My Warden (COMPLETED)

Prayer

A hundred voices rose up from the rows of pews below, each chant bolstered by its harmonious sister to create a haunting and beautiful song echoing through the sanctuary. Candles sputtered in little battalions upon the altar, next to it, and more tucked beside the pews. They glowed less like flame and more a multitude of stars pocked against a moonless night. While all the members of the chantry clustered together in the first fifteen rows, their heads bent over in fealty, a lone figure watched from the balcony above. She sat perched in a worn chair, her chin upon the railing as she gazed downward at the procession below.

Leliana was easy to see, of course, having the greatest hat and leading the services. She was supposed to stand by and wait for the song to finish, but Lana could see her chin dropping low and her mouth widening. The bard couldn't give up her song. While it was interesting to watch her old friend guide an entire chantry full of people during vespers, her real attention was on the man bent upon the kneelers.

Cullen stood out, not that it was difficult being surrounded by 80% women. The few brothers in the Grand Cathedral kept to the back, or seemed to skip this service in general. She wondered if that bothered Cullen, to be singled out so easily, but if he felt put off he didn't show it. His hands were pressed together tight, his head bowed as he bobbed along the washing sea of the chant. The only disturbance to his fervor was the woman beside him. Every once in awhile Mia would do something, Lana couldn't tell what at such a distance, and Cullen would twist his head enough to glance over at his sister.

It'd been about a week since her arrival, and after the embarrassing first meeting, Lana and she began to get on. Many more moons would have to pass before it became a friendship, but the foundation was there. It certainly helped how much Mia bore in common with her brother, even if neither would admit it. And, for all his grumblings about his sister sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Cullen seemed genuinely happy to have her around. He even took her on a walking tour of the famous Val Royeaux bazaar, surprising Lana because she didn't think he even knew of its existence.

"You're not down there with them?" a voice drew forth from behind her and Lana broke away from the siblings to find Detan haunting around the edges of the balcony. It was in a state of disrepair, most of the upholstery on the chairs split and faded, rotted wood cracking, metal hinges bent, and old bunting from some long dead Divine wafted off the ceiling. No one intended to use it save the ghost of the Cathedral.

"I..." Lana staggered up to her feet to face the elf. Her mind traipsed around how to explain her absence. "No, I don't consider it my place."

"I see," Detan said. She was dressed as she always was; utilitarian, grey, stark. Lana wondered why she kept herself so plain, but it dawned upon her that the elf was trying to blend in with so many humans. There was a great amount of work put into her appearance to make her vanish within the folds of the chantry, which Lana understood well.

"What of you?" Lana asked. Her hand skirted along the balcony railing, and she glanced down as all the chantry rose for a benediction. She knew the lines from her days as an apprentice but didn't feel them. Certainly not the way Cullen did.

Detan's wary eyes slipped around the edges, "What of me?"

"Elves were officially welcomed into the bosom of the chantry," Lana recited the both blessing and grievance on everyone's lips. Leliana was right, it wasn't the mages freedom that had everyone up in arms but the idea of having to share a pew with a knife ear.

Without a clipboard to hide behind, Detan's fingers tugged at her sleeves, yanking them out of their tight roll. How had Lana never noticed how long they were? Her clothes barely fit without pinning in place as if they were purchased second hand and hemmed to fit her. "I, the Divine has been more than welcoming of my people, but...um," her eyes widened even more in the weak light to the point they looked like reflective pools sunken in her face.