Leliana
Cassandra is waiting for Leliana at the top of the stairs leading to Haven's Chantry's cells. Lying in wait, Leliana amends, when she takes in Cassandra's thundercloud expression -- a thundercloud on the brink of bursting -- and unconcealed impatience.
"Cassandra."
"Well?" A growled demand.
Leliana swallows her sigh and starts down the long dim curve of the chantry nave towards their workroom. Her tread is silent on the stone, but Cassandra falls in beside her, and hers is not. "She doesn't trust us, Cassandra."
Cassandra is impatient with her caution, insistent that the elf's guilt cannot be in question -- her attitude has encouraged the soldiers and townsfolk who've taken to calling their prisoner the Herald of Andraste, as if they didn't have enough immediate problems without adding supportingblatant heresy to their number.
The Chantry in Val Royeaux will see it as heresy, at least. And if she is to uncover Justinia's true murderers, all of them, if she and Cassandra are to be able to see at least part of Justinia's vision through and end the mage-templar fighting, they cannot afford to alienate the remaining hierarchy entirely. Not yet.
A Herald of Andraste might be useful. It might be useful, but only if the elf is honest. And yes, Leliana's instincts incline her towards that conclusion -- the Dalish has a weary resignation about her, where it comes to her own fate: she seems to expect them to kill her regardless of her actual guilt -- but Leliana cannot rely on her instincts alone.
Not when the world is falling apart. Not when she has already failed so badly.
Unfortunately, no one in Haven knows anything about the elf, and if the Rivaini-dark Dalish won't answer Leliana's questions, she will have nothing but her instincts to go on.
Cassandra sniffs, and returns to the argument they've been having since before they returned to the village. "She gave me her parole. We do not need to keep her in a cell."
"I don't --" Leliana bites back a sharp response, and forces herself to project a calm she doesn't feel. "Aside from everything else," she says, levelly, "Roderick will have an apoplexy if we do not. I would prefer to have him calm until the girl recovers enough to stand unaided, at least: there are a number of sisters and brothers who share his views, and I would rather not alienate them entirely until we have to. But she doesn't trust us, Cassandra, and parole or no, I do not want her disappearing without leave. Or trying and ending up dead in the snow, for that matter. She would not answer my questions. She may be hiding something."
She's sent for Charter -- the elf was in Redcliffe at last report -- because she needs a lieutenant whose competence she trusts. There's far too much to do, far too much that needs keeping under her hand, and she feels time running away from her like sands in a glass. The more time passes, the longer Justinia's murderers have to cover their tracks. The longer they have to do something worse than the Breach, if the Breach, rather than the Conclave's murder, was their true goal.
Cassandra's snort is acid. "Perhaps I should have been the one to ask her questions, then."
"You think you would have better fortune? Nialla tells me that the second thing she asked, upon waking, was whether we meant to kill her out of hand. Then she asked me whether I would put her to the question." And the resigned look in the elf's eyes, coupled with the old scars on her skin, told Leliana the Dalish had no illusions as to what that would entail. "She fears what we will do to her, and if I cannot get her to answer my questions, then perhaps she is right to fear!" Leliana pinches the bridge of her nose to relieve the tension building in her head. She is on the edge of losing her temper, and that is never good.
Surprisingly, Cassandra doesn't return temper for temper. Instead, Cassandra regards her with something like compassion. "We need her, Leliana. You said that to me, do you remember? It is still true. And I do not believe she is guilty."
This time, Leliana does not swallow her sigh. "Very well. You speak to her, when she wakes again. Perhaps she will open up to you." And before Cassandra can smirk at her victory, she wags her finger in the other woman's face, not bothering to hide the quirk of her lips. "But since you are so well-convinced of her innocence, you may also deal with Roderick."
Cassandra takes some little while to concede.
But she does eventually.