Dragon Age: Grey Dawn || Sansa Stark & Astra

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Léonie moved closer to him than before, so close that their arms brushed when she sat at his side. The touch was comforting. Benjen ached for physical companionship for longer than he could remember, but he had a moral compass that kept him from making any forward moves against the duchess who seemed to have befriended him. Instead, Benjen took another drink of juice and loudly cleared his throat, perhaps chasing away any perverse thoughts of the beauty at his side.

Her next question was one that took him off-guard. Benjen folded his hands in his lap--if only to keep them occupied--and stared into the fire to avoid her eyes. Looking into them was a trap, he'd noticed. Best not to see them entirely.

"Becoming a Warden was...a hard choice. My sister Sera could barely keep up her earnings for the kids and her husband was real sick, not supposed to make it. He did, though. Make it. But that's beside the point." Benjen scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, not wanting to continue, but he did so because he was asked. Léonie wouldn't have mentioned it if she didn't truly care.

"I was never meant for a farmer's life. Growing up in an orphanage made you want more, to aspire to be better. I didn't want my legacy to be a few cabbages and pork. I wanted something more. Still, I had obligations to keep to my sister and her farm, to help with the family. Tore me up inside. I got real depressed, thought about just leavin', but I know that'd devastate Sera. She didn't even know I existed until I'd been in an orphanage fourteen years. She really cared about keepin' me around if only to show me how loved I am." Benjen smiled fondly at the memory, but what came next was less comforting. His smile fell, and his gaze into the fire became somber.

"One day I snapped. Told my sister to fuck off, that she was never around when I needed her anyway and we were hardly family. There was a big fight. I said a lot of things I regret." Benjen wrung his hands, almost nervously. "I ran into the forest, to that damn treehouse Vae and I built back in the day. I cried for hours and hours. I was still young, only nineteen, and being alone was all I wanted. Until my sister came to find me. She climbed all the way up into that tree, despite being four months pregnant with her third, and held me while I cried."

The mere memory made his eyes water. Determined not to make a fool of himself in front of Léonie, he simply sniffled and looked away. Why the hell was he telling her all this? Did he truly know this woman well enough to bare his heart to her? Deep down, he felt it. A calling. Not the calling, but one that was just as significant, one that told him she could cherish his trust. Benjen's eyes returned to the fire and his story continued with a hair's worth of extra confidence.

"I told her that I hated farming. I wanted something more. I wanted to prove to the world that an orphan could make his mark and inspire others, to do things only kings could. And she supported me. That was all I needed, really; her support. I left to join the Grey Wardens three months before my twentieth birthday. I'm thirty-four now, so that's fourteen years of service. Now it all comes down to this. I wonder if I really made the right choice..."

Benjen gave a weak little chuckle and braved looking Léonie in the eyes. "Not as grand a story as most, but you asked."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
It had been much easier to think that men like him had just been born as Wardens, rather than made to become them. Leonie had expected a short answer, an Orlaisian answer: To defend the innocent. To protect the living. For glory. This was entirely different.

He wove a tale where the common themes seemed to be adversity and sacrifice. And it was clear, though she tried to hide it while he wasn't looking at her, that she had shed tears for him. Had he known any happiness at all, ever? She hoped he had, and there was a ferocity behind that hope that caught her off-guard.

But finally he did look, and her voice was somber. "It is grand to me, Benjen." She raised a hand to her heart as if to emphasize her words. "Thank you. I am honored that you chose to share this with me."

This aspect of herself, this sincere, earnest Leonie, was a stranger. Was it the absence of her suppressing jewelry? Was it being away from the courts? It was disconcerting, but it felt correct to act this way. Perhaps it was just the Warden with his contagious frankness. And nearly dying several times in such a short span definitely made the petty games she'd grown up playing seem a tremendous waste of time.

"At court, I never met anyone who worked for what they have. That, I'm sure, will be very surprising for you. You are a rare type of man, I think, Benjen. But I also think you are a good one. I'm glad I met you." She wanted to take his hand. She wanted to take his hand very badly. But, should she? The last thing she wanted was to make him feel more pained than he evidently already did. Indecisive, she mirrored his fidgeting in her own way, by fiddling with her hair. But the least she could do, which she did, was give him a sincere smile.

"You say I'm the key to Orlais, but... that's not for certain. In many ways, I don't have much left for me... I think that perhaps, I would like to become a Warden. I know it's not an easy road, but it seems like a true way to make a difference for the better. If I train well enough and get stronger, do you think I would have a chance? To join you?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Oh, absolutely not.

Whatever calm tranquility Benjen had mustered, it crumbled at her mention of becoming a Grey Warden. His expression became a scowl and his hands clenched to fists in his lap. Was he upset with Léonie? Could he truly blame her? The Grey Wardens were a legion of heroes, and though she had nowhere to call home, Benjen would not let her entertain the idea of Joining. He had apparently done a good job of glorifying a painful life. That wasn't his intention, nor was it an outcome he was willing to consider. He would spare her from that life by any means necessary, for both their sakes.

"No. You'll never be a Grey Warden, not while I'm alive. I'm not going to let you resign to that fate. And before you ask again, the matter is final."

Now he felt like her boss. Benjen never intended to come off so harshly, but she would need him for the ritual and if he didn't consent, there would be no initiaon. Léonie simply didn't know what she was asking. He had promised to protect the duchess, not condemn her to a shorter, darker life. Conscripting her to the Grey Wardens would be a fate Benjen could never morally impose on the poor girl. Not to mention, he admittedly had a soft spot for her charming smile and compassion; to see those things taken from her with the darkspawn taint would slice his beating heart in two. Selfish though it was, he would not change his mind.

