by Twisted Eternal Wolvetta

and Harmonium-Kruger

To see what Mercia Trevelyan looks like, you'll find the link on Twisted Eternal Wolvetta's profile.

The driving snow buried crystal just beneath her eyelids; Blinding until they melted to burn. Had the storm been brought on by that creature, or by utter chance? Was it a blessing, or a curse? Too many things to consider on a dying breath, Mercia felt chilled to the bone.

The fire sites she had passed were dead, not even an ember or two left. Nothing had been left to warm her, and her hand ached with a dull flame.

With her mark having almost been stolen from her, it had pulsed the whole way. The tension within her veins felt like her blood was on fire. Yet still she felt frozen within this snowstorm.

But at least she had given everyone a head start. Right…? Surely?

They had sent up the flare, they must be safe. When she brought the mountain down atop of Haven, she wasn't sure she would survive. Was it relief or disappointment she felt when she woke? Even she wasn't sure.

But for now, she needed to find them. All she needed was to know they were safe; Know they had survived, thanks to her.

If not, then what? She may have slowed the red templars, Corypheus, and archdemon down. But who is to say such a thing would slow them down at all?

Trees were thick around her, their bark having been stripped by the winds. There was a clearing, one she dared not even hope led to them. The snow was to her knees, and it was becoming harder and harder to trudge through it. The mark could barely flicker to life, and she crumpled to her knees with a shuddering breath.

The slope was far too steep for her. It was barely even 10˚, and she found such a thing bitterly funny. Upon the last of her energy, she caught sight of something- a light? Amongst the snow, she couldn't be sure.

"It's her!" A man called out, Cullen? Dare she hope they even made it? It was far more likely it was a rogue templar-

"Thank the Maker…" There was no mistaking the seeker's accent, however. Mercia slumped further, the black edges around her vision closing in. All was clouded, and if this was death, she welcomed it with hope for the others.

Before the human Herald was even aware of it, she had tumbled into the snow. Not a second had passed, and she found herself unconscious.

Leliana's Mercy

Looming Motive

Warmth. This was the first sensation which greeted Mercia. For a time, her eyes remained closed, happily oblivious to her environment.

Was she alive? Was this hell? Heaven? She had no answer to give herself, and she felt no urge to discover it.

It was still dark; light flickering to and fro that reminded her of a fire. Torches? Perhaps even a roaring bonfire? Mercia slowly opened her eyes, startled at the crooked face of a crow perched atop her. It squawked once it noticed her awake, returning to its post by the spymaster.

Leliana…? She had lived? Who else?

From her position on her back, she could see very little. She could barely make the figures of Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine. Were they arguing? At a time like this?

Allowing her head to lower back down into the pillows, she sighed heavily.

"Are they bothering you?" A soulful voice from her bedside startled her, but she calmed. It was only the revered mother Giselle, looking apologetic.

"They seem like they've been at it for hours." Mercia spoke, not surprised to find her voice weak and hoarse.

"A luxury granted by you." The elder woman chuckled softly, peering after the spymaster's crow. "I think someone may want your attention before you're pulled into the arguments, however."

The spymaster did? Glancing towards the redhead's tent, she couldn't see her. All Mercia could assume, was that the elder was praying. For how many minutes did she pray? Every time Mercia came across her, she was doing just that.

Another squawk sounded from the crow, and it ruffled its feathers. The fidgeting from the bird was halted, a hand resting atop its head. Feeling the burn of eyes against her, Leliana turned her head towards Mercia.

The two of them set eyes upon each other, and an awkwardness entered the Herald's chest.

Had the spymaster sent her crow to spy on her? To know when she had woken up? Mercia was helped to sit up by Giselle, settling a hand onto her stomach. Her ribs were flaring, but she was certain there were no broken bones.

"Should I ask that she come to you?" The elder woman seemed adamant on doing so either way, helping Mercia only to sit comfortably. Giselle lifted a hand, beckoning Leliana over.

With light rattling from the woman's chainmail, the Herald suddenly felt anxious. She didn't understand Leliana at all. Maybe this was why she felt so out of touch with the spymaster?

The revered mother stood to leave them alone, nodding to Mercia. The noble woman held onto her stomach still, noting that her back was also sore. From the hit against the trebuchet, to tumbling into the shack… She wouldn't be surprised if there was deeper damage.

Wounds she had sustained in the past had been much worse at times. So she would easily heal from this. At least she hoped she would.

