Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: A Beginning and an End

Josephine remembers when she first met Leliana.

They had both been quite a bit younger then, although Marjolaine’s prodigy had all the grace and elegance of a refined woman. Josephine still cringes when she recalls how dull and awkward she had been by comparison.

             It had been at one of the Dowager’s spring balls, or perhaps it was the summer one? No, Josephine clearly remembers the light violets and bright greens of the drapery and table cloths, the silver lining the Serault glass wine flutes—it was definitely a spring ball.

            Josephine had just finished her second year at the university in Val Royeaux and was feeling quite accomplished with her newfound (but honestly still developing) aristocratic skills. Although she does remember talking to a young man from her class about Tevinter politics and almost mistaking champagne for sparkling wine. She still frowns over that to this day. Honestly, who in their right mind would ever make that mistake?

            But then she remembers hearing a quiet lute and pausing midsentence to listen.

“Do you hear that, ser?” she had asked, voice touched by fascination.

Her classmate had tilted his chin up to listen. “It is rather difficult to hear, isn’t it?” he’d commented with an offhanded chuckle, “I feel as if my ears are squinting to see the sounds.”

            Josephine was too busy listening to reply, and before she knew it her feet were moving toward the source of the melody. Looking back on it now, she realizes that she hadn’t even excused herself from the conversation with the poor gentleman. Yet another cause for grimacing.

            She remembers searching--ignoring the lights of the ballroom, the glimmering of the glasses and chandeliers and jewelry, the cacophony of nobles speaking, laughing, and posturing in their extravagant attire—all for that one subtle sound. Like tracing a golden thread through a spool of red silk.

            And she found it. Found her.

The garden had been fairly empty, with only a few people scattered here and there along the hedges sharing hushed conversations or discreet embraces.

            And in the center of it all was Leliana, strumming out melodic chords and softly humming. She was a vision.

Her long red hair had captured the light of the setting sun and glowed like a cascade of hot embers down her shoulders. She had worn a mask of silverite inlaid with swirls of fire opal. And her dress had been a luxuriously deep crimson, with elegant black lace along the bodice and hem.

Josephine couldn’t help but imagine her as a single beautiful rose among the muted greens of the garden. Bathed in the fiery shades of dusk she was like a vision of Andraste herself, her soft voice a quiet hymn to the golden heavens above.

Josephine grew nervous as she approached the intimidating beauty as if her feet had minds of their own. She remembers agonizing over what to say, her youth making her uncertain and insecure. She truly had made a terrible bard.

“That sounds lovely.” She’d finally blurted, so very young and clumsy with her words.

The playing had stopped as Leliana turned to look at her. “Thank you, my lady.” A careful smile had been offered. Blue eyes studied her cautiously, obviously trying to discern her intent. They burned a path and scorched her skin in their quest for answers, and by the time they finally met her own gaze Josephine’s cheeks were dusted in a girlish pink.

“I have not heard it before,” Josephine had bravely continued, awkwardly yet earnestly attempting to express her sincerity. “But it sounds lovely.” She had already said that. Oh, how terribly clumsy her words had been at the time!

Still, Leliana had smiled again, more genuinely than the first. She began to strum once more. “It is an elvhen folk song, not very popular among the nobility I’m afraid,” she told her, “I find it quite comforting. The way the notes rise and fall, the richness of tones…there is something other-worldly about it that I cannot seem to grasp with words. It touches the soul.”

“I had never thought of it in that fashion before.” Josephine had been utterly fascinated by this mysterious woman who was so talented and beautiful, with a profound insight and a voice like chantry bells. “I heard your playing while I was in the ballroom and I simply felt compelled to follow the music to its source.”

Leliana half smirked, blue eyes gleaming through the silverite mask. “Well, it would seem that you have found me.”

Josephine remembers how utterly charmed she had been and the heat in her cheeks as she stumbled over herself to form proper words. What a hopeless youth she was!

“I am Josephine Montilyet,” she’d introduced herself, before shyly mumbling, “And I am quite happy to have found you, ah, that is to say, I am happy to have met you.”

Leliana had giggled at her coy fumbling. “Oh, but you are adorable!” she’d exclaimed through her tinkling laughter, “What brings a lovely girl like yourself to a place such as this?”

Josephine remembers feeling affronted by being implicitly called a child, but in hindsight that is exactly what she had been. She now also realizes that Leliana had avoided introducing herself at the time. Young Josephine had been so completely out of her league, but Leliana has always had a merciful heart it would seem.

“I am seventeen, attending university in Val Royeaux.” Josephine had proclaimed with a slight pout, which honestly didn’t help her case at all, “I am about to start my final year of schooling. My main focus is political and economic relations, with minor studies in language, commerce, and calligraphy.” Josephine looks back on her years of schooling fondly. She has always loved learning and prided herself in being at the top of her class.

This new information had, at least, seemed to impress Leliana. She raised a curious brow. “So young?” she had stated with a slight tilt of her head, “You must be quite the gifted scholar, then.”

Josephine is proud to remember that her younger self had the sense to realize that the flow of information in the conversation so far had been one-sided.

“And what of you?” she attempted to turn the tides, “You cannot be much older than I am, and yet you are here, alone.”

Leliana had smirked beneath her mask. “This is the Grand Game,” she had stated with an airy chuckle, a true master of deflection, “No one is ever alone.”

Outmatched, Josephine hadn’t known what to say to that, so she merely listened in silence to the steady stream of notes Leliana coaxed from the lute.

Then the sun disappeared with the day and Lady Marjolaine arrived with the evening, fashionably late to the party (“Ah Leliana, there you are, my pet. Come with me, I have something to show you.”).

Then Leliana had risen from her perch and politely nodded her farewell. “Have a pleasant evening, Lady Montilyet.”

And then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd like the sun that had fled from the night.

Leliana remembers the day she died in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

They had found the long lost ashes of Blessed Andraste herself! Leliana remembers the awe she felt, the sheer supplication that pierced her heart as they approached the main chamber.

