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Chapter Text

“Something bothering you, my love?” Leliana pulled her dressing gown around herself. Renya looked up from her letter and made room for Leliana to sit next to her on their new sofa in front of the fire.

“No,” Renya said. She went back to her letter. “I invited Nyviel for evune’nira. She is unable to come, but wrote to tell me she has been made the first of her clan. Apparently the former first became injured and has not yet recovered, so the clan has decided to name Nyviel as first.” Without thinking, she moved so she and Leliana were cuddled together more comfortably, making Leliana smile.

“Oh,” Leliana said. “I am sorry to hear about their first, but I am happy for Nyviel. Will you write back to her? I would like to send a note with yours.”

Renya smiled. “I will.” She gave her back a little stretch and put her arm around Leliana, who rested her head against Renya’s shoulder. They stared at the fire, content with their own thoughts. “I have asked Velanna to join us,” Renya said after a time. “She was surprised, but pleased to know Dalish customs may be observed still.”

“I’m glad,” Leliana said, kissing Renya’s cheek. “If I can do anything to assist with the preparations, please let me know.” She looked up when Renya sighed, but Renya did nothing other than kiss her gently.

“I love you, Lelia.”

***

The next evune’nira was a clear – and very cold – night. To the gardener’s horror, Renya asked if a fire might be lit, but after reassurances the arl was not about to set the plants ablaze, the gardener relented and constructed something akin to a stone bowl in which the elves could use for their celebratory bonfire. Although a few of the city elves – both Warden and merchant – had expressed an interest in partaking of the Dalish celebration, most decided to retire early, once the night fell in earnest and the temperature dropped, leaving Renya, Leliana, and Velanna as the remaining three participants.

“But we will not spend the night out here?” Leliana whispered to Renya tentatively. “I… I will stay with you if you do, but…”

“Nae, no,” Renya replied. “Even Dalish take shelter during the coldest months. We will eat out here, and tell a few stories of the stars, and then go back inside. Perhaps the archive?” she suggested to Velanna. “It seems as good of a place as any to share histories.”

“Indeed,” Velanna said. She broke pieces off the bread warming by the fire and handed them around to the other two, who began to eat while the rest of the food cooked on spits or held above the fire. They ate in silence for a long time, until it became awkward.

“During the Blight, Renya told us a little about evune’nire with the Sabrae clan,” Leliana said. “I don’t wish to assume that all Dalish clans are the same. How did you celebrate it with yours?”

“I believe it is much the same,” Velanna replied. “Telling stories. Spending the night studying the stars. My keeper, Ilshae…” She shook her head, then barreled on. “Ilshae was interested in the study of stars. She believed they held knowledge, the way the patterns of the Beyond hold knowledge for those willing and clever enough to decode them. My sister,” she added jerkily, “was the talkative one. I was expected to share clan history, but otherwise I was not generally one for studying the stars and listening to… fairy tales, the humans call them?” She ripped off another piece of bread with too much force before glaring at Renya. “But that is all over now, isn’t it? You never told me what happened to her.”

“She… she was lost to the Architect, falon.”

“She was not,” Velanna snapped. “She freed us. She would not just follow the Architect. You are lying to me!” When Renya did nothing more than quietly watch her, she softened, adding, “You do not know Shianni like I do. She did not give in to anything if she knew it was wrong. She… so many times, she was the one to convince me to stay my hand against the shemlen. It was the hahren’s decision – the right decision, I see now – and she endured my anger for it. She would not easily be swayed like this!”

Renya settled herself on one of the three stools brought out for them. “Ma lethallin, Tamlen, was cursed with me at the mirror,” she said softly. “He fought the darkness in his blood for a long time, but he, too, in the end couldn’t overcome it. He almost killed me, driven by the taint of the Blight.”

“This makes no sense.” Velanna was ripping her piece of bread into smaller and smaller pieces. “Grey Wardens drink darkspawn blood, and it either kills us or it does not.”

“And darkspawn did not used to talk, either. There may be more to the blight sickness than even Grey Wardens know.”

“So she is lost to the Architect,” Velanna replied. She glared into the fire. “This Architect changed her. She knew he was evil… She let us out of our cage so we could escape the mines.”

“But she did not try to escape herself,” Renya said. She swallowed the lump that rose at the memory of Tamlen. “I believe she felt it corrupting her, knew there was no hope, and so tried one final time to save the person she cared most about.”

Leliana, sitting next to Renya, kept her head down, although was watching the elf out of the side of her eye. She hadn’t thought she’d still feel guilt over killing Tamlen – he had, indeed, been trying to choke Renya when she fired her arrow – and she tried to force Renya’s words to soothe her.

Velanna saved her by speaking. “I just think if I had been there, I could have convinced her,” she said. “Do not shake your head like that.”

“She told us the Architect would make us see the truth, the way he had made her see the truth,” Renya replied gently. “He had done this, I believe. She believed what he said was truth.”

“Hm.” Velanna fell silent and watched the flames flicker. “Seranni only came with me because she hoped to change my mind.”

“…I am sorry, Velanna.”

“Perhaps we should go inside,” Velanna clipped. “It is very cold, and we have finished the meal.”

So the fire was doused and they returned their bowls and dishes to the hall, where they were scooped up by a servant and brought back to the kitchens. Even the gaping room was cozy compared to the frozen gardens. As they walked to the archives, Leliana watched the two elves stare ahead of them without seeing, each brooding over memories of lost families and clans. At the entrance to the book-lined room, she cleared her throat. Renya glanced at her, looking glad for the interruption to her thoughts.