Keeping her arm loosely hooked around her middle, she watched Leliana make a stand beside her. Tilting her head back slightly, she regarded the hooded redhead. What precisely was she supposed to say? She couldn't just ask the spymaster how she was.

In such a situation, the answer was obvious.

"Was that bird to spy on me?" Her voice was still weak, barely above the sound of the fire. The crow in question squawked indignantly, forcing a wheezing chuckle from Mercia.

The spymaster smiled, but for only a moment. Above the distant sound of arguing, Leliana spoke. "You're unsure of that?" Formally, if not through habit, she clasped her hands behind her.

"Not anymore." Mercia's lips quirked into a faint smile that quickly fell. "People have seen to me, right? I feel… terrible even still."

"We cannot do anything for your sore ribs, I'm afraid. Even if broken, all you can do is wait." Leliana replied, sighing as she lowered herself to speak more privately. "Why did you do it?"

Do what? Mercia frowned, pushing away brunette strands of hair. The redheaded woman was knelt beside her, watching her expectantly. Why she more or less sacrificed herself? Wasn't it obvious? Or did Leliana simply want to know personally?

"Why?" Mercia glanced towards the others still arguing, giving another soft wheezing chuckle. "So that Josephine could indulge in another frosted cake, or so Cassandra can cut down another wave of enemies like she was slicing bread. So Cullen can sulk away from everyone, and so you could pray to the Maker, even while doubting."

She took a breath, putting more pressure on her side. "You have all sacrificed something in some way… If I could give my life to save you, I wouldn't hesitate."

Only a few months had past, yet she had bonded with them solidly. But within such circumstances such as these, it wasn't surprising. They had to, else the Inquisition would've collapsed within hours.

Returning her attention to Leliana, Mercia's brows perked. The spymaster seemed genuinely surprised, as though she had not been expecting such a selfless answer. "You… You're easily the most important figure in this Inquisition. Why would you do that?"

"I've said why, I believe." Mercia's lips twitched, though Leliana shook her head.

"No, I think you're lying."

Why would she think this? The Herald watched her closely, unsure. Her expression wrinkled in confusion, studying Leliana. "I'm considered important by many. But if my sacrifice pushes the Inquisition forward, then so be it."

Leliana's brows furrowed as her gaze set sternly. "That is a dangerous attitude to have." She finally countered, hands resting atop the edge of the cot Mercia sat upon.

"It may be, but only dangerous to me." The noble rebutted, cocking a brow up. She had heard things, from the gossip within Haven to even remarks in Val Royeaux… "Is this about the Hero of-"

Maybe what followed had silenced the camp. Mercia wasn't sure, but her cheek stung. Her head pushed to the side, she remained in this position. Blinking, she watched the spymaster lift, and turn away. Having missed the expression cast along Leliana's features, she remained silent.

Instead, she unconsciously brought a hand to her cheek, watching her closely.

"Leliana? Did you just… strike the Herald?" Cassandra's voice was thick with disbelief. The spymaster threw a glare towards the table, top lip curling.

"Oh, shut up Cassandra." She bit, returning towards her tent. The tension in the air was palpable, but at least the arguing had ceased.

Mercia rubbed at her cheek, seeming less surprised than the other advisors. Josephine approached in an apologetic huff, offering a hot drink. "Forgive our ignorance, Lady Trevelyan… Is there something the matter?" Her dark eyes flickered between Mercia and Leliana.

"Gossip is unbecoming of a lady." Mercia teased weakly, accepting the drink to nurse between her hands. Josephine colored, sputtering to no doubt apologize before the younger woman chuckled. "I may have overstepped a boundary. I don't dare to repeat it."

But still. Mercia had heard certain stories about the Warden. But who could say they were true? Such a reaction from the spymaster fueled her suspicions however. Exactly what had this supposed Hero of Ferelden done?

Of course she had ended the Fifth Blight. But what had…-

"Ambassador. I'm surprised to see you don't have that checkboard of yours. Not even a candle?" Mercia's lips twitched upwards. It lightened the mood, if only a little.

"I'm afraid I wasn't able to save it." Josephine appreciated the subject change, relaxing considerably. "I am sure I will get another, perhaps one decorated with strokes of viridian?" It seemed as though the Antivan woman was hinting, and Mercia smiled softly.

"I'll make sure to remember."