            The light had fallen just so, the air seemed to sing hymns in tongues beyond mortal understanding, and the floor had gleamed despite centuries without visitors. The Maker himself had touched that place, and Leliana had wanted to drop to her knees and cry in the face of it all. She had felt so complete, so utterly whole and filled with light.

            And then the so called “Hero of Fereldan” had approached the altar with a vial of that wretched dragon’s blood, and Leliana could not stand idle.

            She remembers leaping between the Warden and the urn, staring that man down with a fierceness firmly rooted in the depths of her being. This was Andraste, the Bride of the Maker, the women who been a symbol of all that is good and pure in this world. Leliana would protect her resting place with all that she was, even if it meant sacrificing her life.

            “Move, Leliana!” the Warden had barked, growing angry.

Leliana did not move. “You will not defile the Ashes!”

            The Warden sneered and drew his sword, ignoring the urgings of Morrigan to “not waste the effort”. Shale said nothing and moved into position at the Warden’s side.

            “This is your last warning.” The Warden growled, “Get of out the way. Now.”

Leliana stood her ground, drawing her own daggers. She had never felt so calm, so sure of anything in her life. This was her sacred duty and she would not hesitate. “You are a monster!”

            And then everything exploded. Blades clashed in whirls of light and sound. Leliana was weightless, free, strong. She leapt, she parried, she dodged, she struck. It was a dance. One that she knew well, and in that moment Leliana had danced with every fiber of her being. But she was only one against a golem of stone and a man touched by darkspawn. She knew it would be her last dance, her Swan Song.

Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

            She did not falter.

Her body was battered, but it only spurred her on to fight harder.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, the Champions of the Just.

She took a hard blow that knocked her to the floor. She quickly rose again and hit back twice as hard. Her insides burned hot, as if she were shrouded in flame like an agent of Andraste herself.

Blessed are the Righteous, the Lights in the Shadow.

Though she was wounded, tired, and outmatched, she burned hotter than a collapsing star. She did not falter, did not hesitate, even as the Warden’s sword pierced her chest.

            She barely felt the pain as her tunic was bathed in dark crimson. Her body quickly grew heavy and weak. She desperately willed her legs to move, to protect the Urn, but she crumpled at the alter. Her vision swam and things were blurring around her as a chill seeped into her bones. The injured Warden sheathed his sword and made to approach the urn again.

She reached out with the last of her strength and grasped pathetically at the Warden’s ankle. “Do…not defile…Andras…te.” Her lungs felt like they were full of liquid and she coughed up red.

In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.

The Warden growled and kicked her hand away. Blackness crept at the edges of her vision, but she fought against it will all she had. Everything blurred, everything hurt.

A flash of yellow, a faint touch of warmth.

“Leave her, Morrigan.” Even the voices sounded distorted, “She is useless to us.”

            Cold, so very cold.

            And then darkness. Cold, cold darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Moving Forward and Looking Back

 Leliana remembers waking later, sprawled out on the temple floor in a pool of her own blood. She stood easily and felt no pain. She felt strangely warm, actually. Her insides seemed to sing the same hymns as the temple, in a language that danced just beyond the edges of her understanding. What had happened to her that she still lived?

            At the time she had believed that she had been saved by the Maker himself.

Later however, she would notice the faintly glowing scar on her chest, would recognize the nature of the singing in her veins, and question everything.

            The Urn was gone. Of course it was.

Leliana decided to return to Orlais after that. She couldn’t quite say what her reasons were at the time, other than she felt compelled to do so. Maybe she could be of greater use to the Chantry there, to serve the Maker and atone for her failure to protect the ashes.

            She arrived to much fanfare and was lauded as a veteran of the Blight. Apparently the so-called “Hero of Ferelden” had died killing the Archdemon in a battle for Denerim. She internally scoffed at that because of course he would martyr himself. He had been a man consumed by a quest for glory. Well, at least he was gone.

            The singing beneath her skin had not stopped. She wished it would.

It was with this thought in mind that she accepted the invitation to the Antivan Ambassador’s Diplomatic Ball. Perhaps a distraction was in order.

            It was funny, looking back on it now, she did not even bother to learn who the ambassador was before deciding to attend. As someone who now arms herself with information, Leliana can’t help but scoff at her own audacity at the time.

            The ball was…alright. Too many politicians for her taste, but the decorations and refreshments were extremely tasteful. It was obvious that the host had a keen eye for detail.

            Leliana had enjoyed leaning on the balcony, listening to the music and watching the dancing. She had been filled with memories from a time when she too would have danced. Memories she hadn’t even thought of since the death of Marjolaine.

Leliana marvels at how long ago her horrid debacle with her former master had felt. It feels as if that had been another lifetime entirely. Perhaps in a way it was. She sighed. It was pointless to look back on every betrayal she’d experienced in her life. There were too many, she thinks bitterly.

            “I do hope that your sigh is not one of boredom, my lady.” A warmly accented voice spoke from her side.

            She turned.

            For the first time since her awakening, the singing in her veins grew quiet.

Familiar hazel colored eyes watched her from beneath dark lashes. Rosy lips turned upwards in a gentle smile. A kind face; warm toned skin framed by soft dark locks tied up in an elaborate braided bun. Beautiful, pure, familiar.

            Leliana is quite embarrassed when she remembers that it had taken her several moments of staring to realize that the woman was not wearing a mask.

            “Ah, you must be the Antivan Ambassador.” Leliana had taken her gloved hand as if by instinct, pressing a kiss to the back of it. The woman’s cheeks grew pink as her smile morphed into something more fond.

            I have met you before, Leliana remembers thinking, staring into those soft eyes, who are you?

The ambassador had pulled away a fraction and straightened. “Yes, I am. We have met once before, I believe,” she replied with an air of polite nonchalance, “Though I was a bit younger then, and a student.”

            It had hit Leliana like a slap to the face. Josephine Montilyet.

The pretty young girl who had listened to her songs and spoke honestly and earnestly, who had opened up to her with an adorable uncertainty. So naïve and untainted. Leliana had hoped that Orlais had not corrupted her gentle heart, as it had to so many others.

