Dragon Age: Grey Dawn || Sansa Stark & Astra

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
"Hah! I'm your fuckin' hero, look at you, sayin' jokes like they're funny when really you're just a..."

She touched his face, and Benjen fell silent. The feel of her skin was so natural atop his, as if the two had been made to collide. The friction was natural when her hand moved, even in the slightest bit, and the thrashing beast protecting his heart had been calmed. His bones were warm with its gentle purr. He did not know what Léonie could see of his soul, but it made him vulnerable and an agent of her will alone. His neck slacked and his forehead met hers. Like flint striking steel, a spark was ignited.

He didn't give a damn about her best behavior. He didn't care if she was the most ladylike woman in all Thedas or if she was a gutter rat from the sewers. He didn't care if she wore silk dresses or rags, ate grapes or porridge, read books or wanted posters. Benjen didn't care, not for the Blight, not for anything. All he wanted was her.

Benjen didn't know how to be gentle, but for Léonie de Valroque, he would try.

The Warden allowed his fingers to graze the gentle softness of her cheek like the lightest feather, not wanting to scare her, but confident she would not flee. He kept his arm loose about her waist so she might push away, yet gathered information betrayed him; surely she would have fled sooner if his touch was unwanted. Benjen could feel her breath on his lips, the heat of her skin on his, smell the flowers in her hair, or is that simply how she was? Léonie was beautiful. He would not be surprised if the sun rose and fell at her beck and call.

But perhaps now, he could show her. Benjen leaned slowly downward, giving her every spared second to recoil if she did not want his kiss. Yet their mouths grew closer, she did not move, and Benjen learned how badly he'd ached to have her in his arms in such a fashion--

"Oooohhhh!" came a drunken shout from across the camp. Benjen immediately pulled away and jerked his attention to the mischievous Vaeryn, a spilling mug of mead and pointing. "Benjen Baloch Iverstill! Take your royal wife back into the tent and don't shove your cod around while the Dalish are--"

"Hey! Maker's balls, you flat-eared bastard!" Benjen shouted in frustration with the smallest hint of glee. He snagged a throwing knife from his belongings and threw it into the tree Vaeryn was leaning on. The blade sank deep into the bark. "Get over here you little shit, you think I'm going to let you ruin a moment like that?!"

"Oh, Maker. Maker!" Vaeryn, wearing a massive drunken grin, laughed maniacally as he dropped his mug and bolted off into the forest. Benjen prepared to follow, but halted by the fire a moment, making a rash decision fueled by adrenaline and thoughtlessness. He turned back to Léonie and, with no lack of strength, took her face in his hands and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her sweet lips. She felt and tasted just as wonderful as he had dreamed, but Benjen pulled away with a sly grin, knowing he could not have what he wanted. Saying nothing, he left to pursue his troublesome friend. The Dalish looked on in confused amusement, while the sound of laughter and brotherly fighting mingled with the music in the air.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Her hand still rested delicately on his face; intended to be a gesture of acceptance, nothing more. Like a bolt from the blue, he drew closer, and Leonie froze like a deer. She looked up at him as best she could, but this was too close; too intimate, she had to drop her gaze. She could feel his warmth and hear his breathing. Her heart beat faster and her lips parted slightly. What was he doing? Was he...

Benjen touched her cheek, delicately, like he was touching a little bird, and Leonie gasped his name quietly. "... Ben?" It was a little whisper, nothing more. But one of her hands was still on his cheek, and the other was still over his heart. Oh Maker, he was doing it! He was closing the distance between them! But, ah --she tilted her head up to meet his--

A shrill cry, an interruption. His head swiveled away. Gone was their silence, their quiet moment. Leonie swallowed and tried to regain her composure by standing straight again -Maker, had she been leaning into him?- she flustered, she kept her gaze low. Her hand dropped from his face down to his shoulder, where it should have stayed from the start.

Vaeryn was shrieking, and Benjen followed suit. She was mortified, everyone was staring --perhaps, in truth, most people were starting at her giant knife-throwing 'husband', but she truly felt as if all eyes were on her. She cleared her throat slightly and dropped both her hands, trying to discreetly step away. He let her go and she sighed in relief, wringing her hands together. The elves were laughing. At her? No, surely, at Vaeryn and his drunken antics.

But suddenly the Warden was before her again and she looked up at him, all concern and embarrassment, but suddenly her face was between his hands and he planted a kiss on her lips! His hands were rough and calloused, his beard scratched her face, but his lips were sweetened with mead and... and what? And something more, something she couldn't place. It was over in an instant and he grinned and left, hot in pursuit. Unbeknownst to her, the fires had raged hotter for that moment.

A feeling similar to joy overtook her surprise, and Leonie laughed so hard that she started crying.