Trying to push the spymaster from her mind, the Herald continued. "So what am I needed for this time?" She sighed, rolling her eyes. "We shouldn't be arguing at a time like this. Not with so much at stake."

Cullen cautiously arrived, making a stand beside the Antivan. "We wouldn't be arguing at all if it wasn't for-" He cut himself off, giving a side-glance towards Leliana. He continued, his voice lower. "If it wasn't for the spymaster. She drew her agents back, and the attack was utterly by surprise."

Mercia heard a faint ringing in her ears, one brow quirking high. "Lady Montilyet, will you give me a hand?" She asked, struggling to stand even with Josephine's help. The Herald softly thanked the elder woman, then swung a punch to the former templar's jaw. As Cullen stumbled back to eventually fall, Mercia fell onto her cot from the exertion of energy upon the blow.

Cassandra stormed forward, stepping over Cullen to make sure the Free Marcher was fine.

"Herald-" Cassandra accused, only to be interrupted.

"No." Mercia grumbled, watching Cullen clasp a palm to his bruised jaw. "No one's at fault here. Only Corypheus and his red templars." Shooting a glance down to Cullen who rose, she awkwardly glanced back up to them.

"I quite agree." Josephine glared sharply to Cullen, her fellow advisor furrowing his brow. He slunk away, muttering under his breath. Cassandra huffed, taking a kneeling position by Mercia's bedside.

Leliana had heard, and watched the scene. Her brows pulled tight together; the spymaster worrying her fingers on an opposite glove. Just what was this 'Herald's' game?

Staring down at the left corner of her tent, she became lost in thought. Past events far too painful circulated her mind. For such a situation as this, what would they do? It felt far too similar to- she shook her head.

No. Leliana heard the conversation outside die down, and she lowered her hood. Perhaps she should… apologise? Though this seemed far too weak.

She had no reason to slap Mercia. Yet even still, the noble woman defended her. Perhaps she was… simply selfless with nothing to want or gain. It was clear that Mercia was nothing like…

Leliana closed her eyes, shutting those thoughts away. She would apologize at a later time. Mother Giselle had started to sing to calm their nerves, others joining in. Mercia kept at her cot, supported by both Josephine and Cassandra.

The Herald seemed to find the singing amusing, reeling in her expression to not be found rude. Her eyes kept towards Leliana, however. It was clear where her attention was.

It was unsettling.

She should make an effort to distance herself, Leliana mused. She… did not desire to be hurt again. No, she wasn't about to allow herself to trust somebody so easily again. Not after such a thing.

"Maker." She muttered under her breath, edging towards the corner.

"You should rest, Herald." Josephine jabbed gently. With a refusal added to injury, the Antivan huffed. "Sleep!"

"Do not make us knock you out." Cassandra warned, though smirked faintly at Josephine's glance. "Do not make me knock you out."

"Much better. Herald, you need to rest and recover your strength. You can barely stand!" The Ambassador reminded, gently pressing against Mercia's shoulder.

Almost protesting further, the younger woman sighed. "I suppose…"

What else was she to do? She couldn't exactly do anything, and given their situation… Exhaling sharply, and regretting the notion, she winced.

"Perhaps we can find something to ease your hurts?" Josephine had saved the hot tea from earlier, returning it to the Herald's hands. Mercia chuckled, lifting the cup to her lips. She could barely even do that…

Cassandra hummed, eyes roaming among who all had survived. "Maybe Madame de Fer knows a spell or two our healers do not?"

"If she does, I might kiss her." Mercia sighed, resting her head against the pillows.

"Y-you would?" Josephine inquired, a flush setting against her cheeks.

"Figure of speech, Ambassador." The Herald snickered under her breath.

Skyhold was for the most part, messy. Even such a word as this wasn't enough to describe it. The place was in absolute chaos, and would take months, if not years to tidy. Years they didn't have however. Mercia wasn't even sure if they had months, let alone days.

But such a fort- a miniature castle, even. It was so heavily fortified, and even within the mountains. It was a rival to Castle Redcliffe, if not a few tiers higher.

Mercia was able to recover much quicker in a bed; The grand Orlesian thing no doubt bought by Josephine. It could have fit her, the ambassador, Cassandra, the spymaster… and probably even Iron Bull. Not that she wanted all but just one of those people in her bed…

Shaking her head, the Mercia cleared her throat and adjusted herself. Thankfully with such a larger keep came more help; Clothes washed almost daily. No more of those annoying pajama-like uniforms…

Least she could now move around Skyhold without looking like a dork. But right now? She was lost. In one of the underground chambers, she loosely crossed her arms. Though Skyhold wasn't especially big, it was quite easy to get lost in.

