Dragon Age: Grey Dawn || Sansa Stark & Astra

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
The laughter died in her throat when Benjen spoke again, and her face fell for the briefest instance. By the time he bowed at her mockingly, her expression was as unreadable as stone, and just as cool.

The shocking thought that had come to mind when she looked upon her gown was that she looked like someone who had just lived through a Blight.

Leonie turned to face the Waking Sea. Though she knew nothing about sailing, she could see they were making fairly good speed, and must be well away from Val Royeaux. She scanned the distance, but couldn't see a trace of it. Thoughts of her father and younger brother swam up to the surface of her mind but she instantly shut them down, locking them away in a small mental compartment which she would open later --somewhere more private, preferably, not in the middle of the ocean with two warriors. She gazed at the sea, then she gazed at her hands as they held onto the railing, and she found herself thinking that this was the closest approximation of being in the Fade she'd seen while waking. A little floating vessel, alone.

She had cast a spell last night, willingly. Everything she knew was destroyed, and she could never go back to her home or her loved ones. There was a Blight upon Thedas. She had nothing left.

So what do I have to lose?

Heavy steps upon wood alerted her to an imminent interruption. She half-turned to receive him, and accepted his offering of what was presumably food and clothing. A... whole loaf? Was she meant to eat all of it? She met his gaze, listened to his words. Her expression was as unreadable and detached as ever.

"I am sorry you feel that way. Thank you for these." It was clear that she'd gone back to diplomatic court-speak in which she spoke but said nothing at all. But she knew that if she responded honestly, she wouldn't respond politely. Leonie calmly watched him turn and go brood at the other railing, then down to the inner sections of the ship.

'Contained.' A joke about out-of-control magic. Despicable. Obscene. She felt outraged anger building, but she took several breaths, thinking of rage demons and abominations, and it helped calm her.

Placing her items on the sail she'd slept in, Leonie took off the other Warden's coat and extracted her shoes from it. She shakily made her way to the wheel. She didn't quite have sea legs yet.

"Sir Vaeryn, thank you very much for lending me your coat." The Orlaisian duchess gave the much more personable Warden a small smile, deciding she liked him better. She offered him his coat back. "Would it be alright if I went downstairs to change?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Benjen heard his friend and the duchess talking as he was lulled to a pointless half-slumber, still awake to control his dreams, but not entirely coherent. It was better than nothing at all. His weary body didn't feel replenished nearly as much as it should, but at least the nightmares were kept at bay during the hours he lay still. When he woke, the swaying of the ship nearly lured him back to sleep, until the clap of some violent force rang in his ears and he rolled out of bed, mystified.

"What the hell...?" he muttered under his breath, but was given no time to question. Flashes of lightning bled in through the hull's windows and Vaeryn began shouting from the deck. "Ben!" came the cry. "Get up here, we're in trouble!"

"Shit. Shit." Benjen pushed himself to his feet and dashed up the wooden stairs. Sheets of pouring rain smacked him on impact and continued to pound as he moved to the wheel. Thunder rolled through the sky and deafened him. Howling wind forced the ship off course through rolling waves and darkness. He did what he could to secure the rigging while Vaeryn attempted to steer, but with only two pairs of hands, there wasn't much that could prevent the inevitable outcome of the unwelcome storm. Shipwrecked, they were no good to anyone. If only more Wardens had survived...

"Get the girl," Vaeryn spat. "Don't leave 'er alone down there, the hull will fill with water sooner or later!"

In truth, Ben had forgotten entirely about Léonie. Not because she was unimportant to him, but because he'd wished her elsewhere, and in doing so, believed his desires to be true. Benjen raced down the steps to retrieve the duchess and ensure her safety, which was of his top priority, but the storm had other plans. The ship crashed into a boulder or a force of some kind and threw Benjen off-balance, tumbling into a pile of splintered wood and rushing ocean water. He groaned as his body ached with sharp pain, but there was no time to assess his wounds. The duchess, the potential heir to the throne of Orlais, had to be kept secure.

Benjen stumbled through the wreckage ans seawater. "Duchess!" he bellowed over the sounds of their defeat. "Duchess, where are you!"[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Night had come quickly, even though there was almost nothing to do on the boat. She had entertained herself by staring at the water. A few hours went by as she tried to fix her hair without using a mirror. Maker, she wanted a hot bath. She used a little bit of water to wash her face, since she didn't think she could live with herself otherwise and changed into the dress that the Warden had procured. It was a terribly simple, functional thing, but it was comfortable and had no corsetry. While her elegant ball shoes were still wearable, she didn't want to clunk around the boat, so she made do with simple slippers that she found in a closet. She had said goodnight to Vaeryn and found a small room for herself.

It felt like being in servant quarters. Upon lying down, the rocking motion of the boat was intensified. It did not please nor comfort her. After powering through her nausea, sleep came heavily. Leonie lay in some sort of hazy nightmare. Rhythmically, a great booming resonated in her dreams, and she was taken back to the boulders in the hallway. She was running away, as fast as she could, but the booming wouldn't cease, and it was chasing her. The ship lurched as she still slept, and she felt herself falling in her dream. There was a monumental rending sound, and she was falling for a moment, into the mouth of the great chasm, into the mouth of a great dragon. But she woke with a start as she felt cold and wet. Water lapped at her side, sea water filling the chamber. Lightning lit up the room. Something had pierced the side of the hull. A bolt of lightning had struck the mainmast, sending shards flying all through the deck. The sails caught fire, and, as the mast ripped itself from the ship it nearly ripped the vessel in two.

Profoundly confused and disoriented she tried to stand in near hip-deep water, but the rolling of she ship sent her flying into the wall. The door to the room she had chosen had been flung open and was propped, blocked, by a beam of wood. She could hear a roar --but what wasn't roaring now? The sea, the storm, the fire. Thinking on instinct, Leonie tried to duck beneath the beam --she was small enough to fit, she was sure of it. She crossed beneath it and tried to raise her head. There, lit up in a flash of lightning, she could see him; the massive Warden, looking out of his mind, right at her. She opened her mouth to speak to him but the sea rushed in and swallowed her whole, knocking her over.