She lingered at the party for a little bit longer, long enough to calm herself down, and down more mead. Before the two Wardens returned to camp, she had already gone to bed in her -their- tent. What a funny night! She tried to convince herself of that, that it had just been 'a funny night.' But she couldn't shake the feeling that it had been more than funny, that it had been more than pretend. But she had to remind herself that she would just be fooling herself.

It had been for show. It had surely been for show, and nothing more.

The duchess burrowed into the bed, drowning in blankets to stave off the cold. Sleep evaded her until she did herself a kindness: what would be the point of denying the giddiness she felt as they danced, if only for one night? What would be the point of denying herself a little light in such darkness? Enjoying it for one night would do no harm. It had been nice to be treated so warmly, it had been nice to have felt so loved.[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
He'd heard her laughter while chasing Vaeryn. While at first he thought he was hallucinating it, or perhaps conjuring the noise in his subconscious to make himself feel better, Vaeryn's response to the distant joy was proof that it was real. The drunken elf chuckled and pointed in the distance. "Did you hear that, mate? She's laughin' like you did earlier! Maker's tits, you really need to make a move on that one."

The two brothers were laying together in an open field, having just settled a wrestling match like the children they ached to be. Vaeryn was spread-eagled on his back while Benjen had his hands resting behind his head. He smiled when his comrade mentioned Léonie. Even the thought of her made him giddy. "Yeah," the Warden agreed at last. "Maybe I should."

"Why not? She's bloody perfect for you. A nice, pretty wife to keep the warrior good and happy. Sounds like a fairytale ending to me."

"There are no such things as fairytales, Vae. We know that."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't make one."

Benjen thought on that point for a long while. If he could somehow make Léonie his own--no, he did not own her. If he could convince her that he would make a good match, perhaps he could discover some of the happiness he'd been searching for. It had been too long since he'd even contemplated love. But maybe, just maybe, the striking duchess from Orlais could give him something he knew he didn't deserve. Benjen would be the luckiest man alive if she would.

"I'm sort of drunk, but I think I'll listen to your crazy arse." The Warden slowly sat up, reaching over to pat his friend on the stomach. "Don't sleep on your back, idiot. I don't want you choking on your own vomit."

"Mmm," came Vaeryn's lazy reply. "Go on, then. Kiss her good and well, and tell me all about it tomorrow."

"Will do." Benjen chuckled and strode back into the Dalish camp, though not before finding Maharel and patting her on the shoulder. "Watch him, won't you?" he asked with a small grin. "Bastard always finds stupid things to do when he's drunk."

After saying goodnights around the camp to the elves who had so generously housed them, Benjen dropped his equipment outside the tent and took a deep breath. He didn't know what he was going to do or how he would approach the goddess in his bed, but now that his feelings were known to her, he could not leave them abandoned. The topic had to be addressed, didn't it? Perhaps a sober Benjen would think twice about sleeping by her side at all, but Benjen was certainly not sober and would not pretend to be. With a sigh of resignation, he slipped into the tent and gently lay by her still side.

A long time passed in silence. He had his back to her, mulling over what to say if anything at all, until the liquor opened his mouth for him. "Léonie," came his anxious voice. "I...mm. You, uh. You look cold." I could help with that, he almost added, but he was too courteous to be so forward. Benjen wasn't sure if she was even awake. If not, he would simply go to sleep, but if so...?

Maker, what do I do?[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] The mattress on the floor shifted to bear his weight; she had felt it, half-awake and half-asleep. She had felt herself sink and be pulled towards the space he now occupied.

But as he lifted the blankets to lie down, he'd let in a a draft to the fortress of warmth she had worked so hard to create. She sighed quietly, sleepily, and shifted around slightly, seeking warmth again.

She could feel it from here, he was positively radiating it. And he smelled of grass and mead and laughter. She rolled, so she was facing him, though her eyes were still closed.

Maker, she was exhausted and sore. She'd nearly died, twice, after all. Sleep... sleep was all she wanted. She tried to settle into the blankets again.

"Léonie,"

He growled her name softly, and she stirred. "... Mm...?" a quiet noise was her response as she fought off full wakefulness.

"I...mm. You, uh. You look cold."

His words seemed to have to swim through custard for her to understand and process them. It took her a while to respond.

"Mm... mhm..." she affirmed, then mumbled, "Sleeping like this... it's cold..." She shifted, accidentally allowing her shoulder to slip from under the covers. With a strong shiver, Leonie submerged it again, and tried to bundle herself up. In her squirming, she unintentionally nearly pulled the covers off him, and she was nearly pressed against him again. Her voice was light and languid, though practically in his ear. "Did you... kill Vaeryn?... Ben?... Could you... come closer for me?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Her invitation was clear, was it not? Benjen sighed to himself and allowed the liquor in his blood to act as the confidence he did not have. The Warden gingerly scooped Leonie into his arms and pulled her close to him, closing his eyes into the contact, feeling the need to sleep overwhelm him to a stupor. "Mm," he groaned. "Forget it. G'night, m'lady."