“Will you tell a story?” Leliana asked.

Renya smiled. “Of what?”

“S-something… something that will make you happy.”

“Ah.” Renya sat in one of the plush chairs, thinking, and accepted a blanket from another servant. She brightened, and with a wicked wink said, “Let me tell you the story of the first time I visited the human town, Lothering…”

Chapter Text

Mhairi found Velanna alone and asleep in the archives. With a doting smile, she decided to leave the elf be, and instead perused the shelves before selecting a book. The clock in the hall chimed the half-hour, and Velanna woke with a stretch, which immediately turned into a scowl.

“Good morning,” Mhairi said.

“Good morning.” She stretched again and unfolded herself from the chair. A blanket fell onto the ground and she picked it up, glancing at the chair across from her with a puzzled frown.

“Expecting someone else?” Mhairi asked.

“No. I suppose they would have gone to bed,” Velanna replied. “They were still talking when I fell asleep.”

“I wish I had joined you.” When Mhairi sat in the chair Velanna was glaring at, the elf looked away. Mhairi continued, “I would have enjoyed hearing the stories, but I couldn’t bear the cold.” She stifled a cough. Whatever had plagued her after the war with the darkspawn had never fully cleared.

“We spoke about my sister, and Renya’s lethallin. And the arlessa told many stories.” She exhaled a short laugh. “She is one of the most talkative humans I have ever met.” After a few silent moments of staring at a place around Mhairi’s elbow, she added, “Humans are lucky. Even the smallest human fledgling knows so many stories of human heroes and great deeds. The elves do not have this. Every loss is that much greater, and even more so when the loss is so close to one personally.”

“…I’m… I’m sorry.”

“So what we have, we hold dear, and are ready to pass to each other and to the elves in the city who wish to rejoin their culture.” She had continued as if Mhairi hadn’t said anything. “But it never feels like enough. More feels lost than found. My sis… so many stories get lost for stupid, stupid reasons.” She pulled at a thread on the chair cushion, not noticing – or caring – that Mhairi was watching her with concern.

“Well… stories are everyone’s, aren’t they?” Mhairi tried. “You must have heard and told quite a number last night.”

“Yes, but as a human fledgling did you enjoy the tale of the Paragon Aeducan as much as you enjoyed the tale of Dane and the Warewolf? See?” she added when Mhairi shook her head resignedly. “Stories connect us to our past, and without our stories, we have no past. And without our past… Without our past, what do we have?” Her voice rose “Stories shape a people in profound ways. Without them, we are lost!”

Another little silence followed this. Velanna’s fists were shaking on the armrests of her chair, and Mhairi’s eyes were downcast after the elf’s outburst.

“But you do have stories, Velanna,” Mhairi finally whispered. “And… pasts are important, but what about your future?” She tensed, already anticipating a spike of anger to be hurled at her.

But Velanna surprised her. “You are right,” she said, drooping. “Nathaniel… Nathaniel gave me an empty journal. He said it was for my stories, and I did not know what he meant. But what you said… I think I know what I will put on the pages. I will put new stories. New stories for my people, stories drawn from what I know and what I have seen. Perhaps one day, those stories will be what connects my children and their children to their past. To me.” She rose, and Mhairi followed her. “Perhaps it may be as you say. The Dalish have spent a long time looking backward, and perhaps it is time we also cast an eye forward, not just for Halamshiral, but for us.”

“Nathaniel means to go to Kirkwall,” Velanna continued as they began walking through the halls to the dining hall.

“Because of what Avernus found?”

“I believe so. Yes.” Velanna stopped abruptly. “I mean to go with him.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Not only may we find this Architect,” – the name was punctuated by a little growl – “but… We spoke of heroes and great tales last night, and what greater tale than to do this to protect the Wardens – my new family and new clan? And Renya… she mentioned troubling things,” she added quietly as they began walking again. “I think my knowledge of the ancient magics and histories of my people – such as they are – may be of great assistance.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Mhairi said. She chuckled. “I joined the Wardens because they’re heroes, and I wanted to be a hero. So, if you’re going to write great stories about us, I want to be there!”

Chapter Text

“I see. Then there is nothing else I could ask for.” Morrigan almost found it hard to hold the elf’s gaze, managing it only by telling herself she wished to remember the exact eye color of her friend – her sister – for as long as they were apart. A lump formed in her throat. This was harder than she imagined it would be, because despite what she repeatedly told herself, she always imagined Renya would find her before she stepped into the eluvian.

It was an impossibility, or it should have been, that Renya should bother herself with finding one woman when she certainly had more pressing matters to which she should be attending, but despite this, Morrigan never stopped believing she would see Renya one more time. Here. At the end. At the beginning. A small smile formed at the corners of her mouth. “Goodbye, Renya.”

Renya grinned, its warmth easy and familiar, and she gripped Morrigan’s shoulder. The warmth of her hand was not as easily familiar, but it was comforting all the same. “Goodbye, Morrigan.”

She stepped into the mirror, aware of Renya retreating from the platform but still watching her. The mirror rippled at the touch of her fingers and with another breath she pushed through it fully. The crossroads formed in front of her, hazy and almost-familiar and speckled with more eluvian.