Shock came first, then when she tried to break the surface, she found that she could not escape. Something was pinning her leg, keeping her under the water. In a state of panic, she opened her eyes, but she could not see. More water filled the boat and she could feel herself being tossed about, she hit her head on something, but she could not break free. Her heart screamed in panic. 'Sorry for saving you.' hadn't the Warden said that? --Before that could be her final train of thought, something grabbed her around the waist and tried to pull her up --failed, her leg was still trapped, but she, in her fright, screamed, nearly inhaled water --the pressure on her leg was gone and she was being lifted up again, successfully this time.

Leonie broke free of the water, blinded and coughing by stinging salt water. She was being carried as if she weighed nothing and she was still profoundly disoriented. Water was everywhere, chaos was everywhere. She realized she was being carried by the large Warden, and now they were above deck, and he was shouting something to his comrade, but Leonie couldn't make any of it out. She couldn't-- couldn't...


Sand, in her eyes. And in her mouth.

Leonie coughed, rubbing her face frantically clean. Her head was pounding, and her leg ached terribly. Opening her weary eyes, she saw that she thankfully still had both arms and legs...

Shipwreck.

A bolt of panic shot through her, and she finally looked around. The beach was long, with a pleasantly calm ocean lapping at its white sand, and a verdant forest just behind that. It would be a nice place to relax if not for the massive fragments of wood, cloth, rope, that littered it. The main mast had washed up, and it was blackened by flames. A slow realization creeped up on her.

She was alone.

Eyes widening, she breathed deeply, to stay calm. Even her ribs ached. Grasping her hands in front of her, she examined the beach with furrowed brows. Not a soul to be seen. Not. A. Soul.

"Oh Maker. Oh Maker. Oooooh Maker. Maker, I'm talking to myself. Maker. Nooo..." Her breathing intensified. She started walking, limping, in one direction, changed her mind, decided to walk towards the wreckage. "No.... no..."

Calm, calm, stay calm... calm...

She figured that if she only thought the word 'calm,' other words, other thoughts, wouldn't worm their way in. She gasped --was that -- no, it was just some seaweed she mistook for hair. Or... wait... Maker! Leonie shrieked.

It was the Warden-Captain, splayed out on the beach, wrapped in seaweed. She rushed to him as quickly as she could and knelt by his side. "Hello? Hello, Warden?" She picked the seaweed off his face and then placed her head over his chest... heartbeat! Was that a heartbeat?

"Hello? Hello! Hello? Warden can you hear me?" She patted his cheek, his head flopped to the side. He was definitely breathing. Maybe she should put the seaweed back on his face? Or should she slap him with it? "Warden?" Louder, "Warden Benjen Iverstill?" She put the seaweed on his face.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
His vision was entirely blurred. The shipwreck had given him a smack on the head with some driftwood and metal, and nothing had been the same ever since. Damage had been done. His skull ached terribly and the sunlight was almost too much for him to bear. He pushed up from the sand all the same, determination rank with every atom in his body, despite the disadvantage in which he'd found himself.

"Fuck," Vaeryn cursed, rubbing his pained forehead. Blood covered his palm when he looked at it. There wasn't much he could do about the wound until he found some herbs, but more importantly, it was his people he missed. Vaeryn stood on his feet and looked around the shipwrecked surroundings for a sign of Benjen or his magical commodity of a duchess, praying to the Maker that he wasn't left without them.

"Léonie! Lady Léonie!" called Vaeryn the instant he laid eyes upon the girl. He had walked for nearly an hour along the beach and felt the relief of Andraste herself pierce him at the sight of his friends. The rogue rushed to her side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Maker's breath, I thought I was alone. I'm so glad I found you. Are you alright? Not hurt at all? Is Benjen anywhere nearby...?"

And then, he saw him. Captain Benjen Iverstill lay in the sand, completely unconscious, with a bleeding chest and wounded ribs. "Dammit, you stupid bloke. You're s'posed to take care of yourself." Vaeryn put his hands on his hips and sighed, clearly frustrated.

"New plan. We need, uh...elfroot. I can make some medicine from that and try to wake him." Vaeryn winced at the pain when he touched his head, simply trying to rub the frustration from his mind. "There's...forest. Oh, Maker, it hurts." The elf let out a groan of agony, aching to sit down and recover from the split in his head. But as always, keeping Ben alive was more important than his own comfort. "Do you know what elfroot looks like, m'lady? It grows about knee-high, a green plant with a few...erm, a few leaves on it. Smells like mint. We need about ten or twelve leaves to make somethin' for 'im, and then I'll get to you with whatever wounds you got."

Water. He needed water, too. But instead of mentioning something about it, he kept to himself yet again for the sake of saving his companions. He stepped into the forest with the duchess behind him, keeping weary eyes peeled for the herb they needed.

After a time and careful observation of the duchess's movements, he knelt down to retrieve the plant he'd found, not knowing the danger that approached his hazy mind.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
"<No way,> did she really say that about you?"

"<Yes>, and truth be told, I didn't believe it initially. But everyone else I've asked about it —"

"That's so rude, Shirael! Don't let her get away with it. Do you want me to put a <mouse> in her pocket for you?"

<What? No. Why would I?>

She shrugged, "It would be funny. And if she gets scared, then you can swoop in and save her like a mighty ranger man and prove her completely wrong." Maharel pulled a exaggeratedly serious face and Shirael began to laugh, before stopping abruptly and making a telling hand-gesture and looking seriously into the woods. They could both hear something moving, without any grace. Another hand gesture - three fingers in that direction, one finger up, and the pair was off, up and into the trees.