These lower levels were in more disrepair than the rest of the fortress. One section was even slated for no efforts to fix it; condemned… Was such a thing safe for them? Well… if it hadn't collapsed yet, surely it could withstand anything.

With the ambassador's broad networking, Mercia was sure they'd get it sorted. That Josephine was like a force of nature when it came to political challenges. So she was sure getting the staff to repair a castle was nothing.

"Fancy seeing you down here." Practically jumping out of her skin, Mercia shot her gaze towards a corner. Sera came into view from the dank darkness, and she shook her head.

"Don't scare me like that." She muttered, rubbing at faintly sore ribs.

"I can scare you in some other way, then?" Sera smirked, gesturing around them. "What the bloody piss are you doin' around crumbly walls and mucky corners? I thought you hated spiders- Oh, there's one now!"

"I am not afraid of spiders!" The Inquisitor shot, though glanced at the small thing anyway. The eight legged creature crawled on the ceiling, minding its own business. Either way, Mercia couldn't help but feel suspicious of it.

She wondered why she even had a dislike for them. "Spending your time with a noble? How strange of you."

"You aren't bad. Only the piss biscuits get their breeches nicked." The blonde elf shrugged.

"I'm glad." Mercia gave a wry smile, taking a notable step away from where the spider was. She glanced around, not sure where she had come from. "I'm lost, Sera." She looked back towards the elf, frowning.

"Er… I'm not someone to go all bleedy heart on, just cause I've got ears doesn't mean I'm good at listening, and-"

"What? Oh, no, not that sort of lost. I don't know how to get outside."

"You, lost? Not enough shite and crap to jump over?" Though Skyhold certainly did have enough debris for such a thing. "Just come up these stairs, they- oh, that scary old Nightingale was asking for you."

The spymaster?

"Wha- stairs?" Mercia furrowed her brow, stepping closer. Oh, there they were. "Huh… I could have sworn I've walked by this area three times without seeing those…" She mused, though shook her head. "Sister Nightingale is asking for me?"

"Nooo…" The archer droned. "Just get there before she loses it. She's acting all strange." Shuffling past the Inquisitor, she jabbed a finger towards the stairs. "Don't get lost now, Inqy." She grinned, entering further into the chambers.

Chuckling, Mercia ascended the stairs and hummed. Skyhold sure was strange, but it was strong. She liked it.

Entering into the main hall, the Inquisitor cocked a brow. That title had taken so long to get used to… Ah, but, Leliana was looking for her.

But here was another issue. Which door did she take to get to the top floor? Was it the third left…? No… "We need signs…" She muttered under her breath, staring up to the towering ceiling.

How funny would that be, though? Josephine would be absolutely appalled, and would no doubt order a steward to give her a tour… again.

Did that Antivan ever move from her desk? Mercia was actually beginning to wonder if Josephine was glued to her chair. The last time she had seen Josephine standing, was those two days ago. That having been when they had first arrived in Skyhold.

"Varric." She hissed to the dwarf, the crossbowman arching a brow in her general direction. "Which door leads to the rookery?"

"...This one, Inquisitor." He gave her a funny look, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. The door was at his back, and he chuckled to her blank stare. "Just through here, and up the stairs by two floors. You can't miss her." The crows alone would give away Leliana's position. These days it seemed it was the only thing the spymaster was ever around. Birds and notes.

Finding herself climbing the stairs two steps at a time, Merica felt confused. Why was she so keen to meet with Leliana? Their last interaction hadn't been the smoothest. But even so, here she was, practically tripping over her own feet.

Dorian had been listening to her scramble up the stairs, looking thoroughly amused. "She's not going anywhere." He stage-whispered to her, Mercia's cheeks flush from mild embarrassment.

The Inquisitor ignored him after a subtle wave, turning to ascend the second stairway. She was out of breath; Ribs sore and screaming in protest from the trip.

Within this rookery, the squawking of birds illuminated the place. Absolutely everything apart from a lone desk was covered by cloth too. Mercia could only imagine the damage these crows created.

Having one abruptly land atop her head, she froze.