“Mama?”

Kieran toddled over. The boy was barely four years old, but his green eyes held knowledge and power Morrigan had never seen in such a small child before. For the first time, she wondered if she’d made the right decision. Of course, the night with Loghain had been a means to an end; she supposed it was nice he had asked after her, although why he would care, she wasn’t sure.

She crouched to give Kieran a hug and was immediately torn between resignation and bristling at the smirk she’d received from Renya at the mirror when she’d told Renya about her son.

“Motherhood has changed you, lethallan.”

“Be quiet, or I shall turn you into a toad.”

Renya had laughed, and Morrigan had smiled, too. But now she didn’t smile. She had entered the mirror to keep Kieran safe, safe from mages and safe from templar and the Chantry and anyone else who would see Kieran and fear him if they suspected him of having even a fraction of the power Morrigan knew he possessed. And for the first time, she didn’t care about preserving the life of an Old God. She held her son closer.

Always running. Always running and running. Away from humans. Away from the Wilds. Away from her mother who wished to possess her. Away from even her closest, truest, and perhaps only friend. She sighed and stroked Kieran’s hair. Perhaps now, here, finally, they could stop running. She could stop running. They would be alone for long periods of time, but it would be worth it.

She pulled away from Kieran enough to look at him properly. The little boy stared back, wide-eyed.

“Mama? Are you sad?”

Morrigan swallowed. Such a sweet boy. “I’m alright. We’re both alright, yes? We’re here together. We have each other. And that’s all we need.” Ugh, she was sounding like Leliana, now. But she wanted – needed – to believe it so desperately, and she would give up her magic before she said anything to upset her son, or make him think he had to care for her well-being, the way Flemeth had always made her feel.

“The elf is your friend,” Kieran said. “Why can’t she come with us?”

Morrigan was about to answer when she heard all of what he’d said. “How did you know she’s an elf?”

“Her blood is very old,” Kieran replied. He smiled. “The hum happened when she came close to the mirror. What is it?”

For Morrigan had realized her mouth was open, and had shut it abruptly. “She… has her own journey to go on,” she said, rising.

“She has to fix it,” Kieran said, nodding. “The blackness in her blood.”

Morrigan thought to ask him what he meant, but instead a little shiver shook her shoulders. She put her arm around Kieran and gently guided him away from the eluvian. “It will be just us for a time. That’s alright, isn’t it?”

Kieran smiled. It seemed his mind had already moved on. “Yes, Mama,” he said. “Until it’s time.”

They continued walking, and Morrigan had to stop herself from glancing over her shoulder. From the other side of the mirror, she felt two green eyes watching her.

Chapter Text

Merrill sat cross-legged in front of the hearth, warming her hands before the fire. A light plink kept time behind her as residual rain drops plopped into a pan she’d found kicked under a table. The alienage was such a sad place, and it didn’t start or end with the state of the little huts the elves lived in.

She rubbed her hands a little harder, as if the aggression would pull her thoughts somewhere more pleasant, but despite the rising heat in her palms her memories fell onto her aravel with the Sabrae – the one she’d shared with Renya. They’d all helped each other, the clan. And Renya was very handy when it came to wood; she could have apprenticed with Master Ilen if she hadn’t been so set on being a hunter. Either way, she would patch up their aravel often before Merrill even noticed anything was wrong.

And now she was here: in an alienage, sitting before a fire spluttering as it tried to heat the room with damp wood, and her roof leaking behind her. She glared at the mirror in the other room, just barely visible through the doorway. It was mostly reassembled, but something was wrong. She couldn’t even see her own reflection in it. How was she supposed to bring back Renya – Mahariel, she corrected to herself – and Tamlen, and regain the knowledge of her people if she couldn’t even get the damn thing to reflect the way it should? She’d chosen to abandon her clan for this mirror. The spirit, Audacity, had promised to help, and now… and now this. It was as if the spirit had forgotten everything they had talked about. Audacity… a spirit for taking bold risks, and that was exactly what Merrill needed to do. But now she felt as abandoned as… well, as abandoned as she’d been feeling ever since Renya left.

Mahariel.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts and to her feet. She was greeted by Isabela, smirking as usual, but her expression hitched when she saw Merrill.

“Maker, Kitten, are you alright?”

“Just thinking. Come in.” She turned and took in the dripping roof and the blankets thrown about the floor in front of the fire. “By the Dread Wolf,” she muttered, “why is my house always such a mess when people come over? It is clean sometimes, I swear,” she added to Isabela.

“Don’t worry about it, Kitten. I’m used to tighter quarters than this. A few blankets on the floor don’t bother me.” She glanced at the pan and followed the path of the drips up to the small hole in the roof. She frowned, but didn’t comment.

“So, why are you here?” Merrill asked. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what it sounded like. But before she could stammer out an apology, Isabela laughed. She had a wonderful laugh, Merrill thought, relaxing. It was full and loud and made you feel like nothing could possibly be wrong, because who could laugh like that if anything was?

“It’s wintersend,” Isabela replied jovially, as if that were enough of an answer. She shrugged and looked away when Merrill simply stared at her with interest. “I’m not much one for the celebrations.”

“Why not?” Merrill asked. “I would think the Hanged Man would be a much more exciting place to be than here with me and the leaky roof. Or you could be with the Hawkes. They are certainly much more exciting than I am. And I think Marion fancies you.”