From this vantage point, the Dalish elves saw the source of the noises immediately. Two strangers. Shirael chirped like a bird, indicating that it was a man and a woman, and an elf and a shem. Maharel replied, tweeting that she didn't see anyone else around them, so it would just be two-on-two. Their movements were soundless and lithe, and they wore clothes that camouflaged perfectly with the browns and greens of the trees. She silently nocked an arrow…

And it violently plunged into the ground a mere hair's breadth from Vaeryn's eager hand.

"Halt, thief!" Shirael called from the trees, in a voice that really could have been more authoritative and less melodramatic. "You are an elf, yet you are not Dalish, for you bear no vallaslin. Open your palms and do not move. State your business coming into this forest and taking what does not belong to you, or the next arrow shall go through your heart!"

Up from her perch behind them, Maharel noticed something interesting. "Shirael," she whispered through the trees in elvish, <I think they're both injured.>

"Let them speak for themselves before speaking for them." He replied, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Keep your aim on," then he tweeted, indicating she should be watching the human woman. But the woman looked so bedraggled and harmless that Maharel didn't see the point of watching her when she could be doing something more useful. Instead, she decided to climb a bit higher and take a look at the beach, which is presumably where they had come from, to see what she could see that might be of use. They looked like they were in a real sorry state. There had to be a story there.

Mere moments later, independently of what conversation had been taking place, Maharel climbed back to a lower bough and triumphantly declared, "Shirael, there's been a shipwreck! I saw the wreck from the treetops. <These must be survivors.> Is that it? Just who are you, anyway?" She addressed the strangers now, still calling to them from the trees.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
Vaeryn gasped and retracted his hand when the arrow struck the soil. "Maker's balls!" he cursed under his breath, lifting his eyes to the faces in the woods. Dalish faces. He could see them. His eyes were trained to find people hidden in the darkness, and he saw the elves who summoned him. Their facial markings were distinctive. It could not have been a greater blessing, he supposed, to see his kin and be able to ask for help, but he knew the price. Embarrassment. He stood from the ground, slightly humiliated, and raised his hands above his head.

This would either go wonderfully well, or quite terribly.

"Don't shoot!" Vaeryn shouted before biting his lip. "<My name is Vaeryn. I...Alienage, or was. Elvish not good, but I try.>" He felt the lump in his throat at the poor excuse of the Elvish language, but he continued, if only for the sake of his friends. Not knowing his mother tongue was always a great source of pain for him. Still, he would endure it for their survival. "We were shipwrecked during the storm last night. Our destination was Halamshiral, but we were blown off course. I think my head is injured. I am a Grey Warden from Denerim, as is my unconscious friend on the beach, and this woman is--"

He dared not reveal her true identity. The Orlesians were nearly worse than Ferelden when it came to the treatment of elves, including the Dalish, whom they mocked mercilessly. He did not want to put Léonie's life in danger. "This is his wife."

His fucking wife?! shouted Vaeryn's subconscious, but there was nothing to do about it now. The words were said. It could not be undone. Vaeryn tried to hide the grin on his lips, imagining what his nose will look like after Benjen breaks it.

"We were headed to the Winter Palace to regroup with the other Wardens. We witnessed the emergence of the Blight, if you have yet to hear. We need this elfroot to heal our friend, my Captain. <Please, friends, in peace we come.>"

Leave it to Vaeryn to find humor in a dark situation.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
<Stars and spirits, he's speaking Elvish! Or is this really speaking it> more like chewing it up."

"Hmmm," Maharel replied, but she couldn't help but smile at the man's botched attempts. By this point, she had moved to stand in the trees next to her friend. Once he said he was a Warden, she looked at Shirael incredulously and made a gesture as if to say, 'what the hell, we almost shot a Grey Warden?' The two tree-top elves began to whisper among themselves.

<They could be lying.>

"True, but it's risky to lie about being a Warden. Do you think what he says about a Blight is true?" Shirael didn't respond, so Maharel continued. "Perhaps we should just take them to the Keeper, so she can decide what to do. If they tell the truth, it would be--"

"Completely disastrous to send them away." Shirael finished, nodding somberly in response. "Did you see anyone on the beach?"

"No. <So this isn't an ambush, if that's what you're asking>."

Shirael nodded. It was what he had been asking. She lowered her voice even more. "Though I would like to know why Halamshiral is the meeting place for Fereldan Wardens." She raised her eyebrows at her companion, and he did the same. But they both knew that it was a question that the Keeper would have to ask. They had no recourse but to take them to her.

"Very well!"

"We won't shoot you."

They jumped from their tree, landing with practiced grace. The man was slightly taller and had cut the hair on the sides of his head quite short, though he still sported a beautiful blonde ponytail. The woman had hair like autumn leaves, and it was semi-loose on her back, half-tied up in a braid. Both had put their bows away to show the truth of their words.

"If you are who you say, and if a Blight has truly come, then we need to take you to our Keeper." The way he said it made clear that there was no room for argument.

"I am called Maharel, and he is called Shirael. How injured is the other Warden?" She looked to the woman, "Can your husband stand, or walk?"

For some reason, the woman had tucked her hands far into her sleeves, and her long hair was all around her shoulders like a shawl. Maharel couldn't see her hands or much of her neck. Rather crazy-looking, like some of the humans who tried to come live out here to be 'one with nature'... But the poor thing must be in shock, after only just emerging from the water. "My husband," the woman spoke in a surprisingly Orlaisian accent and paused here, perhaps stricken by grief. "Is completely incapacitated by his wounds. He is also a rather large man. Truthfully, and I am sorry to say, it might require a small aravel to transport him. Truth be told, if I may, I would rather ride in one as well. My leg has been injured."

"I see. Well, that can be arranged. Did you travel with him to the Warden gathering? I'm sure he's very lucky to have such a dutiful wife." She smiled, but the woman did not reciprocate.