"Ah. Sorry. Just tired, didn't mean to be cruel about it." Benjen gave her a somber smile before rising to his feet, away from the duchess, much to his inner gratitude. "I should get some rest. Still achin' from today, don't wanna move much. Goodnight, Léonie. I'll, uh. See you in the morning." He gave her a half-hearted wave and walked to the opposite side of their camp, where a small tent had been erected for them.

Benjen stepped inside and dressed for the night, keeping in mind to wear a shirt unlike usual, and crawled into the shared sleeping arrangement they'd been made to use as husband and wife. He counted himself grateful to fall asleep first. Benjen knew he would not be able to succumb peacefully if Léonie were already at his side. His mind swirled with different opinions and thoughts on their journey so far, and the one that still lay ahead, before closing his eyes and slowly slipping into another unpleasant dream of evil and darkness.

No, she will never live this life. I'll make damn sure of it.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Slamming a door in her face, figuratively! Whatever friendliness they had achieved vanished completely as if it hadn't been there at all.

'And before you ask again, the matter is final.'

It was those words that really cut into her, not because of how absolute they were, but of how he seemed to think... well, perhaps she was overreacting, but he seemed to think that he could determine what she did and did not do. As if he was speaking to a child, or someone who was simple, or someone who had no agency. The word settled on her shoulders suddenly: condescending. No, because I say so.

Where had this come from?

Leonie's hand froze as it played idly with a strand of hair, and the smile she'd worn for him blinked out of existence. A smile, a wave. He left. She stayed, and turned to face the fire. "Sleep well," she said quietly and just as he was out of earshot.

It was strange to sit out here alone. The elves -presumably Vaeryn included- were still enjoying themselves, though some had began to wander away for the night. There was a loneliness to being in the camp that she hadn't seen at first. She was the only human for miles, save for the Warden. Her gaze turned to the pile of gold on the grass. If she went into the tent as well, would it be too soon? Would he be awake? Would she be disturbing him? The tent-- their tent. She let the fire burn down to nearly embers before following, but at that point the cold had bitten into her tremendously. Scooping up her jewelry, she finally went to bed.

A small lamp lit the inside of the tent, but it was very low, and she could barely see. However, even asleep, he commanded her attention due to his massive size. But she tried not to look at him, it felt strange to look at someone while they slept... was he asleep? She tried to be as quiet as possible, but that wasn't difficult on the thickly-blanketed floor. She put her jewelry in a pile by the bed and unwrapped herself, shivering slightly. The dress the elves had given her was not as warm as she would have hoped. Before getting into bed, though... she knelt, and she prayed in silence. First for the souls of those she'd lost, then for strength for the road ahead. Then, finally, for Benjen. She blew out the light.

Leonie crawled into the bed and stayed glued to the very edge in a tight and unyielding ball. Maker, it was cold! Oh, Maker, she was exhausted... it felt so good to lie down. Piling more blankets on top of herself allowed her to reach the edge of sleep, enough for her to relax and try to shift her position. But her dozing half-sleep was intermittently interrupted by bouts of shivering and trying to stay warm. Until it wasn't. Leonie thought nothing of it as sleep finally took hold.

But when she awoke to sunlight filtering in through the walls of the tent, she realized why she'd finally found warmth. She lay, quite plainly, on the Warden's chest, curled up against him in a way that permitted almost no space between them. Her head was on his shoulder. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, and the beating of his heart. It was perfectly comfortable, enough for her to not want to move. Until she realized where she was as opposed to where she should be -on her own pillow, over there-, and then it wasn't.

Oh no... no... no... oh, what have I done? This is so... Maker, what do I do? Can I... escape? But his arm's around me, and I'm lying on him... oh, and he sleeps still --how can I get out without waking him? Oh Maker, he's injured and I'm lying on him... She shifted, trying to figure out the best steps to take, but she was pinned down by the arm around her waist. Oh noo... Maker... I'll certainly wake him if I try to move, and he's still recovering... maybe I should pretend to sleep... yes, then we can ignore this ever happened once he lets me go... And because she was at a complete loss for how to escape without waking him, Leonie played dead.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
For the first time in a long time, the darkness of his dreams did not last. Benjen slept in relative comfort and could not find anything to fear in the sleeping world. His thoughts were filled with peace and positivity, a house in the countryside far away from death and fighting, a woman to love him, a place to rest easy. He could hear a distant Orlesian ballad on the wind. Ocean waves lapped at sandy beaches in the distance. He could not see the face of the woman in his arms, but her hair was long and dark, and she smelled of flowered perfume that he'd sworn he recognized from somewhere.

It a dream no man would want to wake from. But alas, the sun rose as it always did, and Benjen stirred from his place of rest.

Still delirious and half-asleep, Benjen clutched the girl of his dreams closer to him and gave a content sigh. Her waist was slender and her body was warm. The scent of her hair was just as he'd remembered. She rested upon him and he was eager to protect her, even in sleep, by keeping an arm around her and bringing her close to his chest. Such bliss nearly sent Benjen back to sleep against his will, until his eyes flashed open like lightning.

Oh, fuck me.