            “I could never forget someone so lovely, Lady Montilyet.” Leliana replied with a careful, yet genuine smile.

            Josephine’s cheeks flushed again. “Yes, well,” she quickly recovered, “You are certainly more complimentary than I recall.”

            Leliana remembers her times as a bard. Playing the Game, holding her thoughts and feelings tightly to her chest like cards in a game of Wicked Grace. Always redirecting, deflecting, hiding her intent, always hiding.

            “Perhaps I grow weary of secrets and subterfuge,” Leliana replied with a light sigh.

            Josephine nodded, her soft gaze studying her like a riddle to unravel. “You have been through much, from what I hear,” she noted quietly, yet there was no pity in her voice, for which Leliana was immensely grateful. She had been through much, indeed.

            “I am sorry about Marjolaine, about what she did to you,” Josephine clarified solemnly.

Leliana knew that the condolences were genuine and that fact alone made her throat constrict. She was touched that someone she hardly knew had cared for her so honestly. Just like Mother Dorothea had all those years ago. It had taken her a few moments to find the ability to speak.

            “I see Orlais has not changed you, ambassador,” she finally commented with a small smile. “You have managed to retain your kind heart in spite of the cruelties of the Grand Game.”

            Josephine laughed and the sound struck Leliana through like a silverite arrow.

“Yes, well, I find that kindness is its own reward.” She replied with a hint of mirth, “It is most certainly unexpected here in the Crown Jewel of Orlais.”

            Leliana smirked. “Real civility is a rarity, I would have to agree.”

They both shared a conspiratorial smile and the conversation became much more easy. They gossiped about all the latest scandals befalling the court. Lord Merriweather had apparently declared a blood feud with Lord Devereaux over a bottle of Antivan Brandy, which was terribly inconvenient for their children who were supposed to be married in a week. There would be many duels at the wedding, no doubt.

            Leliana was surprised to be enjoying every minute of it. She had laughed for the first time in a long while, and she was finding that Josephine had a playful streak to match her diplomacy. By the time the midnight hour struck, and the party was winding down, Leliana found herself reluctant to part company.

            Feeling a little emboldened by the sweet wine, and the glimmer in Josephine’s eyes, she allowed herself to draw closer to the ambassador. Their cheeks brushed and Leliana reveled in the softness of it.

“What would you say to a party that’s a little less…proper?” she murmured against the shell of her ear, close enough to feel Josephine shiver.

Leliana caught the scent of parchment and chai spice as she pulled away.

            Josephine, red cheeked, had a girlish smile as she told her of a young noble’s party a few streets away. Leliana knew of him and grinned at the suggestion. This particular noble was notorious for throwing the loudest, most rambunctious affairs in the entire upper district. It sounded perfect.

            They stole away from the ball in search of the nobleman’s chateau. They didn’t not have to look far, as the music and laughter could be heard from the street.

            People of all stations and vestments had gathered there to let loose and party without abandon, and the ambassador and the ex-bard had blended in seamlessly. The music was intense, a fast paced style not typically seen at formal events. The drinks were even more intense.

            And so the night devolved into a joyous flurry of lights and sounds and laughter and Josephine. Maker, she loved spending time with Josephine.

            It was effortless and light, they moved through the space together with the grace of wind and water. They laughed and sang and talked about anything and everything. Leliana could not recall a time where she felt so free and full of joy. The otherworldly energies beneath her skin had remained silent and temporarily forgotten.

            The night grew more and more silly as it went on, as most parties with strong drink often do. Games of Wicked Grace and parlor tricks quickly grew out of hand as people all drunkenly tried to impress one another. Though, Leliana had managed to surprise Josephine by piercing the stem of a single violet with some noble’s throwing knife while blindfolded. She had picked it up triumphantly and, to much fanfare by other rowdy party goers, offered the flower to Josephine with a flourish and a bended knee. The ambassador had blushed and stammered out an “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly—“

            “Oh come now, Josie.” Leliana had cut her off while moving to tuck the stem into the ambassador’s slightly messy bun. They had both broken into a fit of giggles and the party continued.

            Leliana still has to hold back a chuckle when she recalls the frivolities of that evening. Particularly how they had ended up pinning a drunken templar’s smallclothes to a Chantry board. Oh yes, that was a night to remember.

            It was the night she and Josie became friends.

 Josephine remembers the day that Revered Mother Dorothea ascended to the Sunburst Throne and became Divine Justinia V. It was also the day that Leliana became the Left Hand of the Divine.

            Josephine remembers how her friend had looked, clothed all in ceremonial white and gold. Her red locks had shone in the light of the Grand Cathedral like glowing embers as she knelt before the throne to receive the gleaming silverite pin representing her station. She was a vision, knelt in solemn supplication amidst the radiant light. It was like watching the visage of Andraste herself paying homage to the Maker.

            Josephine will never forget how utterly beautiful Leliana had looked that day.

Things moved very quickly after that, however, as rumors of unrest in the Free Marches were whispered throughout the many circles of Orlesian society.

Time passed as Josephine worked tirelessly to calm the fears of all she could, donating countless hours and resources in an effort to prevent the spread of whatever conflict was brewing. After all, if she couldn’t use the powers of her station to bring a small amount of diplomacy to Thedas, then she should have chosen a different career. Peace was not an easy goal but a most worthwhile one.

And so she worked late into the night, often at home and with a cup of tea. Writing, always writing. Letters to local officials, letters to trade organizations, letters to nobles. Letters, letters, letters. Josephine’s hands were always stained with ink.

It was on one such night, where the wick in her writing desk candle had burned low and rain pattered against her windowsill, that Leliana first came to her.

Josephine had been surprised when she first answered the door. She had not been expecting any visitors at such a late hour, and certainly not her very dear friend whom she had not seen in months.

“Leliana?”

The Left Hand of the Divine stood at her doorstep, hair dripping and looking paler than she had ever seen her.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” Leliana had spoken haltingly then, not meeting her eyes, “I should not have come here. Forgive me, I shall go now.”