"Thank you very much." Her words were strangely clipped, but, well. Humans were strange.

"Would you like to wait with him while help arrives? Either myself or Shirael can stay as well to ensure your safety."

<We can?>

"Wardens!" She shot him a look, while behind her back, Leonie shot Vaeryn a look, that was as cool and detached as it was terrifying. "And <given the incident with the bear> I think I should be the one to talk to the Keeper about this and introduce the situation. Besides, we both know <I am more charming than you>." She smiled cheekily and continued on in the same breath. "Warden-Wife, Shirael will stay and keep you and your husband safe while help arrives. As for you, you are called Vaeryn? Come with me." Then, speaking fast, as if to minimize the chance of anyone else understanding, <I'll take this one in case he's lying. Collateral. Watch your back, just in case. We won't be long. I'll have Maharyn send the fastest halla. Stay in the trees!>

Shirael made a hand gesture, a sort of salute, which Maharel reciprocated. <You as well.> He moved to help the woman make her way back to the beach. Meanwhile the female elf gestured at the city-elf for him to walk with her. "Come on. Can you walk? You mentioned your head...?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

CHAPTER III
The Dalish Perspective

​

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
He didn't feel much. The wind was soothing and the sensation of movement, of being lifted and carried, was relaxing to his soul. It reminded him of what a child most feel like when rocked by their mother; naturally, that was something Ben could only dream of. But he imagined it felt something like this. The smell of medicine mixed with sea air made his nose curl, sending his dreams to an odd place. His eyes remained closed as his body desperately soaked up the treatment he was receiving. Oh, how he needed it. Much more of the same stress and abuse, and he surely would have approached the next fight a weakened man.

Benjen had no concept of time. He didn't know how long he slept, nor how much time had passed since the Blight rose with hell itself into the waking world. When he slowly opened his eyes, a woman with dark hair and the most beautiful face he'd ever seen looked down on him with concern. "Andraste," he muttered, mind foggy with confusion. In the end, he could not stay alert and fell back to the world of darkness.

More time passed. More medicine, more voices, a language he didn't know. He never had the strength to ask questions. Benjen slipped in and out of faded consciousness more than once, though the rest was needed, and when he woke again he felt refreshed albeit slow and wounded.

When he opened his eyes for the last time, the woman was still beside him. Léonie. He raised a hand to hold his aching side, though his eyes remained on her, and it felt like they truly belonged there in the midst of his weariness.

"Duchess," he groaned. "You're alive."

"Your wife was uninjured," said an unknown voice, likely that of a healer. "I suspect your efforts to save her during your shipwreck saved her life. You must truly love her." Mere seconds later, the voice made itself known in the form of a Dalish elf. The facial markings were determinate. He was dressed like a healer, with long straight hair and an elderly smile. "Your wounds are not serious. At least, not anymore. Your mage bride helped me while you slept. You will recover."

"Recover," repeated Ben in disbelief. He rested his head back on the pillow and turned his gaze back to Léonie. Wait a second. "Wife?"

"So says your elven friend. He is well, currently with our best rangers. Don't worry. He will visit you soon." The healer gave a nod to the lady. "I will allow you some time alone. I suspect there is much relief in seeing each other alive. I will return soon with some sustenance, Grey Warden." The Dalishman left the tent shortly after. It did not take long for Benjen to piece together what had happened. The shipwreck had brought them ashore, most likely near the Dales, where a clan had found them. Vaeryn must have done the talking. And named the duchess my wife, to keep her identity secret.

"I am going to slaughter that fucking elf."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
She smiled at him honestly, though there was a spark of mirth in her eyes. It masked the intense relief. "As are you, thankfully."

If he had died, after saving her twice, she would not have been able to live with the guilt and sorrow for the loss of such a brave, generous -if brusque and surly- man. But she could already tell his intentions were good --for he was a Warden, was he not? And their duty was to save lives, and to save Thedas. Even if he didn't particularly like her, that was fine --nothing new to Leonie.

The Duchess turned her elegant head back to the elven healer. "Thank you, Master Junar, but you give me too much credit. Forgive his outburst, he must have hit his head harder than we thought." She laughed, light and charming. As if to emphasize the point, she placed a hand on Benjen's forehead while still smiling gratefully at the Dalish elf. As he left, Leonie called after him, "Thank you very much for your kind help!"

Once they were alone, she left his forehead alone and looked at him with an expression that held grudging acceptance of the situation.

"Vaeryn had a concussion from the wreck, he was not thinking properly. And it's a good an excuse as any to explain my being here." She paused as if giving her words more thought. "So perhaps not slaughter..." she trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.

Leonie sat back, more relaxed now that he was conscious. "As you probably surmised, we're in a Dalish camp. I believe they call themselves... Vallahenyn? Though I might not be pronouncing it properly. They've been very generous. Vaeryn explained that you're Wardens, and the Keeper believed his story, though she did say that she would like to speak with both of you." A stern look, "Though you should focus on your recovery before thinking of that." As she spoke, she had poured him a cup of water. She carefully held it to his lips, with a hand that was laden with fewer rings than it had been before.

"Here. You should drink. Thanks to your companion, I'll be your wife while we're here. No need to kill Vaeryn, since I'm sure it will pass faster than you think." For it was clear that he found the concept of being wedded to her absolutely appalling. "Do --" she looked suddenly very worried, since the thought only just occurred to her. "Do you have an actual wife, in Ferelden? I want to make it very clear that I do not want to overstep any boundaries and I understand that this is merely an act. And if you think it pertinent, we should use this time to think of a story for us, should anyone ask."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Her touch was gentle and genuine. Benjen accepted the water without any suspicion, against his untrusting nature, and thanked her under his breath when she took the cup away. He looked up to her and furrowed his brow. Did I call her Andraste? Shamed, he turned his gaze away from her and tried to think of how conflicted he was in calling her beautiful.