"Baron Plucky, bad boy." The crow was taken from her head gently, a soft voice reprimanding the bird. He was released back towards the high ceiling, and Leliana turned towards the younger woman.

"Baron Plucky?" The noble's eyebrows arched. Mercia quickly studied the rookery. Apart from the crows, it was just her, and the spymaster. Surely Leliana would have some agents up here? "...Any loose floorboards I need to know about?" She idly questioned, looking about the old timber.

"None if you know where to step." Leliana spoke with a hint of amusement, though her steps did seem deliberate. Mercia followed her carefully back to the desk, curious.

"Why the call?"

"I think you know why." The spymaster murmured, leaning against the desk. Scrolls and notes were scattered amongst it. At this point, Mercia wondered how Leliana could find anything. Her eyes wandered by to the hooded woman, and she tilted her head faintly.

"I'm sorry? I don't know?" The Inquisitor spoke, glancing down to the note Leliana passed her. Cautiously, she took the parchment, bringing it closer to read.

"The Hero of Ferelden, or more precisely, Elissa Cousland is the exact opposite of Andraste herself. She's responsible for the purge of the Ferelden Circle, and the corruption of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. These are just a few horrors she has committed."

The note was so short, and simple, yet got the point across instantly. Stuck in place, Mercia blinked slowly, and looked up to Leliana. The elder's back faced her now, Leliana staring down to the pages scattered around.

"Ah. The… legend is convoluted, then." Mercia reread the page, unsure of what to say next. Corruption of the Sacred Ashes… No way Leliana would have stood for that, so…

"She betrayed you?" It was less a question and more a nudging comment. Mercia lowered the note, taking a step closer to Leliana. "Before this… were you two close?'

"Close is a one sided statement, Inquisitor."

So it was betrayal. Placing the note onto the desk, Mercia rubbed her fingers to her lips. How had such information not come through to the public? Not even she herself had heard such things. "Had the Sacred Ashes been the last… straw?"

"I was blind." Leliana bitterly chuckled, her voice sounding watery. Was she crying? "Blinded by love, by my hopeless thoughts that she could save the world, and put everything right. Her poisoning those ashes… It brought everything to light."

The spymaster sighed, keeping her back to the younger. "She left me there, for dead."

Left clueless with how to react, Mercia remained behind her. What was she to do? Would it be best to continue listening to Leliana? It sounded as if the redhead hadn't spoken a word to anyone about this.

"Left you?" She frowned, guiding her eyes to Leliana's hooded head. She watched the elder carefully, seeing a hint of skin.

"I attacked her when she poisoned those ashes. I was so overcome with anger at all of her decisions. She struck me down, and left me for dead. I did die though, I know it. But, I woke hours later, just alive enough to get help."

"In the middle of the Temple of Sacred Ashes? How did you manage that?" The whole region had been abandoned, hadn't it? Or had there been a few people in Haven? But still, that was a good day's walk at least.

Musing over clouded puzzlement, the brunette leaned against the railings. A crow perched itself against her arm, and she looked towards it silently. Why were all these birds wanting to land on her? She shook it off gently, though it still gave an indignant squawk.

Leliana shook her head, Mercia barely catching the motion. "I ended up awake, outside of the temple. I have no idea how I got there, nor how I survived. Perhaps it was the Maker, not having finished punishing me…"

"Or perhaps the opposite?" Mercia inquired, giving up with the insistent crow. She regarded the black and red bird, merely getting a beady stare in return. "Though you may find believing in the Maker difficult, you still hope. You fear she may return- and she probably will. But imagine what we could do if we captured her."

Remaining prone by the railings, Mercia could only watch the elder turn around hesitantly.

"If we captured her? Could such a thing be possible? She was entirely far too charming for her own good; Rather, for my own good. I do not even know where she could be." Leliana gave a breath, catching Mercia's gaze again.

"What would you want to happen to her, if we managed to capture her?" The younger woman quirked a brow, interested.

"Only the dead have that choice." Leliana's expression hardened. "But if I was given that choice?" She asked more to herself than Merica, the other nodding. "I would have her burn longer than what Andraste ever felt. Then I would throw her away within an inch of her life."

"You would give her as much as an inch, hm?" Mercia quirked a brow, having an urge to nudge Leliana playfully. She thought against it, humming thoughtfully. "I would slit her throat, even after the burning. Just to be safe. You know what they say about witches."