She abruptly turned to leave, causing Josephine to panic and reach out for her because really, what civilized person would ever let their friend venture out in the rain while clearly suffering from such awful vexation?

            “Nonsense,” she chided, guiding her friend into her home, “Please, come and sit for a moment while I make tea.”

            She quickly retrieved a fluffy towel and pressed it into a wide-eyed Leliana’s arms, moving her to sit on the settee in front of the fire. Josephine offered a smile that was weakly returned before she set about fixing the tea.

            “Do you still take your tea with two sugars?” She asked, though she knew the answer was yes. As an ambassador, she prides herself on her attention to detail and her impeccable memory for people’s preferences. She knew Leliana was partial to a common Ferelden black tea, taken with two sugars and no milk.

            Leliana nodded, looking conflicted and vulnerable. “Josie, I—“

            “No apologies now, Leliana,” Josephine hushed her with a soft look.

Leliana said nothing and stared into the fire. Josephine couldn’t help but admire how the light danced along her skin and shone in her eyes like lightning in a storm. The more she observed her friend, however, the more she noticed the changes. She looked tired as if she had not slept in days, her bright eyes held shadows within them.

            “Here,” Josephine handed her a cup and saucer before preparing her own.

She sat next to her and they sipped tea in silence for several long moments before Leliana finally spoke.

            “I am a murderer, Josephine.” The words were quiet, wavering.

Josephine had recalled the boy she pushed, the one that had broken his neck as he fell down the stairs. Her classmate. The boy she had killed because she could not find the courage to speak.

            “There are many who kill in Orlais,” Josephine said evenly, though with a touch of sadness because she wishes it were not so. “I dare to say that you are a better person than all of them.”

            Leliana shook her head and set her tea aside. “I don’t want to be like them, Josie, I—“

Her head fell to rest in her hands. Josephine had never seen her like this. So vulnerable, so...lost.

            “I am…different now. Changed. I-I feel like I’m…slipping,” Leliana said thickly, “As if this is all that I can be, a ruthless weapon to be wielded against enemies and sometimes I wonder…”

            She looked up at her, and Josephine glimpsed the beginnings of tears glistening in her eyes.

            “Am I doing the right thing, Josie?”

Josephine had moved then, setting her tea aside, spurred by the impulse she felt in her chest to comfort and heal. She pulled Leliana into her arms and held her closely, protectively. Leliana folded into her and shivered to hold back her sobs. Josephine calmly rubbed her shoulder blades and murmured soft words of comfort in Antivan.

            “We can only try to live in a way that is honest to ourselves.” Josephine said gently, still rubbing little circles on the redhead’s back. “You are doing everything you can to protect the Divine and the greater good, yes?”

            She had felt Leliana nod against her shoulder and smiled.

“You suffer greatly to perform your duty as her Left Hand,” Josephine told her quietly, “But only someone with a kind heart would suffer as you do over such acts.” She deftly ran her fingers through crimson locks, “You are not ruthless, Leliana, you are good.”

            They sat together in warm silence after that. The kindling crackled as the rain faded with the storm’s passing.

            “Thank you, Josie,” Leliana murmured against her shoulder. “My heart was wavering because I was afraid to face what is coming, what I must do. What I must be.” She paused, taking Josephine’s hand in hers and giving it a little squeeze, “But you reminded me why I must face it, why I mustn’t hesitate.”

            Josephine looked down at their joined hands and felt her heart lurch. Her friend gave so much of herself, suffered so greatly to protect those she cherished. But who protected her? Josephine had wondered. Where could the Left Hand of the Divine find solace and safety when the weight of her burdens became too much?

            “I am always here for you, Leliana,” Josephine found herself promising, “Should you ever need me.”

            Josephine would be that person, she decided. If Leliana allowed her, she would offer a warm cup of tea and a friendly embrace; she would be a safe harbor when the storm became too much to bear.

            Leliana had pulled away to look at her then, her eyes holding something infinitely soft and tender that shook Josephine to the core and stole her words away. (There was one word to describe what she felt, but it remained unvoiced.)

            “You’re too good to me, Josie.” Leliana had noted with a breathy chuckle, before settling back down against her shoulder, “I might grow spoiled at this rate.”

            Josephine had found herself giggling from the ridiculousness of the notion. “Well then!” she announced with a smirk, “Next time we have tea I expect you to bring me some of those delightful pastries…you remember the ones?”

            “The tarts made with lemon curd?” Leliana replied with an indulgent giggle, “Now who is being spoiled?”

            Josephine huffed in indignation. “You like those tarts just as much as I do!”

Then Leliana had laughed, rich and lilting and clear, and Josephine was captivated.

It had been just three weeks later when she had heard from Leliana again. This time it had come in the form of a courier delivering a small basket of lemon tarts. There had been no note attached, which had immediately told Josephine exactly who the sender was. Plus, lemon tarts hadn’t been in fashion at the time so it had to be…

            “Oh, I was also told to give you this,” the courier produced a small bundle of pretty white flowers tied together with a light blue ribbon. Josephine took it and brought it to her nose. Andraste’s Grace.

            They smelled like Leliana.

Josephine allowed herself to breathe in the scent a second time before tipping the courier and closing the door. She smiled as she retrieved a pretty vase of serault glass and arranged the flowers on her writing desk. Her smile had persisted all the way through reading her daily stack of letters. Even a particularly disappointing missive from Duke de Poisson had not hampered her good mood. She hummed as she worked, pausing every now and then to breathe in the scent of the flowers and nibble at a lemon tart.

            Josephine had finished responding to the last letter several candle marks later, after the sky had grown dark and stars had dusted themselves across the heavens. The ambassador put her things away and rose, taking a moment to stretch. She mentally catalogued everything that would need to be done tomorrow. She would need to ensure Lady Montblanc would not be serving halibut at her soiree next week lest Lord Byron throw a fit. Maybe she would pay Empress Celene a visit to discuss the horrible events that recently occurred in the Free Marches and what her planned course of action was. After all, it isn’t every day that a chantry is blown up and the mages are freed.