"It was...it was good thinking," Benjen said at last, against his inner judgment. "You could be the only surviving member of your family. Keeping your identity safe is all that matters. Aside from the Blight, of course." The injured Warden put a hand over his eyes, sighing from the obvious stress. "I didn't anticipate this obstacle, though. I need to get back on the road, we have to get to Halamshiral and warn King Alistair..."

But when he tried to sit up, the Warden cried out in pain. His ribs were far too sore to move. He clutched his left side and fell back upon the bed, eyes clenched shut from the force. It took a moment for him to recover. When he did, Benjen found the courage to look upon Léonie again, convinced her beauty alone was not enough to cripple him, but perhaps the pain was.

"No. No, I don't have a wife. Never have." He sniffled uncomfortably. "For a while I convinced myself I never wanted one. Might take me a while to warm up to this new...situation." Marriage was something he'd always been against. Not because of his own personal experiences, but because he'd seen so many unhappy marriages in his travels and never wanted that outcome for himself. That didn't stop him from dreaming, however, of that happy ending he'd always wanted as a little boy with nothing to his name.

"A story? Fuck if I know. I met you in an Orlesian tavern. You were a serving girl." He gave a great laugh at the idea of Lady Léonie de Valroque, a mere servant in a local bar. She would likely have smacked him for such a thought. "Or would you dare to stoop so low, duchess?" His tone was not without mocking.

But perhaps Benjen should give her a better chance, and more credit where it was due. She had saved him. Twice. He'd been devoted to saving her, too, not without ulterior motives. His inner turmoil over who she was to him had to be put aside for the betterment of Orlais, for the betterment of both of them, but treating her unfairly was hardly the right course of action. Though, it may be the safest, for the sake of his heart.

He turned away from her again and frowned at nothing inparticular. "You can make up the rest, my lady."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
When he tried, stupidly, to sit up, she gasped sharply in a very Orlaisian way and tried to get him to lie down again, but he fell naturally enough. She watched him intensely as he grimaced as if checking to see he wouldn't expire on the spot. Without being asked, she placed her hands on his sore ribs and summoned a spell, like she had in the tunnels. Her mind was in a better place and she was able to channel her will more effectively, meaning her touch was just enough to numb the pain. She could feel the difference that taking off a few of the rings had made --she still felt tired, but not as overwhelmingly so. And she could feel the Fade coursing through her more distinctly.

Should I tell him I used him as a test subject for this spell while he was unconscious? Mm... better not...

"I'm afraid, Warden, we don't have a while to warm up to this situation. I can take the lead when we're in public. Deceit is the Orlaisian way, after all, is it not?"

Then, once he had said his piece, Leonie looked at him with her great, sad eyes and then looked away, towards the other end of the tent, hair blocking his gaze from her face so he wouldn't be able to see her expression. She kept her breathing steady and deep, and suddenly thought of her family and her home again, and violently pushed it away. Only two days of knowing each other, and he already thought so little of her. And such cruel laughter! For a moment, it even crossed her mind to leave the tent and clear her mind outside, away, before she said something she would regret. She very nearly acted on that instinct.

Then the Dalish healer poked his wise head through the tent flap, bearing a tray of hot food.

"As promised. Flatbread, rabbit stew, some roasted mushrooms. Lady, I'm sure you'll be relieved to know there's healing herbs in all of these. Warden, it's good to see you're still awake. Very good indeed. The poultices are there in the basket, just in case, though I'll be back in a few hours to re-bandage the wounds."

He passed the tray to Leonie, who looked at Benjen with a blank expression. Though it seemed that, perhaps due to the shape of her lips, or the slope of her eyes, her natural look was one of somber sorrow. Leonie placed the tray by Benjen's side and rose, saying "Thank you kindly, Master Junar." She moved to the back of the tent and was apparently procuring a bolster for the Warden's back among a pile of pillows and blankets. The elf nodded approvingly and looked to Benjen, "You'll be in good hands with this one," and bid his leave with a kind smile.

But it seemed like Leonie had now lapsed into some sort of contemplative silence. She wasn't quite so chatty or inquisitive anymore. The duchess kneeled by his head. "Here. So you can eat more comfortably." And if he let her, she would help prop his head and shoulders up with the pillow. She moved back to his side, decidedly avoiding his gaze. She held the tray up for him. "Can you eat? Or do you need my help?" Her mind was clearly elsewhere, and when she looked up at his face again, her expression was as cool as ever. "You should call me Léonie while we're here. Unless you would like to act as if 'my lady' and 'duchess' are terms of endearment."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
You'll be in good hands with this one. Those words would stick with Benjen until the moment he could cherish them no longer.

When the Dalish elf left them to their lonesome, Benjen became much more observant of what was around him. Various herbs and potions sat on makeshift shelving and countertops. Ledgers of medical records were buried under empty glass bottles and alchemical resources. Near all these things was Léonie's frown. It struck him somewhere deep beneath the layers of his heart, and Benjen didn't think he could bear to see it much longer. Justifying himself by the desire to do good, Benjen pushed upright to make her smile and become less worried. "Your spell helped," he said honestly. "You're getting better at it. Glad you took off those rings of yours."

Slowly, he placed some of the offered pillows behind his back so he could sit up properly and eat his meal. He accepted the food from Léonie and placed it on his lap. In silence, he began to eat the flatbread and warm soup, letting it fill him with confidence and wholeness. Each bite was herbal and tasty, though still refreshing, even better than the Orlesian food at the ball. Better for him, too. He could feel the Dalish medicine coursing through his veins and healing him from the inside out. Combined with the power of Léonie's magic, the three of them could be on the road to Halamshiral again in a matter of days, at best.

Looking at her again brought him pain, however, and he knew he'd upset her without reason. Jokes and mocking aside, Benjen cleared his throat to speak to her as the man he aimed to be.