Benjen quickly lifted his head to ensure he was just making things up, but there she was; Lady Léonie de Valroque was curled up at his side and sleeping quietly. His body felt like pins and needles of embarrassment. He raised his free hand and dragged it down his face, wondering where the hell Vaeryn was so he could punch him senseless for the suggestion that they were married. This was Vae's fault. There was no other reason why this could have happened, other than two cold bodies clinging to each other for warmth. Although, Ben wasn't entirely sure. He knew deep down that if Léonie were being affectionate, he would allow her to dote on him, if only for selfish reasons. He'd woken up in happiness. The duchess had chased his Blight-centric nightmares away and replaced them with something sweeter. Something better. No matter how he felt in that moment, Benjen would allow himself never forget her gift.

Slowly and with care, the massive Grey Warden delicately slipped himself out from under the oddly-stiff Léonie and placed a pillow under her head. He knelt at her side and covered her in the blankets he'd been using, taking a moment to curl her hair behind her ear, as if reminiscent of the dream where they could have been something. He rose to his feet and left the tent, standing in the morning sun with a small frown on his pursed lips.

And suddenly, he began to laugh.

The elves in the main camp looked over at him suspiciously, talking among themselves in Elvish, no doubt trying to discover what was wrong with the Warden. But Benjen simply couldn't stop laughing. It was hilarious, really, how a duchess who'd once thought him below her had suddenly cuddled up to him in the middle of the night. Would she forgive herself if she found out? Would he allow her to live it down? Or would he simply keep that interaction entirely to himself, and live with the fond memory of a Duchess of Orlais snuggling up to a homeless orphan from Denerim? Benjen laughed so hard that he clutched his side and leaned over, finding the situation so humorous, so agonizing and funny. It wasn't until Vaeryn approached him that he calmed down enough to hold a conversation.

"Ben?" asked Vaeryn, dressed in Dalish attire and holding a Dalish bow. "You alright? You look a little...stressed."

"Oh, Vae. I'm great. Just perfect." Benjen approached his best friend with such ominous intent that Vaeryn visibly took a step back. Ben summoned all his physical prowess and height to tower over his elven companion and jab the center of his chest harshly with his finger. "You are so fucking lucky we're friends."

And without another word, Benjen stalked off into the forest with a bittersweet frown on his face.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
There was relief at first as she felt him stirring, but a slight twinge of... something else. Loss? Though Leonie hated to admit it -in fact, she prohibited the thought from even crossing her mind- she had slept exceedingly well. And though her dreams had been sharp and vivid, there was nothing distressing there, no blurry half-remembered threats and, as far as she could tell, no demons, either. The duchess didn't let herself linger on those thoughts. They wouldn't lead her anywhere she wanted to go.

She could feel him hold her closer, and he sighed as if there was nowhere he would rather be. Which was strange, to say the least. Perhaps he was dreaming of something? She felt him tense abruptly --presumably because he'd made the same realization she had just a little while ago. It took a lot of effort to keep her face neutral. She felt him shifting, separating from her, and she lay still with her face neutral. Thankfully, her hair fell over her face as she was put back onto the mattress --but then, he moved it and left her face clear! Yet again, the actions of the Warden left her wondering for what purpose? The question was repeated when she thought she detected a hint of... tenderness. But, surely not? For what purpose?

Then he was gone, and Leonie let out a sigh of relief, rolling onto her stomach and pushing herself onto her elbows. Crisis averted; that could have been incredibly embarrassing.

And then she heard the laughter. It wasn't normal laughter to her ears, it was hysterical, and mocking, and that derisiveness was squarely aimed at what had just happened; at her. Leonie was shocked at first, but then the shame dropped upon her shoulders like a heavy mantle. She flushed; she hid her face among the pillows as if cowering from a blow.[/fieldbox]
[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
The way he crashed through the woods, like an ox, or a bear, alerted the two elves to his presence immediately. It had to be the Warden, the one they'd had to use an aravel for. No one else in the camp was that large, and if it had been a bear, they would have at least heard other people screaming.

"Up and walking already?! I thought it was going to take a few days, at least!"

"Perhaps that's why his wife travels with him."

For Benjen was headed straight for a clearing surrounded by birch trees, where the Keeper and Maharel sat with looking at a map of the Dales drawn onto deer skin. They had been updating it with recent findings and reports.

"Warden." The older woman's voice was gentle but clear as a bell, and it would indubitably find its way to Benjen as he approached. She was small, even for an elf, and old, even for an elf. Her grey hair was cut short and left loose. Of course, a Keeper staff stood by her side. "How good it is to see you hale. I hope you've found our camp comfortable. Will you join us here? I was hoping I could hear your story. What brings you and Vaeryn to the Dales; to Orlais; and with your young wife as well? Has the Blight truly struck us?"

"Did you just come from the camp? What happened? We could hear someone laughing like a maniac."

A slight look from the Keeper made Maharel fluster. "Well, that can be answered later, I s'ppose..." she demurred, kicking a rock idly.

"Ah, but where are my manners. I am called Aerith, and I am the Keeper. It's good to see you up and walking. Maharel is one of our rangers, and she is among those who found you." The younger elf smiled wide at her own introduction. "I'm glad you came to our clan. Others do not hold the Wardens in such high esteem, and you might not have received a pleasant welcome. Did you break fast already? [/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Maker's breath, would he ever get used to these people calling Léonie his wife? It was bad enough that deep in his chest, feelings had grown far past their suggested nature and began to take a form of their own. They did not need encouragement with false futures and hopeless dreams. Perhaps Vaeryn did not know the damage he had done; then again, Benjen himself had underestimated it as well. The next few days would be hard to bear. Fate willing, he would have the strength to overcome them.