            Josephine had set about making tea for the evening. She was unsure if Leliana would be paying her a visit to share in what was left of the lemon tarts, so she settled for a milder tea that would pair nicely with the confections. Still, she couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up in her chest at the thought of seeing her friend again. She had missed her terribly and often found herself wondering about her wellbeing.

            She had just finished rekindling the fireplace when a knock sounded at her door. Her heart raced with giddy anticipation as she approached the door.

            Leliana stood there, looking exhausted but otherwise unharmed and Josephine found herself infinitely grateful. “Josie,” she breathed, a soft smile touching her lips, “I have missed you.”

            It was said with such honesty and feeling that Josephine was left momentarily off balance; as if the world had momentarily tilted ever so slightly off its axis. She gestured for her friend to come in while she tried to reclaim her ability of speech.

            “You look tired,” she finally said, and then immediately regretted the words. Really, what sort of diplomat was she that she could not even manage basic pleasantries?

            Leliana had simply laughed in response, her eyes brightening. “I’m sure I must look quite the dreadful sight!” she replied good naturedly, placing her cloak on the coat hanger.

            “Not at all! You are beautiful, I--” Josephine had stumbled over herself to reassure her, just like she had at the ball years ago, “I only worry about your health, Leliana. The things they have been saying about the mages and templars lately, I had feared that…”

            She trailed off as her eyes met Leliana’s. The Left Hand’s gaze was filled with something infinitely tender and once again words abandoned Josephine.

            Leliana stepped forward and took Josephine’s hand in both of her own. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and Josephine noticed how Leliana’s hands were cool and bore little callouses on the pads of her fingers. Her heartbeat stuttered into clumsy irregularity.

            “I have missed you, Josie.” Leliana repeated, softer this time, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before she released it and moved away. “Come now, let me serve the tea before it grows cold.”

            Josephine retrieved what was left of the lemon tarts while Leliana poured the tea. They sat on the settee in comfort, trading gossip while sipping tea and eating sweets. The fireplace crackled quietly in the background. They had each seldom had time to let down their guard and just relax like this. It was wonderful.

            “And then Celene decreed that they both duel with feathers! Ser Michel was not amused, of course, but it was quite interesting to watch.” Josephine finished recounting a story, smiling at Leliana before taking another bite of tart.

            “Celene is certainly skilled at avoiding conflict when it suits her,” Leliana comments off-handedly, taking another sip of tea.

            “Yes,” Josephine had agreed with a slight frown, “Though sometimes I do wish that she would be a bit less ambiguous on where she stands…”

            Leliana hummed thoughtfully before placing her cup and saucer back on the tray table.

“Are you happy Josie?” she asks abruptly, her expression suddenly unreadable, “Being the Antivan Ambassador?”

            Josephine was curious as to why she was being asked such a thing. Leliana had always been relatively open with her intentions, as far as Josephine knew. This must have been something of grave importance for her friend to be so cautious.

            “There are times,” Josephine admitted, “When I wonder if I am actually making an impact on the grand scheme of things, or if I am simply going along with the routine of it all.” Josephine had spoken honestly of her doubts. She could not lie to Leliana, nor would she ever want to.

            Her friend is silent for a beat before speaking again, quieter this time. “You have surely heard of the events in Kirkwall? Of the mages breaking free of the Circles of Thedas?”

            Josephine quickly nodded. “Of course. I was planning on speaking to Empress Celene about a possible course of action to quell the fighting.”

            Leliana shook her head, a rueful smile in place. “I would not bother. I have already spoken to the Empress and her attention appears to be elsewhere.”

            Josephine had been vaguely aware of the Empress’ supposedly scandalous affair with her elven spymaster turned enemy. (Honestly such things had not bothered Josephine, who carried no prejudices against the elves.) Celene had been caught up between trying to improve the social status of the elves and trying to pretend that she did not care about them. Such was the way of Orlesian politics. Unfortunately, such methods were slower to bring about actual change in the way of things. Josephine knew that the speed of reform simply was not efficient enough given current world affairs.

            “I must admit that progress has been slow,” she conceded, placing her cup and saucer next to Leliana’s. “I often feel as if I am chipping away at a stone wall with a tea spoon.”

            Her friend turned to face her fully, blue eyes intense. Josephine had never seen Leliana look so urgent as she did at that moment. Her next words were spoken quickly and quietly.

“In exactly 3 weeks, Divine Justinia will be holding peace talks at the Conclave. The mages and the templars will not be able to reach an accord, not with the way things stand.” She shook her head, frustration and resignation dancing across her features. “When the peace talks fail, Justinia is going to resurrect the Inquisition. You know what this means, yes?”

            Josephine struggled to process what she was hearing. So much was happening so fast. “Is the Divine planning an Exhalted March?” she had asked, trying to hide the worry in her voice. Her fingers were starting to tremble so she quickly folded them together in her lap. Just thinking about war could make her feel ill at ease.

            “Nothing so frightening, Josie,” Leliana was quick to reassure, “The Inquisition will be a force for positive change, for restoring order to chaos. Divine Justinia only wants to bring peace to Thedas, to end this war before it escalates and takes more innocent lives.”

            Leliana placed a hand over both of Josephine’s, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’ve come to ask if you would be Ambassador of the Inquisition.” Blue eyes implored, beckoned to her very soul, “Let me give you a hammer in place of a tea spoon, Josie.”

            Josephine’s head was swimming. “I…I don’t know what to say,” she shook her head in disbelief, “Surely there must be someone more qualified?”

            Leliana’s expression grew more severe. “No. There is no one I trust more than you,” she stated firmly, “You are extremely intelligent, fiercely determined, and have the most relentlessly kind heart I have ever seen, Josie.” She dropped her gaze and her voice softened, “It must be you. I can think of no other I would trust enough for this.”

            Josephine’s breath had caught in her lungs and her heartbeat fell out of rhythm once more. To hear Leliana say such things to her with that intensity…Josephine couldn’t possibly say no, even if she had wanted to.