Isabela chuckled. “You think so?”

“Of course I do. Anyone would.” It was true. Isabela was one of the newest members to Marion Hawke’s ragtag group running around Kirkwall, and she was certainly one of the most fascinating. She had a strut that none of the others could boast, and spoke of sailing through storms and fighting off bad pirates – Merrill still didn’t quite know what a pirate was, but there seemed to be good ones like Isabela and also cruel ones like the ones Isabela talked about – the way one might talk about walking through the market. She had a wonderful blue coat that went to her knees and brushed against the tops of her sea boots, but for some reason she mourned the loss of a hat she’d had on her ship. And she knew things, things Merrill never learned as a Dalish about humans, and things no one explained to her now. No one except Isabela the Pirate Queen.

Now, Isabela the Pirate Queen was looking at her with mild surprise and as if she wanted to say something. But then she grinned and the moment passed. “May I sit?” she asked, indicating the blankets. She sat when Merrill nodded. “So what were you thinking about when I came in?” she asked. “It didn’t look like very much fun.”

“It was not much fun, no.”

Isabela waited, but Merrill went back to staring at the fire and didn’t elaborate.

“Well,” Isabela tried again, “why are you here, and not with Varric or the Hawkes or… Maker, even with the other elves?”

“I do not fancy Varric’s drinking games, Marion’s uncle does not seem to care for elves very much, and the elves here gawk at me and do not make eye contact,” Merrill rattled off. She curled her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them.

“Oh.” Another silence fell, and then Isabela nudged Merrill. “Well I’m glad you were here,” she said with a wink that brought a smile and heat to Merrill’s face. “If I’m not going to be alone, it’s nice to be with you.”

Merrill looped their arms together and leaned on her with a daring familiarity that made her heart skip a beat. “I am glad you are here, too,” she replied, “and as long as I am here, you do not need to spend any holiday alone, alright?” She looked away when Isabela smiled. Isabela often smiled, but this one seemed different somehow. It was smaller than Merrill was used to seeing and felt like it was meant to be a secret, like Merrill had walked in on her during a private moment and instead of seeing Isabela’s face and hair and earrings and dark skin, she saw a piece of her heart.

Isabela gave Merrill’s arm a squeeze. “Alright, Kitten.”

Chapter Text

The little house was drafty, but they had done their best. Marion Hawke dusted off her hands and surveyed the makeshift dinner table comprised of two different-height desks found on either end of Gamlen’s shanty. Bethany, across from her, lit the candles with one little swirl of her fingers. She caught Marion watching her and smiled with a little shrug.

“It wasn’t what I hoped for when we came to Kirkwall.” Leandra walked in the back door, through which was a small kitchen area with an ever-smoldering range. On a too-small plate was a cormorant Marion had poached from around the docks. Leandra had done her best to spruce it up for wintersend, but even with the additional money Marion and Bethany were bringing in through Athenril and a dwarf associate named Varriv, coin was tight and had to be saved to pay for Carver’s treatments at the healer.

“It looks lovely, Mother,” Bethany said, clapping her hands a few times. She made a space on the table and Leandra placed it with as much solemnity as a noble household would place a fattened goose.

“Thank you.” But Leandra’s smile was brittle. “It would be nice if we were all here, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know where you’d all fit,” Gamlen mumbled under his breath as they sat around the table.

“Carver,” Marion interrupted loudly, “is getting better by the day, the healers say. Soon we’ll be making new memories. Happier memories.”

“Ever the optimist,” Bethany said with a chuckle.

Leandra led them in a short Chantry prayer of thanks, and they settled in to eat.

“Optimism can be a blessing,” Leandra said, “but I’m worried you put too much faith in this expedition.”

“And fifty sovereigns!” Gamlen cut in. “We have enough money trouble without you saving up for chasing this dream of yours. What’s there to gain from the Deep Roads other than unnecessary fights with darkspawn?”

“What’s there to gain from continuing to work for a smuggler?” Marion countered. “And I don’t think you should be speaking to us about money troubles, Uncle, when your gambling is the reason you and the rest of us are in this state to begin with!”

“Let’s not fight at wintersend,” Bethany said. She glanced at Leandra. “At the very least, to not upset Mother.”

For Leandra’s hands were shaking as she cut her meat. “I’m sure I’ll have an audience with the viscount soon,” she said to no one. “He recognized the name – or rather, his clerk did – and I was at least put on the registry for meetings. Some were turned away without even that.” She sighed and put her cutlery down. “That’s all I wanted. A home for my family. A safe home.”

“And we’ll have one,” Marion insisted. “We’ll get there.”

Bethany listened to her sister continue her fantasy about how wonderful their lives would suddenly become once they moved into the old Amell estate and wished she could feel as hopeful as her older sister. All she’d ever wanted was to live in a place where she didn’t need to run anymore. A place she didn’t need to hide. And right now, Kirkwall seemed the last place an apostate could live with the expectation of either.

A knock on the door made them all freeze. Bethany tried to act like she didn’t see the three others at the table all glance at her, then try to pretend they hadn’t. Gamlen cleared his throat and rose. He glanced over his shoulder at his family before answering the door.

“Can I help – Can I help you?” His voice lowered with annoyance.

“It’s cold out,” Varric said, “and I come bearing gifts.”

With a sigh, Gamlen stepped aside and Varric entered. A wineskin was slung over his shoulder and he held a parcel under his arm that smelled like bread.