The elves asked him a lot of questions, and he let them buzz around in his brain before sitting at their little table--a massive tree stump, to be exact--and sighing into the autumn wind. "I didn't eat, no. Nice to meet you, Maharel. Aerith." He gave a little, half-hearted wave. "I'm glad we were met with kindness. I've always been a friend to the elves. Nothing to fear from me, even though I'm one of the shems." He used the Elvish word for 'humans' out of respect. Awkwardly, Benjen reached back and scratched his neck, unsure of how to continue. There was so much to say and so little time to say it in, but he supposed that now he had the Keeper's attention, it was best to spill it all out. He looked around the forest and hoped Vaeryn would be around. When there was on trace of his comrade coming to follow, he sighed and simply continued without him.

"The Blight is here. I saw it with my own eyes. It burst from the ground in Val Royeaux. I barely made it out alive." Benjen scratched his beard in thought. "I would imagine it will take some time for the Archdemon to mass it's forces, but it won't take long before the sickness spreads. The darkness will come here, I am sure of it. Before long, all of Orlais will succumb. I was on my way to Halamshiral to regroup with what Wardens survived when we were shipwrecked." He thought of his other Warden friends, if any of them still lived, and wondered if he and Vaeryn could have survived the storm with a more reliable crew. Two men were hopeless to keep a vessel afloat. In hindsight, there were plenty of things he wished he would have done differently, but there certainly wasn't time to ponder those choices. What's done is done. The best course of action was to move forward without delay.

Assuming he had Dalish support, that is.

"I think, if I plea to the King and Queen of Ferelden, they will bring their forces to help end this Blight. I don't see why they wouldn't. They were the heroes of the last one, after all. The other treaties I'll use too, of course. Dalish, Dwarven, mages, all that. But all in due time, for what little of it left that we have."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
The younger elf had stood up as the Warden sat down. He was just so tall, and she felt uncomfortable having people looking at her from above. He joined them, though, and that was what was important --both elves seemed to share that thought. The Keeper's thin eyebrows raised slightly at his use of the word 'shem,' and she immediately spoke up and corrected him before proceeding to any other subjects.

"You don't need to use that word here, Warden. Perhaps some of our brothers and sisters might refer to you as such, but you'll hear no talk like that from us... the sentiment is appreciated, however." She paused for a moment, and seemed to look through him. "The news you bring is most dire. But what you say rings true, absolutely. I've felt strange things in the Fade, and we've had scouts reporting corrupted spiders emerging from caves deeper in the forest. It's always a cause for concern when such creatures are sighted, but there's been a much higher incidence than what's considered normal." She frowned. "What you're saying only confirms what I'd been dreading all along... if they've taken the Orlaisian capital... we don't have much time to spare."

Maharel emerged from the underbrush; apparently, she had briefly left them alone. But she was so used to the forest, and so good at moving among the leaves, that her departure had been undetectable. She was bearing a bowl of some sort of oatmeal, with nuts and berries, and she placed it in front of Benjen. "Master Junar would flay me if he knew you came out here without eating. Don't worry, there's enough left for your wife as well. Please eat. You must conserve your strength!"

"We can help you get through the forest quickly. Maharel will take you to Halamshiral; there's no better guide. I believe you should reach there in a few days time, depending on your pace. Your burden is a heavy one, but you do not bear it alone: we will honor your treaties. The Dalish will ally with the Wardens. I will send word to the other clans immediately. Maharel?"

The younger elf immediately sprung to attention and nodded somberly. She hustled through the woods again, presumably back to the camp to prepare and send off missives.

"Time is not in our favor, Warden. While it's heartening to see you walking, it would not do to have you leave us without healing properly. I believe at least one more day of rest will help ensure you're fully recovered. Master Junar will certainly agree. What say you? Is there anything else we can do to be of assistance?"
[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Were all Dalish so open as these? Surely not. Benjen had heard stories of nomadic clans who were threatening, even fatal to humans and dwarves, or anyone who wasn't of their own kind. But to be treated with respect and kindness was thoroughly refreshing after the week Benjen had. He thanked Maharel for her offer of fruit and nuts, and ate contently as the Keeper spoke of warnings and ancient truces.

"Spiders? Maker's balls, remind me to stay away from those caves." Benjen gave a dreaded shudder. He was horrified of spiders. "Make sure none of those things come near your camp, and that's all I'll need. Most Wardens are pretty low-maintenance. You'll get no problems from me and my two tagalongs." He took a large bite of an apple and wiped the juice from his beard. He supposed he really did seem like a bear, didn't he? Large enough to tower over these small elves, and loudly eating fruits and nuts in the middle of the forest. He smirked at the thought. "Anyway, thanks for the hospitality and the meal. I mean it. I really do appreciate the things you've done for the three of us, despite being complete strangers. I promise I won't forget this."

"Ben!" called that irritatingly familiar voice from the bushes. "Ben, where are--" Vaeryn emerged, frazzled and flustered as he interrupted the meeting with the Keeper. "Oh. Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Oh, no. You're fine." Benjen rose to his feet, still massively pissed at Vaeryn's declaration of marriage. He was so tall that everyone present could not fit inside his shadow. Ben picked up his breakfast bowl and sneered at his elven friend, knowing something Vae did not. "Why don't you spend some time with your new lady friend, hm? She'll be joining us on our journey, you know." He popped a grape in his mouth and smiled wickedly. "Go on, go introduce her to my lovely wife. The women should be friends. Go help her get acquainted."