"Léonie," said Benjen, his voice low and sorrowful. "I'm...sorry, for the things I've said. They're insensitive. Sometimes a man can get angry at his surroundings without taking care of what he yells at. It's a way of deflecting the anger away from myself, where it rightfully belongs. I failed you. I failed your family, and all Thedas. I came to stop the Blight and instead I ran from the source. It should have been me who died in Val Royeaux, not your siblings and loved ones. Not your friends. Not even my colleagues, who knew the price asked of them when they Joined. If you have any hatred that's making you frown that like, take it out on me. I deserve it. In keeping you safe, I have failed you all."

Maker, how he hated being serious. Benjen couldn't bear to look upon her, his supposed bride, after having made such a confession from the heart.

"You should, uhm...you should go." Ben cleared his burning throat and kept his head down. "Make sure Vae's alright. I'll be fine in here."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
He had spoken of her rings. Leonie looked down at her hands. Her dark nail polish was chipping in a tremendously distressing way, but she knew she couldn't do anything about it now. The rings... she'd taken off several, but not all. And he thanked her, and made her feel surprisingly... pleased. Though she didn't want to admit it, she wanted him to respect her. She supposed she wanted to show him that she had been worth saving. And perhaps layered beneath that, a certain feeling of wanting him to be... proud of her. Regardless of his surliness, he was definitely a very capable warrior; skilled at his profession. So if he was proud of something she could do... it meant she would be doing something right for once.

There was a silence while he ate, during which both were apparently concerned with their own thoughts. When he cleared his throat, it felt like the precursor to an announcement, and she quietly watched him from beneath her eyelashes.

Nothing could have prepared her for his confession. What was she meant to do with this information? Like she'd said just moments before, deceit was the Orlaisian way. But honesty? She didn't know what to do with honesty. There was no hidden meaning here, no turn of phrase, and, as far as she could tell, no ulterior motive.

"Oh... em..." And for once, the glib duchess was left without something to say. She looked at him with open-faced, quiet surprise.

"... Oh."

Maker. She could only respond to such honesty with honesty herself, couldn't she? There was no room for wordplay or deflection here.

... he was being terribly hard on himself, wasn't he? She hadn't expected it, from a man as strong as him. He had expected her to hate him...

Well... maybe there was some room for deflection. Or at least circumvention. There was too much sorrow here, far too much. Justifiably, but Maker knew it shouldn't be here exclusively. And as she looked at him suffering there, a line from the Chant of Light came to mind unbidden.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just;
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written.

It struck a chord with her for a reason she could not place, but she suddenly felt very peaceful, and it showed by the way that she seemed to relax. She chose her words carefully, but they still came more quietly, shyly, sincerely than she would have hoped. "You haven't failed me, you haven't... I am still alive, because of you. I won't let this chance you've given me go to waste. I am happy you are here, Benjen. And I hope that someday you feel that way as well. I have faith. And I feel confident in saying that I have faith in you." Leonie smiled at him. It was a small one, but more hopeful than any she'd worn in a while.

The duchess acted as if she hadn't even heard his request for her departure. Then, she lightly changed the subject to spare him the burden of bearing his heart further.

"I must say, one other thing... it's strange not having to hide being a mage. It feels... better. It's like... um... like walking with weights on, and then taking them off. But I don't think I can take everything off. I've been wearing them as long as I can remember. These were the first." She lifted the sleeves of her dress slightly, and revealed the flat golden bracelets that adorned her wrists. "Well, not these. Obviously I grew out of the first ones. Have you ever been to this part of Orlais before, during your travels? I spent most of my life near Lydes, actually. We have a house there... the landscape's different though. The forest we're in is quite beautiful, I'm sure you'll enjoy it when you're better able to walk. The trees just outside are so tall, I imagine even you will feel small in comparison..." She paused and smiled again, but this time it was rather self-deprecating. "Forgive me. I imagine you're too tired to entertain such babbling. But, truly... truly? It would mean very much to me if we could be friends... or at least friendly, while we travel together. Would that be alright?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Benjen did not interrupt her while she spoke of home. Those could be the best memories, so he'd been told, and he would not rob her of the place in which she found happiness. He watched her as she spoke instead, the way her delicate hands moved to emphasize her words, her lips forming every syllable, the way her eyes sparkled with the memory of those trees she loved so much. Benjen could almost see them, too. He felt that, with her words, he could be taken anywhere she willed him to be.

"Sounds like a nice place," he replied. Benjen didn't want to make any quips about rich people and their fancy summer homes. Now wasn't the time. Instead, he took another bite of flatbread and dipped it back in the soup for extra flavor. "But I'm not sure any tree is as tall as I am. Not even those ones."

It felt good when he chuckled. Refreshing. Now, he was glad that Léonie had decided not to leave.

"My sister lived on the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of Denerim. Vae and I would sneak there when we were young. I was older than he was, but we still found time to be together. I was like a brother to him. Still am, I guess. But some of those trees were taller than any building or castle I'd ever seen. We'd build houses in them. Pretend we were warriors defendin' our great keep. We were so proud of those damn treehouses...I wonder if they're still standing. I bet Sera lets the kids play in 'em."

The smile on his face was genuine, honest and earnest. He looked over to Léonie with a new appreciation for her, for bringing this out in him.

"Anyway. Friends? Don't know about that. I'm s'posed to be your husband for the next few days, so let's think about friends after that, yeah? One step at a time." He chuckled deeply under his breath. "Here. You should try this soup, it's not half bad."

