Cruise Elroy

This post contains spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins.

I was initially interested in Leliana because I wanted to know more about the Chantry. Ever since I attempted to unravel the tangled theology of Morrowind, I’ve been fascinated by the way fantasy worlds treat religion; gods may walk the earth and meddle in human affairs, but the existence of magic still causes divinity to lose some of its luster. As a lapsed lay sister, Leliana seemed a good source for understanding how that conflict would play out in Dragon Age.

She was, as it turns out, but I quickly became attached to her as a character and not as a religious ambassador. In fact, within a few hours of her joining my party, she had become my favorite companion.

As someone already invested in stories and music, I was admittedly predisposed to like Leliana. I loved that I could always ask her for a story at camp, or “What do you know of this place?” out in the wild; I enjoyed reading the codex entires, but having a bard to bring stories to life was a welcome and engaging alternative.

That aside, though, I found Leliana to be charming in her own right. Most notably, she has a disarming earnestness that seems to get under everyone’s skin. It’s this quality that convinces the Revered Mother to release Sten, and (if you’re role-playing) that convinces the Grey Warden to welcome her into the party. Later you can hear her gradually soften up the more jaundiced companions, like Shale, with random party banter. And she’s even vulnerable to her own charms — her vision from the Maker is implied to be a fabrication she has deluded herself into accepting.

Leliana also has an amusing goofy streak, though her best comments are quick asides or buried deep in dialogue trees. (Some favorites: naming her pet nug “Schmooples,” suggesting that everyone hold hands and sing to solve the floor puzzle in the Gauntlet, and gossiping about Alistair’s sexual performance.) She’s perhaps not as funny as Alistair or Oghren, but neither does she bear the burden of incessant comic relief; as such, her humor is afforded more subtlety. And thankfully, her comically exaggerated girliness (see: all comments regarding shoes) is only a backdrop and not a stand-in for an actual personality.

All of this generated a positive feedback loop: I liked Leliana, so I was friendly with her and gave her gifts, increasing her approval rating. The higher disposition unlocked more dialogue options — and, eventually, her “personal quest” — which fleshed out her character. And as I got to know her better, I liked her more.

The personal quests are the high points of your companions’ character development. They provide a transition from acquaintanceship to friendship, piercing through Morrigan’s arch cynicism or Sten’s willful inscrutability and revealing the person beneath. Of these, Leliana’s quest was one of my favorites — instead of being merely a nice thing to do, it can actually realign her moral compass.

Marjolaine, Leliana’s old mentor and eventual betrayer, suddenly tries to have her assassinated after years of silence. You and your party track her down, ordering her away or killing her on the spot. Either way, Leliana is thrown into crisis as she is overwhelmed with repressed feelings: What does it mean that she still enjoys murder? How much of her piety was an act? Was she living a lie as a cloistered sister, or can she reject her past and choose her own destiny? Her self-identity rests on the edge of a knife, and the player, as her best friend, can nudge her in one direction or the other.

All this is to say that I had a difficult time placing Leliana in a box, which is not something I can often say about someone in a video game. Dragon Age is full of strong characters, but she is the one who struck me as particularly multifaceted.