With a heavy pat on his shoulder, Benjen left Vaeryn, the Keeper and Maharel alone in the clearing. He stalked off further into the forest to collect his thoughts and ponder the future in peace, hoping to whatever god listened that Léonie would not find him thinking miserably about her.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Colorful banners streamed from the tops of the aravels that evening, stirred by a cool forest breeze that urged the bonfires to burn even higher. Leonie found it strange that they would celebrate this. Word of the Keeper's alliance to the Wardens spread quickly through the camp. From what she had inferred from the tones of the voices outside her tent, not all of the reactions had been positive --initially. But the clan seemed to fall in line with the Keeper's orders --they all seemed to understand what was at stake if they did not involve themselves. And so, they celebrated the alliance, and how that would lead them to defeat the darkness that encroached upon them. She was yet again surprised by the elves' hospitality.

The undercover duchess hovered by the entrance of her tent, surrounded by revelry, unsure of what to do with herself. Her courtly mask had been removed with her enchanted jewelry, and she lacked the energy to lie her way through the evening with pretty words. The day had been overwhelming, though she had spent it mostly quietly, privately, and alone inside the tent. But there had been much to process, even without considering the events of last night, or the night before. Without her rings and other trinkets... she simply felt... more, in all aspects. It was strange, and slightly worrying, but not entirely unpleasant. Is this what people felt like... normal people felt like... all the time? How exhausting!

"Ah, lady Leonie. Are you well? I hardly saw you around the camp today." The healer Junar approached, bearing two wooden mugs.

His approach caught her off-guard, and she didn't hide it. "Ah-- ah. Master Junar, thank you. I spent the day... resting. I'm not accustomed to... well... I'm not as sturdy as my companions." She smiled a little, and held her bare hands awkwardly behind her back as if hiding them.

"Hopefully this will lift your spirits," he offered her the mug and she accepted, hesitantly. "It's mead. Honey wine. Have you had it before?" She shook her head no, and the healer smiled. "It's sweet, lady. You will like it."

"... Thank you... Master Junar, why are you calling me 'lady'?"

He chuckled, "It just seems to suit you." Was that a knowing glint in his green-grey eyes, or was she merely imagining it due to paranoia?

"Ah..." was the only response she could muster. To avoid further conversation, she sipped the drink --her eyes widened, and the elf laughed. It was good, and indeed, refreshingly sweet. She couldn't help but smile in return. At some distance, her dark eyes met those of another elf she'd met earlier --the scout called Maharel, who Vaeryn had taken to so quickly -and vice versa, apparently. The elf scout offered Leonie a friendly wave, but she was chattering a mile a minute with some of her companions, and did not approach.

Which was fine. The joy of tonight's atmosphere was a welcome change, but she wasn't too keen to participate. She felt more out of place then ever... and...--

"... there will be dancing, later."

"... Ah?" She had completely forgotten about the healer, and found herself blushing when she realized she had been thinking about the Warden. "Forgive me, what did you say?"

"That there will be dancing. And if you feel well enough, it would be great if you could join."

"... are you inviting me to dance?" She felt stupid for asking, but her thoughts were very muddled for some reason. He seemed to realize, and he laughed, but not at her expense.

"Yes, I suppose so! I can't say I'm familiar with the dances you know, but here, it lets you be part of the group. Even at my age, I always take part. And there's plenty to celebrate tonight, isn't there?"

She smiled slowly. "I suppose there is. Thank you. I would be delighted to dance." And though she'd said those words countless times before, now, she actually meant it.

"Then I will see you there, Lady Leonie." He gave her a little head nod and moved to speak to others in his clan. Leonie quietly sipped her mug of mead, still hovering by her tent, and mulled everything over, trying to dissect her unfamiliar feelings and thoughts. [/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Not for the first time, Benjen was surprised by this eclectic Dalish clan. Their celebration was filled with light and joy and laughter, colors and fine cuisine. Venison with spices and fresh potato soup lined their many tables, a buffet for all in attendance, and music filled the open forest. Benjen leaned against an aravel and watched the gleeful crowd. A part of him couldn't decipher why they were so pleased with the alliance, especially knowing what it meant for Orlais and all of Thedas, but perhaps that was why they celebrated so vigorously. Many of these people would never have another chance to dance and be merry. For most, this was the final moment of peace in the horrors to come.

"Not joining in?" asked Vaeryn with a concerned look. Ben turned his head to his friend, shaking his it in refusal. "Why not? I think you could use some dancing."

"The last time I danced, the fucking Blight sprang out." Benjen chuckled and sipped at his mead. "I'll pass."

"We may not be able to do this for a long time, you know." Vaeryn looked down to the liquid in his cup, swirling it around and watching it turn. "The Blight could kill one of us. All of us. We may never dance again."

Benjen furrowed his brow and glared at his friend in disbelief. "Are you drunk?"

"No. But I should be." Vaeryn sighed, offering his friend a saddened smile. "I suppose I will be soon, once I dance."

"Maker. Don't start that gloomy shit on me now, Vae. What's that girl's name again? Hm...ah. Maharel," Ben said knowingly.

Vaeryen blinked. "What?"

"If you want to dance so badly, ask her, you fool!"

"No! I-I mean, I don't want to."

"Oh. So you want me to dance, but you won't?"

"It's not like that! It's complicated, you wouldn't understand."

"Why, because my ears aren't pointed? Piss on that." Benjen placed his drink on the edge of the aravel, feeling uncharacteristically bold. "I'll find my wife and dance with her, then, because I've got balls." He walked across the camp with a confident, almost egotistical smile and wrapped an arm around the waist of an unexpecting Léonie.