But of course, Léonie was already a friend to him. A dear friend, if nothing else entirely.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Night in the forest was not like Leonie expected it to be, but then again, she had to remind herself that they were among the Dalish. Laughter and music glimmered in the air as the elves danced and told stories by a great fire near the center of the camp. The tent she and the Warden had been placed in was noticeably near the outskirts of the settlement, but the duchess didn't mind. It would feel intrusive otherwise. And perhaps they were trying to give her 'husband' a bit of peace while he recovered. Without a doubt, their hosts had been exceedingly kind. They had even taken her ruined dress, for mending, and a completely different gown for sleeping while the other dress was repaired. It made her wonder how the people she'd known at court could hate the elves so thoroughly. She made a promise to herself that, if she survived the Blight... she would remember this.

Despite the lively atmosphere... the nights were cold in the middle of the forest. She sat very near the small fire the elves had lit by their tent, cocooned in blankets upon blankets. Her great mane of hair was tucked inside, too, making her seem even smaller. Deciding whether to stay warm or emerge to eat the roasted vegetables and deer they had been given had not been easy. But as Leonie tried to make up her mind, she was struck by a different idea.

With great intent, she stared at the fire and held her palm up to it. Glancing at the Warden with palpable hesitation, she said, "I would like to try something. I'll be careful, but... please watch your beard." As she inhaled deeply, the fire seemed to grow in size. Her eyes widened, but she kept calm, and brought the flames higher --just higher, for they never seemed to increase in width. Four feet --five. Then, her breathing hitched, and she realized that her arm had begun to feel a little tingly and numb. Immediately she dropped the flames back to their adequate height. They crackled angrily for a moment, and then returning to a normal pattern. She was nearly panting, and she shook her hand out as if trying to bring it to life. Her rings and necklaces were glowing, but the pain apparently didn't phase her much. She was good enough to stop tears from welling up. "I-- I thought it would be easier to use a flame that is already lit. But-- apparently, that is not the case. A lesson to --keep in mind, I suppose. I am sorry. I will not do it again."

Now very hungry and not nearly as cold, she picked up her entire blanket enclosure and shuffled to sit right by her 'husband' --because he was sitting by the food. "I'm glad you're feeling well enough to move outside of the tent, Benjen. It's a bit dark now, but if you look over there --do you see them? Those white creatures, all gathered there. The halla." She smiled, emerged more from her blankets, then leaned over him to load a piece flatbread with meat. "You were brought here by one, in an aravel. I'd never seen them in person before, though I'd seen their horns." She sat back, food in hand, rearranging the blankets so he wouldn't catch any more glimpses of her bare arms or shoulders. She looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, but that's just because she wasn't sure how to broach the following question.

"Um... well, I'm sorry, but I've been thinking about this since you said it. I just have a feeling that once we're in Halamshiral, I won't be able to return to a place like this, and while we're here together... I would like to ask you to please teach me how to... climb up a tree...?" She began to eat as if to stop herself from saying any more, just as a great cheering and whooping started up from the main campfire. She cast it a glancing look before gasping lightly in surprise -- either she was ravenous, or the food tasted amazing.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
She was an enigma. Benjen could look at Léonie and almost forget about the Blight, about his pain, about his regrets and failures back in Val Royeaux. She was a symbol of effortless joy, though he suspected her distraction was not effortless at all. Still, it gave him hope. The way she spoke was lighthearted but meaningful, and her accent was charming beyond all reason. Every time she spoke, he was enchanted. Léonie and all she represented were becoming the faces he dreamed of each night.

Much to his dismay, his feelings were sudden better left unsaid.

When Léonie sat beside him to eat from his plate, Benjen made sure to keep himself from saying anything or acting in a way that would displease her. The fire she brought was magnificent and welcome, and he was far too lazy to scold her for it. The heat was refreshing. In contrast, he let her take the food from his platter and talk about everything and nothing, and when she turned to him again, he was grateful to look her in the eye.

"You want to climb tree? Are you insane?" Benjen scoffed and took a long sip of the juice he'd been given--some sort of Elvish concoction, but delicious all the same. "You'd break your royal ankles, my lady, and I'm still injured from the wreck. Maybe in a few days when we can find a better one to climb, and the energy to do it."

The way Léonie moved under the blankets was off-putting. He caught a glimpse of gold when she adjusted, and he suspected more rings and adornments enchanting her magic away was left on her pale body. Was she truly such a prisoner? He decided to broach the subject carefully and cautiously, not wanting to upset her, but desiring answers all the same. Benjen reached forward and parted the wool blankets to poke at the golden cuff around her upper arm, trying to ignore how soft her skin felt under his touch.

"Explain this," he said in a sad tone.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Badly startled as if he had struck her, she gasped, flinched and recoiled, covering herself up completely, pure horror in her dark eyes. She even dropped what was left of her food. Further horrified, she realized she had caused the bit of flatbread to start to smolder, so she tossed it into the hungry flames as if destroying all evidence. Her absent-mindedness had caused her to reveal it. Her absent-mindedness had caused him to see it. It felt like he had shone a light on a terrible secret; a terrible weakness. The Warden trespassed on the boundaries she had set for herself and touched her arm, the jewelry, which was always hidden from absolutely everyone. She could count on one hand the amount of people who knew how many pieces she wore.

Her heart was at her throat, though she tried to swallow it down. Sitting straight again, too straight, stiffly straight, she didn't draw nearer to him again, and withdrew further into her blankets, tightening their grip around her. Leonie closed her eyes and furrowed her brow, but then, finally, sighed in defeat. As she did so, she seemed to wilt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to see it... there's nothing to 'explain.' Like I said earlier, I've worn them all my life. They're precautions. Safeguards. For protection. I've worn them all my life." She didn't want to tell him any of it. She didn't want to tell anyone, ever. But strangely, terrifyingly, she couldn't stop herself. The words came pouring out. Many that had been drilled into her as a child, others that she hadn't been able to say to anyone before, since no one had ever asked. But as she spoke, she grew increasingly distressed.

