During the past decade of her work, the Left Hand of the Divine had stayed professional whenever she could afford it. There was little choice, standing between the wars of rebellion spreading like a plague across the lands. With every year, she had found more occasions where she would previously cave and she now stood strong. It did not mean she no longer owned compassion; no longer bore a care for every soul she recruited into this madness. She had trusted in them, but she had also trusted in herself to either not see them come to harm, or not let it stop her from reaching the final goal they had sacrificed themselves for. Once in a while, however, the Divine’s Hand would make exceptions. If she did not, she was sure to lose her humanity all together. And so it was, when she had finally found her poor, devastated assistant among corpses of both darkspawn and spies alike, that she let the mask slip an inch for the miserable pair of eyes that had never seen her otherwise. Sorrow and empathy warmed those cold blue eyes with an old fire, springing tears in the pair in front of her. Getting Harding away from the horrific scene of her coming nightmares was all Leliana dared with her agent in such a state, and she set camp some miles further into Ferelden, away from the beating of merciless waves. The tent was pitched, a cage warmed by runes, and the dwarven woman drawn into the comfort. The Sister held her there, the smaller form embraced by strong limbs and careful touches. Leliana did not care nor mind if her stout agent cried or not, prayed or not, screamed or not; she simply let the grief be felt as it would. When eventually they lay down to rest before the coming journey to a safe haven, Leliana had insisted the darkspawn blood-splattered arms and garments removed. A hero of the Blight, Harding did not need much convincing that it would be a relief. Beneath blankets, the Sister remained close, though her companion had turned away. Tension and sorrow weighed tanned, scarred shoulders, and the trained bard carried only one remedy this once. First, a gentle brush of fingers over a small stretch of skin, then hesitation, then warm breath released by a kiss of comfort. Painted lips lingered, until she felt a long breath leave the dwarf, and she drew back. ”The Maker will take them to His side; the only one suffering now is you. Let your heavy heart rest, dear.”