"Isn't that right, darling?"[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
She gasped loudly as if he had unexpectedly pinched her bum, and she would have flinched away, but his arm held her to him. She swiveled her head, flustered and indignant --and though she recognized the voice and presence immediately, she couldn't quite believe it was him until she saw it with her own two eyes. And because she couldn't contain herself, she frowned and pouted.

What is with him?! Why is he always doing this?! Heroic, then boorish; Charming, then surly; Warm, then aloof; Kind, then insulting! Can't he just decide how he wants to act? What does he want me to think of him? How does he want me to act?

He drew her in, then pushed her away. She wanted his approval so badly it was almost embarrassing. And though she knew the push, the rejection, would be inevitable, and though she knew it was foolish... she hoped that, perhaps, this time, he would just be... kind?

She wanted constancy, either hot or cold. Not this mixture. She wanted someone she could read, not someone who would continuously defy her expectations. And most of all, she wanted to be treated well. It was torturous the way he offered that to her before snatching it away from her eager grasp --cruel, even. If that was so then maybe she should just stop trying, to save herself the trouble. She remembered his harsh dismissal of her ever becoming a Warden and her sullen, indignant look deepened. But she could not reconcile that man with the man who now stood at her side, confident, pleasant, and clearly very happy about something.

What is with him...?

But he had called her darling, and he was looking down at her in a certain way that made her blush deepen despite herself. "... Pardon? You... want to dance? With me?" She chuckled warily and placed a free hand on his chest --whether to keep him close or keep him at a distance, she could not decide. "Benjen, we haven't the best precedent for dancing... the last time we danced together--" she was about to make an black-humored joke about how the world nearly ended the last time they danced, but... perhaps that would be in poor taste. Instead of continuing her sentence she just gave him a smile. For once he seemed enthusiastic, and happy. Who was she to ruin that? And he was her 'husband,' hence the 'darling,' they had to keep it up...

Perhaps she should just listen to the healer. The mead had helped, was helping, and if he recommended her to dance...

"Ah. Forget I said anything. Of course, I would love a dance with you, my heart... but I must tell you, I've already promised one to Master Junar before you arrived..." her smile turned coy, though she couldn't place why. Everything seemed lighter tonight, less serious. The Warden certainly seemed to be having fun. Perhaps she could afford to be swept up in it as well.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
"Oh, that's alright. I can share you for a bit." Benjen pressed a hard kiss to Léonie's temple and kept up the affectionate act. There was much at stake with his married stunt, wasn't there? The trust of the Dalish, the enjoyment of his friend and the personal accomplishment of playing with old dreams. Benjen kept his romantic hold on Léonie, at least until Vaeryn had left his spot by the aravel to pursue his elven love interest.

"Hah! I knew you'd warm up to this!" shouted Vae from across the camp. Benjen flashed him an obscene hand gesture which led to more laughter. His friend kept his mead close in hand while mustering the courage to confront the girl he'd been eyeing since their arrival, much to Benjen's surprise. It wasn't until Vaeryn's eyes were averted from Benjen that he pulled away from his "bride", his smile fading as if it was never there.

The burden was heavy again. The Warden tried to rub the stress from his face, but it was clear that he failed miserably. He had hoped to regain some of his stamina by this little visit to the Dalish, and it had worked for a time, but the stress crept back upon him like the spiders he feared so much. Benjen ached to keep Léonie in his arms for the sake of his own comfort. Was that a selfish thought? Physical touch was such a strong means of calming and relaxation for Benjen. Still, he was certain she would not approve, and Ben would never admit that weakness to her openly. It was embarrassing enough kept within.

"Vae's got the sadness, you know." He folded his hands behind his back, as if keeping them away from the beauty at his side. "He gets real depressed in high-stress situations. Doesn't tell anyone, though. He's always been one to keep his problems bottled up. If, uh...if actin' all sweet on you makes him smile, then I'll keep doin' it, at least 'till we're out of this place. If that's alright with you." Benjen cleared his throat, not wanting to look her in the eye. "Never was a fan of crossin' a lady's boundaries."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Leonie's hands wrapped around the mead again and she sipped it hurriedly, as if trying to buy herself time before she had to react. She had fallen for it again, all to easily. The kindness, followed at blinding speeds by withdrawal.

It's an act, an act, an act. Remember this, Leonie. Don't expect anything. Remember this.

The mead left in her cup was unpalatably warm. She put it aside and mirrored him, holding her hands behind her back, shifting away from him slightly. When she spoke she didn't meet his eyes either and tried to seem nonchalant.

"... You care for him deeply. It is very kind of you. I would be glad to help, but... but I do not want to simply be a prop for you." She chanced a glance at his worry-worn face and felt a stab of.... pity, or compassion, or something. She wasn't sure. He was speaking of Vaeryn, but the words clearly applied to him as well. Would acting 'sweet on her' -what a Fereldan saying!- make him smile, too? "So don't be surprised if... when I reciprocate. Else people will think that you're smitten, and that I'm frigid." She chuckled slightly for some reason. "So long as we are both, in agreement... er... 'on the same page,' as you say? About what this means..." Her glance was inquisitive, and a bit shy. 'What this means', which was to say... nothing.

She sighed softly. But then, suddenly, Leonie took a deep, sharp, breath, and resolved to dispel the awkwardness she felt settle upon her as she remembered how she'd woken up.