            In all honesty, being an ambassador of something this groundbreaking seemed like a marvelous opportunity to actually bring peace to the people of Thedas. If the Inquisition was to truly be a visionary force for good, then Josephine felt compelled to carry its banner.

            “Well,” she breathed, offering a shaky smile, “Surely it sounds more exciting than my current occupation...”

            Leliana brightened immediately, a beaming grin lighting up her face. “Oh, I promise you it will be endlessly interesting, at the very least.”

            “Then I humbly accept.” Josephine replied, unable to keep a giggle out of her words.

Looking back on it now, they both agree that this had been the moment everything started moving forward. But in what direction, well, only the Maker would know.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Death and Doubt

Things moved very quickly in the weeks leading up to the Conclave. The Orlesian civil war had escalated to a point where Empress Celene had barely registered Josephine’s resignation. (Whether that was good or bad, Josephine was still uncertain.) Leliana had chuckled over it, regardless.

            The chantry at Haven is small, yet cozy, and Josephine is happy to have her own office. She knows that they will have a lot of building to do if the Inquisition is going to grow into the Divine’s vision for it.

Josephine smiles when she thinks of Divine Justinia. She is…not what Josephine had expected her to be. She should have known from Leliana’s stories that the Divine is actually a kind and earthly woman, instead of the unreachable symbol of perfection the Chantry paints her to be.

A knock at her office door interrupts her thoughts.

“Please come in.”

Leliana enters, holding a small tea tray. She waits until the door is closed behind her to smile at Josephine. “You missed breakfast, Josie.” She chides playfully.

            Josephine glances at the candle marks and it would appear that she had indeed missed the morning meal. “Oh, I hadn’t realized the time.”

            The tray is set down on the edge of her desk, Leliana following suit as she seats herself across from Josephine.

            The Ambassador looks at the tray’s contents—berries, croissants, jam, black tea—and her mouth waters. “This looks delicious! Oh, but there is quite a lot of it.”

            Leliana giggles, taking a croissant. “That is by design, Josie.” She bites into it and smirks.

Josephine realizes that Leliana must’ve waited in order to eat with her and for a moment she is struck by a swell of affection. She prepares them each a cup of tea and picks up a croissant.

            “So, how are preparations for the Conclave faring?” she asks as she carefully spreads some jam over the flaky pastry.

            Leliana frowns and takes a sip of tea. “About as difficult as we’d anticipated,” she sighs, “Grand Enchanter Fiona refuses to come in person, as does the Lord Seeker. If you ask me, that defeats the purpose of this whole affair but…Justinia still has hope for reaching an accord.”

            Josephine nods, taking a thoughtful sip of tea. “Yes, well, if anyone can make those two factions see reason it would be Her.”

            Leliana sighs in response. “I just worry.” Her lips twist into a half grimace. “Too many things can go wrong. There are so many threats to her safety…”

            Josephine sets her tea cup aside and regards her friend for a moment. Leliana looks as if she had not slept in days. Dark circles were barely concealed beneath powder, crimson locks fell in disarray beneath a violet hood, skin pale in ways that rouge could not hide; she looks exhausted and worn down.

            “Is there something in particular that troubles you so?” Josephine finally asks, trying not to sound like she was prying.

            Leliana smiles, tiredly. “You sound just like Justinia.” She shakes her head. “I am fine.”

            A moment passes in silence. Then another.

“Something feels off.” Leliana finally admits, dropping her gaze to her hands. “There is something I am missing, some unseen shadow lurking on the horizon. I can’t put it into words but I can just…” she flexes her fingers, studying something Josephine could not see. “Feel it.”

            Something compels Josephine to reach out and take Leliana’s hands in hers. “Whatever happens, whether this succeeds or this fails,” she offers a gentle squeeze of reassurance, “You won’t be alone, Leliana.”

            Startled blue shoots up to meet patient hazel.

Josephine holds her gaze. “No matter what happens.” she assures her, with all the sincerity she has, “I will be here to aid you, in whatever way I can.” And she means it. Leliana is one of the most important people to her in the entire world and she would never abandon her.

            Her friend suddenly smiles, like the sun dawning over a dark and snowy mountainside, and for a brief moment Josephine can see her lips tremble.

            “Oh my,” Leliana remarks with a watery laugh, “Aren’t you all sweet and attentive?” she jokes, looking much lighter than before.

            Josephine rolls her eyes, though a blush fights its way to her cheeks. “Says the woman who serenaded me all those years ago with elvhen folk music, of all things!”

            Leliana laughs brightly, and Josephine can only stare in wonder at how beautiful she looks in this moment. “I most certainly did, didn’t I?” Leliana sobers a bit and smiles at her, expression soft.

            A moment passes. Then another. The silence is different this time.

There is something there between them now, like an invisible tether, but Josephine does not know how to define it. Their hands remain folded together.

            There is another knock at the door and they pull apart as if burned.

Cassandra pokes her head in, looking a bit uncomfortable when she sees that she has interrupted their meal. “Apologies for the intrusion. I was told to find you here, Leliana.” She clear her throat, “Divine Justinia wishes to speak with you about your previous report.”

            Leliana nods, neutral mask back in place. “Of course. Thank you, Cassandra.”

The Left Hand stands and smooths out the folds in her doublet. “I shall go then,” she regards Josephine and her expression softens a fraction, “We shall speak another time, ambassador.”

            The Antivan is quick to nod. “Of course. Do be well in the meantime.”

A flash of a smile and then Leliana is gone, leaving Cassandra to stand uncomfortably in the doorway. The Right Hand lingers for a moment, looking conflicted.

            “I wonder if it would be alright to ask a favor of you, Lady Montilyet.” The tall woman finally blurts.

            Josephine likes Cassandra. Her honest and earnest personality is quite refreshing. Though her dislike of her noble lineage might be a bit perplexing at times, Josephine respects her immensely for her determination and courage. She is someone capable who can get things done.

            Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Cassandra’s social skills. She often encounters trouble when it comes to expressing her feelings. Her words are usually blunt and lacking tact, something Cassandra is often self-conscious about. Fortunately, Josephine has experience with all kinds of people and knows how best to make her guests feel comfortable.