"Witches?" Leliana's tone altered a touch. "Oh, Maker no. I knew a witch personally. They are rather… stubborn in their nature." A tone of remembrance filtered across the redhead's expression. "I met her during the Fifth Blight. She was aloof, and interesting. But she never went with my suggestions for her… strange fashion choices."

"Mm, I didn't mean any ill will towards those sorts. I meant… the ones in evil lore; What that Cousland sounds like. Not a witch in any right with magic, but rather in ugly attitude and soul." Mercia explained, though she glanced towards Leliana. "Strange fashion choices?"

"The old crone with the potion? Like an ancient fairytale?" Leliana sat herself down on the nearby bench, and Mercia followed suit. She notioned the younger woman to sit down beside her, and she exhaled. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the Witch of the Wilds?"

"Stories, mostly. Nothing ever so… concrete." Mercia made sure to give Leliana space, not wanting a repeat of Haven. She was careful in her motions, lifting a hand to cup her own chin. "Ranged rumors and gossip. Can you tell me more?"

"The witch I knew was one of the many daughters of the Witch of the Wilds." Staring up into the beams of the rookery, the spymaster crossed a leg. "She could shapeshift into the strangest of things. Though her tastes in clothing was… questionable at best; she was probably one of the most beautiful women I had set eyes on."

"Shapeshifting? Unless I'm ignorant, that's not common for mages, is it?" Mercia quirked a brow, eyeing how Leliana was sitting. That couldn't be comfortable with those greaves, could it? Then again, the older woman always seemed completely comfortable…

Was this thanks to being a bard, sister, or the Divine's Left Hand? Perhaps it was all three?

"It is extremely rare. Perhaps almost as rare as your mark." Setting her eyes upon the Inquisitor, Leliana studied her slowly. Her chainmail rattled as she shifted, the weaved metal weighing down fabric. With this movement, she spoke once more. "It is a forgotten art like the arcane warrior. Perhaps shapeshifting is only part of the Witch of the Wilds daughters? Maybe we'll never know?"

"That is quite a lot to take in… But, my mark? Is it rare, or only one of a kind?" Mercia asked, laying her palm out over her own knee. The anchor sparked to life, the Inquisitor hiding it with a clenched fist. "That is curious, about the witch… What was her name?" She hoped to distract from the action, cocking a brow.

She knew this was an impossible feat with Leliana, however. How could she keep such a detail from the spymaster?

"Morrigan." Leliana murmured, slender eyebrows wrinkling. She regarded Mercia's arm quietly, leaning forward. She ignored the younger female's discomfort, watching emerald spread.

"Morrigan? What a lovely name." Mercia tried to dissuade from a closer examination, subtly folding her arms over her chest. The left she kept hidden, while fingertips of her right hand tapped along her shoulder. "What happened to her? Is she…?"

"I do not know." The redhead glanced up to her sharply. Taking Mercia's left wrist into her hands, she pried the arm closer. The notion pushed her closer, Leliana watching the mark cautiously.

"Ah…" She had been trying to keep its spread a secret. Since the Breach had been opened yet again, it had kickstarted the mark's progress. Her veins were lit up in the sickly green glow, all the way to her shoulder.

"How long has this been happening? Tell me."

What was she supposed to say? Swallowing, Mercia paused in thought. Her brain stumbled in how to reply, and she simply stared at the elder.

"Does it really matter?" She smiled instead, hoping to avoid the topic. "As Cassandra stated when we first met; Every time the Breach grows, my mark spreads, and it's killing me." Mercia shrugged her right shoulder, giving off an air of carelessness.

"Of course it matters." Leliana frowned, her voice lifting. She pulled away from Mercia, and stood. A crow had perched itself atop the railings in front of them, squawking. "Has closing rifts improved it? Or is more power forcing it to spread?" She unhooked a letter attached to the bird's foot, and read it swiftly.

The crow ruffled its feathers feverishly, beady eyes staring up at Leliana.

"Ah… Closing rifts relieves the pain of it." Mercia shifted on the bench, tugging down her tunic's sleeve to hide the spread. She stood, making her way to Leliana's side. With a frown, she glanced away and towards the tall ceiling of the rookery.

"Perhaps it was a bad idea to become so close to you… It will only hurt more when I die."

"Who's to say you would die?" Leliana's furrow deepened, pushing the letter aside. She turned to the Inquisitor fully, speaking clearly. "Maybe you were chosen by the Maker. Perhaps you are the Herald of Andraste. I was unsure, but now?" She still was.