“Happy wintersend,” he said with a polite bow to Leandra. “I tried to round up the whole gang, but I can’t find Merrill and you know how Fenris is. Aveline is on duty, so… well, I’ll have to do, I’m afraid.” He deposited his parcel on the table and the wrapping fell open to reveal a few loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, and several oranges and grapefruits. He also hefted the wineskin onto Gamlen’s abandoned chair.

“That’s quite a feast, Varric,” Marion said, laughing. The dwarf gave a theatrical bow.

“You don’t think I’d come empty handed, do you?” he said. “Easy enough to get, if you know the right people. So,” he added, looking around the little table. “Is there room for one more?”

“Marion’s friends are always welcome in the Hawke home,” Leandra said. Gamlen’s response turned into a splutter when his older sister rose and pulled a crate over so everyone had a seat.

“I’m much obliged, ma’am,” Varric replied, hopping onto the crate.

Marion poured wine into all their glasses. “Now that’s settled,” she said, raising her glass with a smile, “a toast: to new friends, new memories, and a very prosperous year ahead!”

Chapter Text

Even from the dining room, Renya could hear the clock in the hall ticking. Clocks fascinated her. Her clan didn’t have any sort of precise timekeeping device like the humans did, and she’d been startled the first time she heard the clock tower in Denerim chime the hour. Even more amazing was the much smaller clock Vigil’s Keep boasted in its main hallway, to compliment the one outside that rang the hours.

Lady Josephine Montilyet, a friend of Leliana’s, was studying her from across the table. She’d been kind enough to let the Warden-Commander watch the clock for a short time when she’d arrived. The pendulum was, the Warden had said, different from the one in Vigil’s Keep, and Josephine had suddenly wished she knew more about clocks.

A few more seconds tick-tocked by before Renya realized the conversation had faded into silence. Josephine was watching her with a question on her brow. Renya smiled slightly. She’d only met Josephine once before, and the Antivan woman had been completely “starstruck,” as Leliana had said. To judge from her expression, she still was, only now it was mixed with concern at being a poor host to a Dalish elf. Leliana had meant to meet them the previous morning, but she had been delayed and Josephine had been perforce taken it upon herself to entertain the quiet elf. She was sure she had been well-prepared for it until Renya showed no more than a passing and obviously-politely-feigned interest in Montsimmard, other than its proximity to the Dales (of which Josephine knew little more than any other human when it came to its history) or asking to see the Grey Warden headquarters, to speak to one of the Wardens there.

Supper had been equally stilted, with Renya politely telling stories about her adventures as a Warden to Josephine, who had listened with rapt attention and with what felt to Renya like a thousand questions per story.

But now all that had faded into the muffled ticking of the clock. Renya cleared her throat and put down her spoon. “You have been in Montsimmard long, Lady Montilyet?” she asked, taking in the dining room – and therefore the large apartment – with a flutter of her fingers.

“I’m only visiting, I’m afraid,” Josephine said. “Leliana” – she swallowed – “Leliana mentioned you had wanted to come here, and so I arranged a place for us to stay.”

“That was very kind of you,” Renya said. She coughed, then swallowed hard. “And I thank you for bringing me to the Grey Warden… castle.”

“Chateau,” Josephine replied with a smile. “I believe Warden-Commander Clarel likes to call it a chateau. Much more Orlesian.” She studied for Renya’s reaction, relaxing when the elf laughed. It turned into another cough, but Renya quickly stifled it with a sip of her wine.

“Indeed, I will take Clarel’s word for it,” Renya replied.

“So you have been enjoying your stay, then?” Josephine asked, reaching to refill both of their wine glasses.

“Yes, very much.” From Renya’s tone, it was hard to tell if she was telling the truth or being polite, but Josephine let it go. She raised her filled glass. “Thank you.”

“I meant to ask you,” Josephine continued, “when we were speaking of the Dales… What is the Dalish word for greeting people?”

Renya paused, poised with her glass halfway to her mouth. “You wish to know the Elvhen phrase for greetings?”

“Yes,” Josephine replied brisky. “I believe it is always appreciated to greet a person of a different culture with their own customs. It’s polite and shows you took time to learn something about them, showing they are important to you… And it strikes me that I know greetings for several human cultures and the dwarven culture, but not for the Dalish. That isn’t offensive to ask, is it?” she added at Renya’s puzzled frown.

The elf finished chewing. “Not at all. You asking that question is quite remarkable, in my opinion.” She grinned when Josephine blushed. Renya saved her from having to say anything else by adding, “Andaran atish’an is the formal greeting you would use. It is welcoming the person to your place of peace.” She placed her hand on her heart for emphasis.

“Andaran atish’an,” Josephine repeated.

“Vin, yes. Much better than Leliana’s first time saying it. But do not tell her I said that,” Renya said with a wink.

Josephine chuckled. “Your secret is, of course, safe with me. And what a beautiful sentiment. Do you know why—?”

But at that moment, the bell rang. With a little startle, Josephine excused herself to answer the door. Renya’s ears pricked up when she heard Leliana’s voice.

“Oh!” Josephine said. “But…” She lowered her voice, but Renya could still hear her. “But the Warden-Commander is here. Surely you wish to freshen up before coming to the table?”

“I’m sure Renya won’t mind,” Leliana replied, smiling over Josephine’s shoulder.