She reached her bare hand out towards him and looked at him with great determination and resolve. Her expectant gaze said, well? Take it. It's for you. But regardless of her offering, she apparently found him too slow. She reached for his hidden hand anyway as a confident smile played on her lips. If he felt so stressed and worried, then she would have to be strong and free for him.

"Come. Let us dance. The world is ending; surely you can afford to smile for just one evening?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Oh, how beautiful she was. Benjen's heart melted into a pool of molten steel when Léonie offered her hand. For the first time in what felt like centuries, Benjen smiled--and not the fake smile of one who was trying too hard to stay strong. He smiled with genuine care and compassion and a hint of something more, something he tried desperately to suppress. His very soul seemed to rejoice in her acceptance of him. And no matter how false it was, he would keep up the act of marriage as best he could, to bring her honor among the Dalish. And perhaps for his own honor, too.

Benjen gave her hand a squeeze. "Aye," he said. "I can do that."

The Warden, in a stroke of romance, pulled his lady close and placed a delicate hand on her waist. She was much shorter than he, so Benjen accommodated by leaning down in the slightest bit so that she might feel less intimidated. He swayed slowly to the beat with Lady Léonie on his arms. It was oddly fulfilling, the sensation of dancing with her without ulterior motives, the Blight on his shoulders or the need for information. In Val Royeaux, all eyes had been upon him. That burden had since been lifted. He found that her touch refreshed him. Maker, how he hated that her hands on him could weaken him so drastically. Benjen would do anything for Léonie in that moment. But he could never tell her such a thing, and to keep his reputation alive, he tried to erase the happy emotion from his visage.

He failed miserably, and ended up chuckling despite himself.

To cover his feelings, Benjen scrambled for a topic to discuss. "Much better than the last time we danced," he said with a grin. But perhaps it was too soon? He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Sorry. Bad timing."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Passivity wasn't in his nature, so it should have come as no surprise to her that he would pull her closer so suddenly. But it did, and she gasped again, then smiled as if embarrassed at her reaction.

"...Better," she said, teasing.

But this was truly much better. She was much closer to him now, without her rings, and without a mask. She had to force herself to meet his gaze, though it would have been much easier to drop hers. He held her hand with surprising gentleness and she placed hers upon his shoulder, like the first time, but with a touch that betrayed a sense of familiarity. They swayed. She saw that he was leaning for her and she thanked him with her eyes. The look she saw in his was unfamiliar... though not unwelcome... but because she didn't know what to do with the sentiments his look contained, she had to look away, blushing.

If he hadn't spoken up, she was certain she would have, to fill the suddenly charged silence.

To her surprise, she giggled; a light and tinkling sound. The laughter came easily-- how long had it been since she last laughed? She could hardly remember. "Please, don't apologize! I'm only surprised to hear you say that because I was thinking it as well... I don't think I've ever danced under the stars before. It's pleasant, don't you think?... I'm glad we found our way here. And I'm glad you feel well enough to stand and dance! I was very worried for you. I don't think I said that before." Unconsciously, perhaps because of their proximity, her voice had dropped to a low and private tone. They swayed together, but the music didn't matter to her all that much anymore. Unconsciously, perhaps because of the gentle movements of their dance or the warmth of his hand on her waist, she found herself moving closer to him, until there dance was little more than a walking embrace, her head practically on his shoulder, again. "There is a saying we have in Orlais: 'the sun will come after the rain.' I hope that is the case here, with all my heart." But her idle chatter was creeping into dark territory, and she would not let herself take him down this road. A safe bet, then, was to talk about what they were currently doing. "Do you... find yourself doing this often, Benjen? Dancing, I mean. You're a very good partner."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
She had worried for him? Benjen was both perplexed and entirely unsurprised by the confession, unsure as to why he felt both. Why did he ever believe she didn't care? Her actions had spoken of her compassionate heart well enough, despite being often disguised by Orlesian customs and political maneuvers. To hear her say that she fretted over his survival warmed his heart, somehow. Perhaps more than it should. To be confronted with the obvious made him wonder why he hadn't seen it sooner. She had blinded him.

"There would be no sun if I danced often," Benjen said with a small laugh. "The Maker would hide it so no one could see my flailing around like the crazy bastard I can be." It felt good to smile so much. He couldn't contain another deep, long laugh at his own humor, imagining what she must think of him. "But I'm glad to hear you say I'm good at it. To be honest, I never danced much at all before I met you. Before the ball, I mean. Never thought there was much of a point..."

But he could see the point now, clear as day. The feeling of Léonie so close to him made every atom in his heart break and burst at the same time. He was a man who responded incredibly to physical touch. A hug could turn his tears to laughter. A kiss could lift him from the darkest depression, and a touch on his arm could make him feel as if everything would turn out alright. He hoped Léonie would never learn this fact. Perhaps she would figure it out, but if she did, it would not bode well for poor Benjen and his crusade to resist falling in love with the Orlesian duchess. She would have him wrapped around her little finger.

Maker, what a fate that would be.

"I bet you were just a little girl when you learned how to dance," he mused, talking to fill silence. Her head on his chest made him feel whole. He wanted to talk, if only so she could feel the depth of his voice through her. "Most nobles are, right? I bet you were dancing before I learned how to read."

It never ceased to amaze Benjen, how different their lives had been. Only to end up here.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Léonie would have wanted to believe that they were this close because he had sneakily pulled her into him, but it was hard to determine if that was truly the case. She had fallen into his arms with minimal effort, or resistance.