Mercia chuckled softly, leaning against the railing where it was strongest. She shook her head, voice solemn when she spoke again. "Perhaps I am, but surely you remember that even Andraste died." The Inquisitor closed her eyes, numbly reciting a verse from the chant of light. "Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground; Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice."

"In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know your Light remains." The spymaster easily recited, catching Mercia's attention. Her gaze forced the younger woman to turn to her fully, her hands hooking behind herself. "I have heard the sound a song in the stillness, the echo of your voice calling creation to wake from its slumber."

Was this the… Canticle of Trials?

"How can we know you? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death in the empty space where our hearts hunger for a forgotten face?"

Mercia listened, clearing her throat as she turned her gaze away again. "I'll definitely need to refresh myself on the chants if I'm to be caught reciting in your presence again." She teased, though even she could hear her heart wasn't in it. "But, you are right. I shouldn't become so… down, regarding the mark." She lied through a soft smile, shaking her head.

With the pain and spread of the mark, Mercia knew that her death would be an end far too close for her liking. Perhaps even as close as defeating Corypheus… "I should leave you to your work."

Blue eyes narrowed, the spymaster clutching her arm. She kept the warrior in place firmly, continuing. "You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me." Pausing for only a moment, she wet her lips. "I have faced armies with you as my shield. And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence."

Mercia's gaze bore deep into the spymaster's own, the noble woman silent. It seemed she was considering something, flecks of the Fade dancing in green eyes. Lowering her gaze from Leliana's, her attention remained upon the older woman's face. Was there a deeper meaning to those words, or was it just for faith?

The spymaster's tone lifted a pitch higher, snatching her attention tighter yet. Leliana was determined in this, for whatever it truly meant. "When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me, and the taste of blood fills my mouth. Then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation."

Suddenly, upon this notion, Mercia realised what Leliana was attempting. This chant about the Maker strangely suited her life as the Inquisitor.

"You have grieved as I have. You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art. Do not grieve for me, Inquisitor of All. Though all others may forget you, your name is etched into my every step. I will not forsake you, even if I forget myself."

Mercia returned her gaze to Leliana's, raising her hand for the one on her arm. She gently extricated herself from the spymaster's grip, smiling even so. "Thank you, Leliana… Though, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to confess something to me." She playfully chuckled, hoping to leave this uncomfortable conversation with humor.

"What do you think?" The spymaster inquired, turning back to her crow. She notioned the bird to hop onto her arm, and it did so. "The Chant of Light has never failed me. Depending on the moment, it can be used to heal wounds a spell cannot, yes?" Drifting to the table, she set the bird atop the chair. "They heal numerous mental scars."

"I have no doubt about that." Mercia didn't follow her, instead taking a step towards the stairs. "I'll leave you to your work? I know someone must be needing my attention." The Inquisitor chuckled softly, idling by. Was she waiting to be dismissed?

This conversation between them… Mercia couldn't make heads or tails around it. She felt mixed about it, like there was something looming. But what was this? She had felt a… chemistry of sorts. But what was the true intention?

"The Inquisitor is always needed." The hooded woman turned her head slightly, Mercia barely catching sight of skin. "Do not push yourself. I will meet you at the war table later tonight."

COLLAB NOTES

Leliana's Mercy takes place in our custom made 'DEPRESSION STATE'. This state is essentially a chaotic, and traumatic world. Many key events have taken place in Origins which has scarred Leliana and Cullen for life. For instance, the Ferelden Circle was purged, Redcliffe was abandoned, and Alistair was executed by Loghain. This means many characters from Origins don't exist within Inquisition (Wynne, Alistair, Connor, etc).

Warden: Elissa Cousland (Warrior) slayed the Archdemon and is alive. She is "Chaotically Evil".

Morrigan: She retrieved Flemeth's grimoire after the Witch of the Wilds was "killed". Before entering the eluvian, the Warden stabbed her.

Leliana ("Romanced"): Betrayed and "killed" after the Warden corrupted the Urn the Sacred Ashes.

Hawke: Marian (Warrior) has the "Humorous Personality". Her behaviour is "Neutral" when making decisions. She fought the templars, and executed Anders.

Isabela (Romanced): She returned to Hawke, and wasn't handed over to Arishok.

Merrill: She is currently alive, and didn't destroy her eluvian. Her clan also wasn't slaughtered.