“She does not mind,” Renya affirmed from the archway leading to the rest of the apartment. In two strides she crossed the foyer and took Leliana’s hands in hers, kissing them both and causing Leliana’s grin to widen and Josephine to look away. “I did not expect you would make it.” She quietly noted the cut on Leliana’s lip and the bruise on her jaw.

“I promised,” Leliana replied with meaning. Renya smiled and inclined her head. As she did so, she noticed a little tear in the thigh of Leliana’s pants.

She kissed Leliana’s hands again. “You did, Lelia. Come. Lady Montilyet has prepared Blessed Apple, which she said is a favorite dessert of yours, and it is still warm.”

***

They retired much later, after Leliana and Josephine had chatted themselves… well, not quite silent, Renya reflected, but at least until they had noticed that the clock in the hall was chiming the small hours of the morning.

Josephine had insisted Leliana have a hot bath before retiring, and had ignored that Leliana had only agreed after Renya had whispered something in Leliana’s ear that had made the Orlesian blush and giggle.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet,” Renya had said when Josephine had shown them the bath room. She took Josephine’s arm – making Josephine stammer out her surprise – and led her to the door. “I know how pipes work, do not worry.”

Whatever confused reply Josephine might have had was cut off by the door closing gently, but with finality. Renya spun on her heel and grinned at Leliana, and Leliana returned it, shivering at the bright desire in Renya’s eyes. She was always loathe to compare any elf to an animal, but Renya could look positively predatory sometimes, in all the right ways. And after the relentless interactions with the buttoned-up, closed-off members of the Chantry Leliana had to deal with, this wild look of Renya’s sent an electric jolt through her for more reasons than one.

But, true to Renya’s nature, when the elf pulled Leliana closer and brushed a piece of hair from her cheek, she was nothing but gentle and controlled. “So a bath, yes?” she murmured over Leliana’s lips.

“Yes, please,” Leliana breathed before closing the distance between them. She ignored the gentle throb from her bruise as Renya pressed into her.

“I think that can be arranged,” Renya murmured back before kissing her again. Leliana pulled away, and Renya looked at her curiously.

“Only on one condition,” Leliana said with a coy smile.

“What is it?”

“You must join me.”

Renya chuckled. “Ma vhenan’ara…” she whispered before leaning in to kiss her again.

Chapter Text

“I did not think I would ever celebrate yule with a Dalish clan again,” Renya said as Nyviel passed her a bowl of wine.

“It’s so, so good to see you,” Nyviel replied as Renya drank. She smiled as a younger elf sat near them. “Our new second,” Nyviel added. “Josman.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Renya said politely. Josman replied in kind as more members of the Feyrith came to sit at the main campfire with their first and her honored guest.

“You’ve come at a good time,” Nyviel continued. “We’ve been in this camp for several years, and for a long time everything was going well. Then… well, Halamshiral is close to here, isn’t it?”

Renya nodded. Halamshiral was, as far as she knew, where city elves lived. Nyviel smiled knowingly.

“From your expression, you haven’t heard what’s been going on in Orlais. The elves… someone is stirring them up.”

“Why?” Renya asked. “Leliana said the human empress has an elf for a lover. The elves do not have good lives despite this?”

“Leliana hasn’t mentioned anything about the elves, has she?”

Renya’s face darkened. “Nae. No. Why?”

Nyviel shrugged. “If something is coming toward us, I would like some warning. We’ve grown.” She took in the large camp with a wave of her arm. It was much larger than any other Dalish encampment Renya had ever seen or heard of. Moving quickly would be next to impossible.

“I will ask her,” Renya offered. “She is in the Free Marches right now.”

“No, no. Don’t bother her.” For a moment, Nyviel looked troubled. “She’s busy with the Chantry. I’d hate for her to be forced to… tell me she can’t help me.”

Renya waited, but Nyviel didn’t elaborate and so Renya went back to the cooked meat she had been served. She and Leliana had agreed a long time ago to keep their business separate from their personal lives as much as they were able. It was easier to avoid arguments when you could pretend your bonded wasn’t involved in an organization responsible for oppressing your people, or pretend your bonded wasn’t compelled to keep important secrets from you. They’d found a balance, and it seemed Nyviel had – for some reason – found that balance, too.

“It’s probably nothing,” Nyviel added. “I’m probably overly-worried.”

“It is your job now as first,” Renya replied with a smile.

Nyviel laughed. “So it seems. But here,” she said. “You came for yule, and I have something for you.” She presented Renya with a folded piece of oilskin.

“Ma serannas, thank you so much,” Renya said when she’d unfolded it. It was a brown oilskin cape and hood. Something small tumbled out of the material. Renya laughed when she saw it and held it up to the light from the fire to see it better.

“I figured your old carving knife must be dull by now,” Nyviel said, “so I traded for one. It took a few months to track down, but… It’s… it’s not quite this…” She pulled out the necklace Renya had given her in the Deep Roads, “but I hope you like it.”

Renya grinned and brushed her fingers against the polished dark wood handle. “Lethallan, I love it. Thank you.” Her smile faded into something a little sadder when she looked at the necklace. “I am glad you still have it.”

Nyviel grabbed Renya’s wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s one of my most cherished possessions… lethallan,” she said. She looped her arm in Renya’s as the latter hastily wiped away a tear, and they leaned against each other, two old friends.