            She has found that Cassandra responds well to encouragement that is formal, yet friendly, and lacking in judgement or sympathy. Also, casual compliments tend to fluster her so it’s best to avoid those. The ambassador always makes an effort to stay within the Right Hand’s comfort zone whenever they speak.

            “Of course,” Josephine replies kindly, “If it is within my abilities, then all you need to do is ask.”

            Cassandra nods and then opens her mouth to speak, but halts. Josephine waits patiently for a moment.

            “Would you like some tea?” she offers, trying to put Cassandra at ease.

            “No.” The Right Hand refuses with a shake of her head before looking guilty over being so blunt. “No, thank you, Lady Montilyet.”

            She sighs, looking consternated by her own fumbling. “Forgive me. I only meant to ask you to look after Leliana.”

            That got Josephine’s attention. “Oh?”

            “She is a strong woman.” Cassandra says, and there is a note of both admiration and sadness in her voice, “But she is not invincible. She pretends that her actions as the Left Hand do not hurt her deeply, that they do not keep her awake at night, but I hear the whispered apologies in the midnight hours, I see the glow of the candles beneath her door as she prays for the dead, the injured, and the lost.”

            Josephine feels her chest tighten at the thought of Leliana losing countless hours of sleep and suffering through all that grief alone.

            “I am not asking you to protect her. Or take her from her duties.” Cassandra adds, before looking to the side. “Just, please, continue to watch over her. She needs a friend to talk to, and I,” She coughs awkwardly, “I am not good. At the talking.”

            Josephine smiles at her then. Cassandra may seem stern and rigid to most, but here was blatant proof that she was also very kind.

            “You are a good friend, Cassandra. Leliana is lucky to have someone so sweet and caring in her life.” The ambassador says warmly, “Let us both look after her together, alright?”

            Cassandra nods jerkily, cheeks slightly pink. “Right. Of course. Thank you.”

The Right Hand looks at her feet before quickly shaking her head and looking back up. “I should go.” She comments stiltedly, cheeks still pink, “Thank you, Lady Jose—Montilyet. Lady Montilyet.”

            “Please, just Josephine is alright in times such as this.” The ambassador could tell that Cassandra had become flustered. Oh, she had complimented her just now, hadn’t she? That would probably explain it.

            “Right.” Cassandra clears her throat, “Well, good day to you, Lady Josephine.”

            Josephine tries to hold back a giggle at how endearing Cassandra’s flustered fumbling can be. Laughing now would only make it worse.

“And to you, Seeker Cassandra.”

The Right Hand of the Divine promptly flees from her office after that. Josephine and Leliana would probably laugh about it later.

Heaven has been filled with silence. I knew then, and crossed my heart with unbearable shame. -Canticle of Andraste 1:11

 When the Conclave blew up, something in Leliana cried out in pure agony. The explosion triggered something in her. Like a piece of her had been ripped out, fractured and put back in its place. Everything felt wrong, mismatched, foreign.

            Songs pored through her veins as her senses elevated to a perception beyond that of human capability. She could almost see the threads in the fabric of the Veil as they rippled around her. Knowledge pooled forth into her mind, a vision—Chaos, destruction, suffering—The Divine was dead, she could feel her absence from the world; cold, dark—But someone had lived—touched by song, by the Maker, by the Fade. They survived and Dorothea did not.

            It’s all suddenly too much and she needs to calm down. Her heart races, creating the beat for a war chant through her veins. It’s wrong. She’s wrong. Leliana feels like she might just explode from all of the dissonance inside her. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s the ancient songs from before time existed, and she needs to stop, to focus, to think.

            “We found someone!” her scouts call her back to herself as they all rush to report their findings. “They came out of the Fade! A glowing woman was behind them—Andraste!”

            The songs had been right and Leliana did not know what that meant. Or maybe she didn’t want to. There was too much happening at once for her to stop and contemplate what was happening to her, or what she even was now.

            “Have Cassandra bring them to the Chantry!” She barks, urging them into swift action, “Help escort the refugees and assist the templars in searching for survivors!”

            “Yes, ma’am!” they all chorused before disappearing into the crowd, scattering like ashes to the wind.

Leliana left her tent and followed the songs, let them pull her and direct her feet. She was not surprised when they led her to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

It was, in a way, where it all began.

            She stood under the Breach and looked up into it for a moment.

She saw nothing. Only darkness, gaping and hungry and ready to devour the world.

It was a black, endless void from which demons spilled forth without relent.

            For the first time, she Doubted.

A terrible pain wrenched within her chest—would the Maker really allow something like this to exist? Would he really let His Most Faithful die? — Something was wrong with her. Her knees buckled and she collapsed, breaths coming too quickly. Symbols in languages unfamiliar to her had begun to glow red beneath her skin. She felt them pulsating all along her body, burning her from within. Maker, was she an abomination now? (Did it even matter at this point?)

            The ground of the temple cracked and shifted in a massive quake. Glowing shards of red split the bedrock and burst forth in clouds of black soot. They crackled with power in a way that sounded like choruses of demented laughter, cackling in the throughs of madness. Red Lyrium. Her mind flashes briefly to Kirkwall and the Knight Commander that fell into madness.

            It repulses something deep within her, so she tries to stand, to escape. But it wouldn’t let her move, the symbols and runes beneath her skin screaming in agony. Everything is red and she can’t breathe.

            “I failed Her.”

            Her entire body shakes as she curls in on herself. All she feels is agony.

            “I failed Her and now I’m lost.”

She is probably going to die from this, she thinks. The energy inside her will destroy her, or the red lyrium will drive her to insanity.

She’s honestly amazed she made it this far in her life. Always worrying about everything so much, yet never being able to show mercy or be vulnerable. The world was hard, and it was cruel. Just like the dead rosebush in Lothering, it had seemed pointless and unrewarding.

But still she persisted. She believed that she would find some good in this world, just like that single pale rose. Her mind suddenly fills with images of Josephine. A woman so honest and good, the only good Leliana had left.