Ah... but she was so tired. Her heart and body ached, and he was warm and gentle. She could feel his laughter rumbling through her like a wave. What harm was there in this, if it did them both good? The feeling was unfamiliar, but it was... nice, all the same. Her head rested on his shoulder as they swayed. Her dark eyes were half-closed, comfortably so.

She laughed softly, together with him, but let him talk on if only so that she could listen.

"Mmm..." the duchess hummed in low tones. "I'm... not so sure. Truthfully, I... when I was very young, most of my lessons focused on magic. It was thought to be of the utmost importance that I learn to be invisible as soon as possible. Everything else came after. My tutor... he was an elf --an escaped slave from Tevinter. He understood how to stay hidden better than anyone... in that regard, he was a good teacher. Mmm, now that I think about it... I think I spent more time with him than with members of my my family... save for my father." She was quiet for a beat or two, but continued, feigning that she wasn't saddened by the memory of his doom. "But, yes, I learned to dance soon afterwards. I could teach you different styles, if you'd like. I know all the ones known in court..." she smiled a little, "It doesn't seem necessary. We could just do this, after all. Don't you think?" She sighed softly and closed her eyes. Her hand on his shoulder slid irrevocably onto his chest. All she wanted to do was crawl under blankets... like this.

A little blush spread across Léonie's cheeks, and she hoped he wouldn't see. She had to be honest with herself. But that didn't mean she had to be honest with him, not after--

"Ah... I heard you this morning, from inside the tent..." She said it lightly, casually, as if she was asking about his day. "I meant to ask... what made you laugh so?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Hearing of her tutor brought great approval to Benjen's opinion of her. An escaped slave from Tevinter surely wouldn't have held up well at court, but he'd been her teacher and Léonie thought of him with fondness. Just as she thought of Vaeryn, surely, but perhaps to a different degree. Elves were important to Benjen as they had always been, and to hear of her affection for one brought ease to his heart.

Perhaps now, he could love her with fewer regrets.

At her mention of the laughing, however, Benjen couldn't help but laugh again. "What, you still pretending you weren't awake? Come on. I'm a Grey Warden, not a complete idiot." He pulled away just enough to look down upon her. "Your eyes were doin' that shaky thing they do when you try to keep 'em shut. You were way too limp. And your breathing..." He paused a moment to push away the memory. "It quickened suddenly when you realized what had happened. You were awake and you lay there in my arms like a damn bride, for Maker knows what reason. I laughed because it was bloody hilarious."

But there was more to it. Much more. He'd kissed her forehead, hadn't he? And curled her hair behind her ear? He'd wanted her to know how much he cared for her, so in the moments when he was cold and unfeeling in attempt to rile her, she'd remember his tenderness. Maybe his thought processes on the matter weren't the best approach, but she was a Duchess of Orlais and he truthfully had no chance with her. So he'd play his game, test her will, and in the end he would fight the Archdemon and return to Ferelden where he belonged.

Yet his heart betrayed him.

"I, uh...I just think it's ironic. You there, a duchess, and me, an orphan from Denerim with darkspawn blood." He met her chocolate eyes and frowned. "I probably have Avvar genes somewhere in my blood, not to mention I was born in your rival nation. Yet there you were, curled up against me like you fit there..."

And now, he had said too much.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] She blamed the lack of her suppressing jewelry for her inability to repress her inexplicable nervousness. It was normally much easier for her to stay aloof and unaffected as she waited for a response. But, now... she felt like she could start trembling at any minute from sheer anticipation. Léonie tried to prepare herself — but it was futile; what should she expect? He was being so kind, would he continue? Would he mock her? Would he leave? Would he… stay?

He laughed. But of course he would. She flushed and dropped her gaze, even as he pulled away from her. She stood still and bit her lip. But as he described the morning they'd shared, from his perspective, she couldn't help but laugh with him. Now, the duchess could finally bring her gaze to meet his, and she was struck by the shade of his eyes. How had she not noticed before? Well, she probably hadn't looked. They were a green she couldn't place, a striking hazel. His eyes held a certain quality which told the duchess that he'd seen more than the average man. But, now… well. Now he was looking at her.

Léonie smiled at him, letting go of his hand only to put hers on his chest, as if to ground him. She would have run through her explanations, the 'I-didn't-want-to-wake-you's, the 'you-were-injured's, whatever else had run through her mind at the time. But she didn't, it seemed pointless.

"Benjen." She said his name like a declaration, but her smile widened, and she didn't budge from the spot where she stood with him. Perhaps she was a duchess once, and perhaps she would be one again, but as far as she was concerned, they were equals here. For who knew where the Orlaisian courts stood? Only their arrival at Halamshiral would reveal her standing at court, if she even still had one. The thought brought her surprising relief. Being free of the court... being free. Maker, what a fate that would be!

Why is he frowning? Surely that cannot be all he thinks about himself? He is a Warden! She thought of the best words she could say to bring him peace.

"I would say, chaos brings people together in unexpected ways. For what it is worth, if it's worth anything at all, I'm glad I met you. You are my hero. Truly! I'm certain you hear this all the time, but I hope you know that I truly do mean it." She felt suddenly shy again, and she looked away only to meet his gaze again, still smiling in a manner that tried to encourage him to smile. "Would it set your mind at ease if I promise that I'll be on my best behavior tonight?" And if her little joke couldn't bring a smile to his face, she would reach up and touch his cheek in a kind and friendly way, as if to reassure him that it was all alright by her, hoping she wasn't overstepping her bounds.[/fieldbox]