An excited squeal from the fledglings caught everyone’s attention. Little fluffy snowflakes had begun to fall, and the fledglings were dancing around and laughing and trying to catch them on their tongues. Despite the snow, it was warm for a winter’s day, and so when Nyviel appeared to settle a little closer to the fire rather than rise to go inside, the adult elves followed suit, watching the children.
Renya chuckled as the fledglings slipped over the ground and made up snow games. She had missed this, and for a moment wondered if she had made the right decision all those years ago to stay in the human world. She could have stepped down as the arl after the darkspawn war, or at any point after that. Alistair was king and had left the Wardens behind; she could have done the same and returned to her people, either here with Nyviel or in the Hinterlands with her mother – even in her musings, the Sabrae clan was off the table as she didn’t know how to rectify her happiness with Leliana with returning to where Merrill lived.

“But what of Alistair’s happiness?” Elissa had asked her once.

“What of any of our happiness?” she had replied.

Still arm in arm with Nyviel, she looked down at the gold ring on her finger that matched the one on Leliana’s hand two countries away. A marriage ring, Leliana had called them when Renya had asked her about the jewelry she’d seen some humans wearing.

She had done real, true good as the arl and the Commander of the Grey in the intervening years. And while she doubted her relationship with Leliana would ever have the natural ease of her time with Merrill – Leliana had a temper to match her own, for starters – she also didn’t doubt that she had never once been tempted to find comfort anywhere else but with Leliana, despite her occasional musings about returning to her old life.

Yes, this was nice, being back with the Dalish… but in her heart she knew she was visiting Nyviel briefly and would be returning home. Home, and not to the Sabrae, but to Vigil’s Keep. With this heartening thought, she went back to watching the fledglings with a smile and a lighter heart.

“Renya?” Nyviel said.

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Renya’s smile brightened and she settled in more comfortably next to her friend. “I am glad too, lethallan. Happy yule.”

Chapter Text

The Chantry in Kirkwall was enormous. Sometimes Leliana thought this with awe, sometimes with historical interest, and sometimes, like when she was climbing the stairs to her room, with aggravation. She contemplated jogging the last three flights like she usually did, but after today, just climbing the six flights of stairs to her room was trial enough.

Her mind was buzzing as she latched the door and put an end table in front of it. The Chantry didn’t have locks on their doors, but Leliana didn’t trust the templar to keep the guests – particularly her – safe. It wasn’t their lack of skill, of course, it was just… well Leliana felt confident and capable of handling herself except when she knew she would be sleeping.

It hadn’t always been like this. Even after first coming to work for Grand Cleric Dorothea, now Divine Justinia V, she’d had no trouble sleeping within a Chantry’s walls. But now years of outraged words and whispered plots and angry oaths followed her in a way they didn’t use to, so she barricaded the door against them. Or perhaps against her own darkening thoughts.

Her fingers fluttered to the amulet around her neck before she caught herself. Instead, she secured the knife attached to her forearm a little more comfortably, and slipped the knife from her boot under her pillow before kneeling to pray at the bedside. Her ears pricked up at the footsteps that paused outside her door.

“Miss Sulnara?”

Leliana exhaled a soft chuckle and pulled the knife back out from under her pillow before sliding the table aside and opening the door. A messenger stood outside her door offering a package.

“Was asked to bring this to you, miss.”

She took the package with a word of thanks, dropped a few coins into his hand, and re-barricaded the door.

Sulnara. A bastardized version of the elven word for singing. It had been Renya’s idea years ago to use it as a pseudonym when on business for the Grand Cleric, and Leliana had added it to several other names she rotated through. At the time, Leliana had wondered at Renya’s adamance at using the name, but Leliana had been so glad Dorothea had been understanding when they went to visit her in Valence, and Renya hardly ever demanded anything so strongly. Of course she had agreed to use the name. In fact, it was one of her favorites.

Now it was staring at her in the careful, neat writing Renya had. Leliana smiled and touched the letters. She’d tried to teach Renya to write more stylistically, but the elf had looked so forlorn at the thought of having to relearn how to write that Leliana had relented. But back to the little parcel in her hands.

To: Elia Sulnara

Chantry Building

Kirkwall, in the Free Marches

Her eyes lingered on the name for a moment. She often mixed and matched the names on her list of pseudonyms, and even more often added new ones, but this one, Elia Sulnara, caught her eye. One name deriving from night, one from singing.

Nightingale… Even she calls you nightingale now…

Giving herself a shake, she opened the brown paper. Inside was a note, and another smaller wrapped package. She opened the note first.

My heart,

I hope the weather is fair in Kirkwall, now that winter has truly arrived. I have recently returned from a hunt, and it has been successful, though not in the way I had originally imagined. There was only one, although I suspect another was hiding out of sight behind the shimmering water so dark I couldn’t see my reflection.

Leliana paused. She’d asked Renya to be vague when she wrote letters, in case they were intercepted, and the elf had obliged. Often her notes were simple enough to understand: Renya missed her, she had an interesting court case she wanted to tell Leliana about, or, sometimes, she said she would be coming to the area Leliana was currently in. This was different, and Leliana wondered if Renya was upset about something that had occurred, or was trying to send her a warning. But Renya’s letter moved on.

I look for you among the roses, but I have yet to find one as beautiful as you. The thorns, however, are just as sharp.

Leliana chuckled. “Your Orlesian rose,” she murmured, as if reciting a memory. “Beautiful, but with thorns.” Maker, she missed her. She swallowed the sadness in her chest.