            For a moment time stops.

If she were to die now, what would become of Josephine? Or Dorothea’s vision? Or Thedas? The sky was falling apart as demons rained down upon the world. Who would fix this? Restore order? She was still needed. Her Duty as the Left Hand was still not done.

            “I will not forsake You,” words from the Canticle of Trials formed upon her lips, giving her the strength to move, to stand, “Even as I forget myself.”

            She would not abandon this world to its fate and leave Josephine behind in a Thedas full of demons. Dorothea had always told her not to give up on herself so easily.

            She takes a steadying breath, letting her mind be filled with all the things that strengthened her resolve. Josephine’s smile, Dorothea’s calming voice, the taste of Ferelden black tea and lemon tarts, a rose blossoming on a withered briar bush, the scent of her mother lingering in patches of pale Ferelden wildflowers.

            The wicked laughter dies down as the voices beneath her skin find harmony once more. The song is different now, changed, but still familiar to her. The glowing glyphs shift from angry red to soft white before fading away entirely, and Leliana wonders what they had said. Her limbs were exhausted from whatever had just happened and walking now felt like an impossible task.

            “It would not be wise to linger here, Sister Nightingale.” A calm voice warns, “The Breach did not close completely.”

There was an elven man standing a few paces from her, a mage based on his attire and the staff he carried. He moved closer, his expression unreadable. “I am Solas.” A hand was offered to help her remain steady.

            An ally, then. She steadies herself without the offered help. For now, at least.

            “Do you know what happened?” She asks him, forcing her legs to move. It gradually becomes easier as her limbs stabilize.

            “The Veil was torn open by a massive amount of power from an explosion that killed many,” he tells her, eyes studying her reaction, “You seem to have forced the lesser tear to shut.” He gestures towards a glowing green mass of light. “Regardless, the rift is not completely closed. It will need to be reopened and sealed again.”

            She studies him a moment. His expression gives nothing away, but his eyes are wary and hold many secrets in their depths. He was keeping something from her, but his intent didn’t feel malicious. Honestly, she has no idea what to make of him.

            “You say I forced it shut?” she remarks, “How? I am no mage.”

His eyes sparkle for moment, as if he was privy to an inside joke. “How indeed,” he muses, “If I had to guess, I’d say you were…assisted.” He shook his head, staring at something far off, “We are all connected to the Fade, and mages can intrinsically reach out across that connection, but…sometimes exceptions occur, and the Fade reaches out first.”

            The Fade…reached out to her? To help her? Was this some sort of joke?

“You speak as if you believe the Fade to be a living thing.” She replies, dusting off her doublet.

            His brow furrows. “’Living’ is perhaps the wrong word. It is a confluence of ideas, thought, emotion, dreams, memory—a place of Spirits, of creation. It does not live, it simply is.”

            Leliana recalls the Chant of Light and the Golden City, and falls silent for a moment. Perhaps the Fade really was the seat of the Maker once. If that was so, could this have been His influence? Had He saved her once more? Reached out to her through the Fade to give her this sign? She didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

            All she could do now is what she had promised to do. Finish Dorothea’s directive and bring order to Thedas.

            “Solas, was it?” she regards him critically, “Why is an elven apostate investigating the Conclave’s explosion?”

            He makes a face. “Technically, all mages are apostates now. However, I’d like to believe that anyone would be concerned over recent events.” He casually waved a hand at the ominous swirling vortex in the sky above them.

            When she said nothing, he sighed. “I just wish to offer my help.”

There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her, but he appeared to at least be genuine in his offer to aid them. She mentally reached a compromise.

            “Regardless of your motivations,” she pauses, pointedly, to let him know that she knew, “We need the extra help, and I’m sure your expertise will be invaluable to us.”

            A smile ghosts his lips as his eyes twinkle once more in that slightly smug way. “You humble me, Sister Nightingale.” He replies, “I will have to try my best to be useful.”

            “Let us return to Haven, then. There is much to be done.” She says, her mind already thinking of Josephine. Maker, please let her be alright. I couldn’t bare to lose her too.

Everything fell into chaos at Haven when the Conclave blew up. Josephine remembers people shouting and running around, the deafening booms of distant explosions. Maker, there was a gaping hole in the sky now. She remembers standing outside the Chantry and gazing up at it. The swirling green clouds that crackled with infernal fire and lightning, an endless black abyss from which demons rained down without pause. It felt like the world was ending.

            And yet, Josephine’s first thoughts are on the people of Haven, the families of faithful parishioners who had journeyed to support the Divine. She prayed Leliana was alright, wherever she was. We have to make this right. We are the only ones who can. There would be time later for fear, for doubt, but right now the people needed her to be focused and collected.

First, she needed to find the other advisors and make sure they were safe. Her plan of action would become clear after that, she was sure.

            So, she gathers her lengthy skirts and runs, pushing through the panicked masses, trying to catch a glimpse of familiar red hair amidst the throngs of rushing people.

            She collides suddenly with a gleaming chest plate and looks up to see Cullen. His eyes reflect the same panic and fear she feels in her bones, but his expression is determined.

            “Are you alright?” he asks, moving to shield her from the bulk of the crowd.

            She nods. “Where are the others?” Where is Leliana?

He motions for her to follow, parting the crowd for her as they make their way back towards the Chantry. “Cassandra and Leliana are meeting us at the Chantry,” he tells her over his shoulder, “The Divine is dead. Everyone at the Conclave is dead.”

            “Not everyone.” And then Leliana is there beside her, as if summoned from the Fade. Her eyes hold storms within them, glowing even in the shadows. Something about her isn’t the same as before. An elven man walks beside her.

“There is one survivor. Cassandra is bringing them to the Chantry.”

            Josephine feels torn between relief and agony. Maker, there was so much death around them. So much chaos. It made her wonder if they would get through this. If they even could get through this.

            But at least Leliana was alive, and Josephine clung to that thought like a candle against the darkness. She hopes Leliana will be able to recover from this. She hopes they all will.