand smoothing back her son’s hair but a smile too, one too many wouldn’t think her capable of, even now. “Kieran. His name is Kieran. He is just a boy.” She never thought they would have this discussion. Kieran and her did but it was just them, only them, not someone who knew them both enough to pick out what came from her and what came from him.
no subject
Then again, Leliana had a persuasive voice then and Sister Nightingale is a name always uttered in a whisper but those who know better than to tempt fate.
Ten years of another life and yet still here she sat, in a country where her mother’s name still frightened unruly children and where the Chasind would look away if they saw her. Whispers followed in Orlais but a different sort to those here and she’d built another life in that time, a life with masks and gowns, resources beyond her wildest dreams and all the finery she could ever have wanted as a girl. But always guarded. Never a moment save for being with her son when she could relax and drink like this, with someone that once might have come close to being a friend. All they need is a great slobbering idiot, a hound and Jonas to make it feel like old times again in truth.
“Tis almost a comfort to know the Blight is not truly upon us but we know better than most save Wardens themselves how they are upon waking from such dreams.” She took her turns on watch, she saw the ashen faces and sunken eyes just as Zevran did. And she saw Jonas and Alistair the night she offered them a way out. “And you know, as well as I, that Wardens are a boon in any battle. To cloud their minds…” Cunning. Dangerous for them all too. The world forgets so quickly when evil is no longer breathing down their necks and in Orlais they’re more than happy to say it wasn’t a true Blight though never in her hearing. Of course Jonas would be gone too and the less said about rulers the better, arguments with Celene still fresh in her mind and likely to have her revealing too much. At least with Anora there wasn’t an active usurper instigating war with the chevaliers at his disposal, the fits Loghain must be having...
A brief hesitation, her hand smoothing back her son’s hair but a smile too, one too many wouldn’t think her capable of, even now. “Kieran. His name is Kieran. He is just a boy.” She never thought they would have this discussion. Kieran and her did but it was just them, only them, not someone who knew them both enough to pick out what came from her and what came from him.