I will be coming to the Free Marches within the month; I will miss wintersend, but I hope the rest of my package will make up for it. There is much I wish to tell you when I see you, and a letter could not do it justice.

A hum escaped her. Fair enough, but that always meant Renya had something important – and sensitive – to talk about. First the Resolutionists, now the rumblings from Halamshiral… she could only hope that nothing was wrong within the Grey Wardens, as she would be helpless and hate every moment of it.

I will be reserving a room in a small inn in Hightown. It is my deepest wish we may meet during my stay in the city. Until then, I hope you enjoy this small token. I picked it special for you.

With undying affection,

M

M. Leliana had heard the Dalish Warden referred to as “Mahariel” once since coming to Kirkwall, in passing and from a Dalish elf following Marion Hawke around. She wondered at the surname usage, but even Renya had seemed to adopt its use – but then again, if anyone recognized Leliana, “R” was more traceable than someone calling themselves “M.” Her heart squeezed at how guarded and secretive Renya had become on her behalf, but on the heels of this thought came others that Leliana pushed away in favor of the little package in her other hand.

She carefully unwrapped the paper and revealed a little bottle, stoppered with a cork. When she removed it, the faint smell of Andraste’s Grace wafted past, and Leliana smiled before dabbing some of the perfume onto her wrists. The smell enveloped her like a warm embrace.

“Happy wintersend,” she whispered to the empty room.

Chapter Text

She supposed she should be down with the others. Divine Justinia liked to ensure her Chantry was a welcoming one during wintersend, and that meant that even the templar and lay sisters and brothers had a chance to relax a little. She had confided in Leliana once that she believed it would do the people good to see the people of the Chantry as humans, just like them.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if Justinia’s optimism and worldliness were having any effect. The templar and mages had erupted into a full-blown war after Anders – a Grey Warden whom Renya herself had recruited and snapped out of the jaws of the templar, and who had then thanked her for saving his life by running away – blew the Chantry in Kirkwall into dust. It had not only killed Grand Cleric Elthina, but also the hope of any sort of peaceful resolution between the mages and templar.

“If it is as bad as you say it is,” Renya said, “then you must stay. Save the world so I have someplace nice to come home to, yes?”

“I’ll do that, my love. Don’t worry.”

Renya had only been gone for a few months, but her absence was felt as always. Leliana leaned on her desk and rested her head on her hands. It was different this time. While this wouldn’t be the first wintersend Leliana had spent apart from her love, this was the first wintersend Leliana knew Renya wouldn’t simply be arriving later, after the new year or after her Grey Warden business had concluded or after a storm allowed her passage to Val Royeaux. She wouldn’t be returning unless it was with a cure for the Grey Warden taint. If she returned at all.

Leliana pressed her fingers into the amulet under her shirt, taking small comfort in feeling the throb of her heart against it. Renya had done the same before she left. They had been lying in the bedroom set aside for the Commander of the Grey in Soldier’s Peak, and before Leliana had fallen asleep, Renya had held the purple amulet over Leliana’s heart.

“Whevever I am,” Renya had breathed, “this is where my heart will always be.”

She’d said something similar before they fought the archdemon on top of Fort Drakon. Leliana hardly dared to hope for a second miracle. At one time, Leliana had taken great enjoyment in stories of star-crossed lovers; the relentless fight of two people against the odds seemed exciting and romantic when she wasn’t the one living it. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should have agreed when Renya first suggested they run away from Amaranthine. Perhaps she had been too harsh to tell her she couldn’t leave the Wardens. Anders had, hadn’t he? And so had Alistair. True, Renya might still have gone on this journey eventually, but it would have been after years of uninterrupted marital – bonded – bliss, instead of after stealing scraps of time in between their separate adventures. And if she had not been working for the Divine, Leliana might have been able to travel with her, instead of… A knock on her door pulled her from her darkening thoughts.

“Sister Nightingale?” It was one of the young lay sisters, Corinne. She’d taken a liking to Leliana, despite Leliana’s necessary aloofness.

With a sigh, Leliana pulled her cowl over her head and fixed it so her face was in shadow before answering the office door. Sure enough, Sister Corinne was there, eyes wide with concern she’d disturbed the Left Hand of the Divine.

“Your pardon, but Divine Justinia noticed your absence and… and sent me to check on you.”

“Yes, my apologies,” Leliana said smoothly. “I was working and must have lost track of time.” An easy enough lie, and if Corinne didn’t believe her, she had enough sense to not show it.

“Of course.” She waited awkwardly, but when Leliana said nothing else, she offered her a wavering smile. “Well, I will tell Her Most Holy you are on your way, Sister.”

“Thank you.” She was left alone again. It took her only a moment to ensure her expression was the inscrutable one expected of the Left Hand. Each day it was easier to maintain. Caring for, and being cared about by, other people put both her and them at risk, and so it was better for all if she stayed distant. And as Divine Justinia leaned on her skills more, there was even more reason for Leliana to keep a quiet, emotionless existence. Besides, she didn’t have much to smile about anymore, anyway.

She twisted the gold ring on her marriage finger, and almost smiled at the gesture. One more tug at her cowl to straighten it as her face fell into its usual sternness, and, pulling on gloves to cover both her ring and her fingerprints, she swept out the door to make an appearance at the Divine’s side.