"It's for the magic, you see, because I can't control it, no matter how much I try. It's uncontrollable in its nature. Most of the time they keep it, kind of... down. So I can't-- don't use it. I think they-- it was hoped that if I wore enough, I might be cut off from the Fade? Without having to become a... Tranquil." She spat the word out like it left a foul taste in her mouth. "I detest that term. I detest them. I met one once and it was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. My mother took me to meet her. To this day I --I think she meant it as a threat --I think she meant it as a warning--"

"They, these, they just, help me keep everything under control. If I go too far they cause pain. It is always a burning... though they will never leave a mark. But if I try to do anything, they just tire me out. Like weights, like wearing weights; what I said earlier about the weights... Magic is so dangerous, it's not like anything else. It corrupts. It corrupts everything. That's why the Chantry -- thats why the Templars -- there's creatures, demons --that move through the Fade, free access to it gives them free access to you... and they seek mages out." She muttered something under her breath, a chastisement, and fidgeted. "Oh Maker, Maker forgive me, what am I doing?" she murmured, "I shouldn't have taken off those other rings... I am sorry. Truly, I am." As a final coup de grace to her dignity, as if showing her repentance, she buried her face in her hands.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Shame? Was that what her family had preached all those years? Benjen would not pry at her fresh memories of dead parents, but it did not seem like the relationships were entirely sound. The act of binding their daughter in golden chains, no matter how enchanted, was sickening to his stomach. Benjen shook his head and stood from his place, setting down the platter beside where he was, so he could crouch unthreateningly in front of Léonie. He met her eyes like a teacher giving a lesson.

"Magic is like fire. It is dangerous when left unchecked, but harmless and helpful when carefully utilized." He picked up her soft hand, delicate and comforting under the touch of his rough skin, and carefully began to remove her rings. "When taught to use it properly, you can be just as powerful as any Circle mage--no...moreso, I think. You healed my back without knowin' a single spell. You burned darkspawn even with these enchantments. You saved people with this gift. What is that line the Chantry always says? 'Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him.' But this?" Benjen held up one of the rings in front of her. "This is letting it rule over you."

One by one, he began to remove the various charms that held her magic in place. He left the golden band around her wrist that she seemed to keep as sentimental value. Benjen wrapped his arms around her slender neck to remove the necklace, the cuffs on her upper arms, even down to her ankles where bands were hooked and secured. Her skin was electric under his touch, and while he kept his purpose innocent, he couldn't help but wonder how she would feel opened up to him, one with him, against her social status and predispositions. He didn't deserve a woman like her, but perhaps he could make her feel less ashamed to whatever man would steal her heart someday.

When his task was done, all the jewelry he removed was placed by her side for her to keep. As a final touch, he placed his hands on either side of her face and felt for the golden earrings he guessed were also enchanted. The intimacy in his motion did not go unmissed. Benjen allowed himself a glance into her eyes, only for the swiftest moment, but it was enough to strangle him. Her eyes were full of shock and fear, horror and curiosity, and given just another inch of leverage he would have kissed those lips that called to him. Benjamin was a man of honor, however, and when the earrings were removed he set them at her side and withdrew his hands.

"The biggest problem with people today is that they fear what they do not know," said Benjen wisely. "Humans don't know elven culture, so they oppress it. Tevinter doesn't care about the South, so they seek to destroy it. The Qunari fear nothing because they understand nothing outside of themselves. You can't be like the rest of the world, Duchess. You might be the key to Orlais, and as such, you have to think where others won't. Even your parents. Even your peers." He stood in grace before taking his seat again, retrieving a bit of meat to his mouth and savoring the taste.

"Don't be so careless with yourself, Léonie. You've never had the chance to prove what kind of mage you can be. I say, give it a shot."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
He took up so much space as he sat in front of her that he blocked her from the fire completely, but the effect was such that he was backlit, surrounded by light. And even as he lowered himself to her level, Leonie had to look up to see his face... in short, it felt a little too much like a vision, or a visitation. What was it about the Fereldan accent that made everything sound so... straight-forward and simple? Or was that just his accent? Or was it just him?

He took her hand, and his felt tough like stone. But he was exceedingly gentle --once she realized what he was doing, she couldn't hold back a gasp. "Wait..." she tried to say, in a small, panicked voice, but he held the object in front of her and quoted the teachings of the Chantry.

The whole point of all of it had been to try to erase the fact that she was a mage... to try to erase the part of her that was a mage. Leonie had always tried to keep herself and her mage-self apart. But what he seemed to be saying, what he was obviously saying, was that they were one and the same.

Absolutely all of it frightened her. But she did not stop him. As he undressed her, perhaps not literally but definitely emotionally, her mind began going over the infinite scenarios in which her magic could accidentally kill him due to some absent-minded mistake. But as she worried, he had already laid her hands bare, and as his touch moved to her throat, she had to shut her eyes and remember to breathe. It was simply too much. And with every piece he took away, it felt like a lock was clicking open. Unbound, unbridled.

But what if I fail?

He touched her face. Held her face. Opening her eyes, Leonie saw him, and he was looking at her in a way that implied... no, it stated that he had faith in her. For once, her gaze was open. It was vulnerable, and profoundly grateful.

As he drew away, she felt like she was losing something. She sat unobstructed before the fire again, but she felt... cold. She sat still for a moment or two, absorbing what he'd said... what he'd done. Her skin was prickling. The fire danced a little more vividly. The forest smelled greener. The stars seemed brighter. It would not be an easy path, on the contrary. But it would be a better one; she could feel it in her core.

"I will," she murmured, glancing over at him in a way that was somehow both hesitant and direct. "But only because it was you who asked it of me."

That's three times now, I think, that he's saved me.

After that moment or two had passed and she felt she had gathered herself enough, Leonie stood, shakily. With unsteady steps she moved and sat right by the Warden again, closer than before. For the most part, it seemed that she would be content to sit with him by the fire in silence.

After all she'd seen of him, after all he'd done for her, though, she felt the need to ask. "Benjen? Why did you choose to become a Warden?"[/fieldbox]