And with a drunken sigh, he soon slipped into the land of dreams.

---

Forest grass was deeply rooted. Benjen sat on a rock near a statue of a wolf and pulled at the strands in frustration, irritated and uncertain at what lay ahead. The sun rose on a dewy morning in the distance. He sat alone and contemplated his journey far beyond what he should for a man waking with the dizziness of a hangover. Dreadful headache aside, he couldn't help but fear for what was coming at Halamshiral. Was he not the only one who felt the power of the Darkspawn growing in his veins like fire? The events at Val Royeaux were never far from his mind. He only hoped that after this was over, he could finish out his life in relative peace before the Calling claimed him at last.

"You are troubled, dear Warden." Benjen turned to the elderly smile of Keeper Aerith, leaning on her staff in the bright sunlight. "No one should be alone in such times. May I sit with you?"

Benjen nodded stiffly. The woman sat beside him on the forest floor and crossed her legs in front of her. "The morning sun always brings me peace. I never sit so close to the Dread Wolf, though. You are braver than I."

"Dread Wolf?" Benjen pointed to the statue at his left with a boorish expression. "That thing?"

Aerith chuckled. "That thing is merely an icon. A statue. It faces away from camp as a reminder to keep evil spirits at bay. It is said that Fen'Harel walked two worlds, one of the Forgotten Ones, of darkness, and one of the People. It seems the two of you are not so different." She looked to him knowingly. "You carry evil blood in your veins, yet you are one of mankind still. I find it fitting to see you here, beside him."

"An elven god, huh?" Benjen stared at the statue before patting it on the head, as if it were a dog. "Hm. I guess outcasts always stick together."

"So it would seem." Aerith drew in a deep, meditative breath. "Like him, you will face many confusing challenges that will shape your character. I do not envy the burden. I do, however, believe you are the only one who can carry such pain and struggling. And perhaps your outcome will be greater than that of the Dread Wolf. You are on a dinan'shiral; a journey of death. I will say many prayers for your success against the Archdemon, Benjen Iverstill. You have the Dalish on your side."

In the distance, Vaeryn could be heard laughing at something their new companion had said. Benjen turned to see his friend and Maharel deep in conversation, while a sleepy Léonie followed closely behind, making their way to him. The three of them carried the remainder of the supplies they would need for their road to Halamshiral. It brought Benjen relief and trepidation to see them all moving on from this forest of peace, but the threat of the Blight would not allow them further rest. He stood with the Keeper and offered his hand. She shook it with confidence. "Thank you," said Benjen in a strong tone. "Your support means everything and your assistance won't be forgotten."

"Neither will yours. Dareth shiral, Grey Warden." Aerith gave him a final bow. "May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps."[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

CHAPTER IV
The Warden's Price

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Leonie de Valroque had often imagined herself wandering through the woods, during those days and nights when she'd been sequestered inside, studying or holding still. She hadn't imagined this, though. It was much noisier. And she'd never imagined that there would be so many insects. Nor did she ever think she'd be an orphan, nor did she ever think she'd be carrying so much golden jewelry in a pouch at her hips.

She couldn't bear to leave the enchanted items behind, but she'd been discreet about it, not wanting any of her companions to see.

Maharel, their guide, knew the forest of the Dales with an ease that made Leonie jealous. The Dalish elf pointed out ruins and statues and paintings on sheer rock faces as if she knew them all by heart.

It was only later, once they'd come to the Imperial Highway connecting Halamshiral and Lydes and found a traveler's inn, that Leonie learned the truth. She was sitting at a table near the entrance of the inn, a simple cup of water on the table in front of her, chatting with Maharel while the Wardens tended to logistics. Neither Leonie nor Maharel had ever stayed at an inn, after all.

"So, you have traveled this route before?"

"Just once, actually."

Her surprised and bewildered expression said it all, and Maharel laughed lightly. "Oh! You mean, because I was pointing out all that stuff? I have a good memory for it." Her lilting accent made it difficult to suppress a smile. "I've always liked the stories. And actually, because of that, I was thinkin' of coming with you all the way to Halamshiral. I've always wanted to see it! And there's a Blight, and all... my Keeper said--"

"Of course! Of course, Maharel, you would be most welcome." Maharel had proven to be lovely company, and it was really a relief to not be alone with the two Wardens. They were close, close enough so that Leonie often felt excluded, and they were men. Maharel was a welcome reprieve from all of that.

"Do you know what you'll do? Once you get there? Yer' husband mentioned that you were meeting up with the other Wardens... but what about you?"

"Well... truthfully, I'm not so sure what I'll do... I was... hoping to take advantage of the opportunity and become a Grey Warden." Now it was Maharel's turn to look surprised.

"Really?! Why in the world would you do that?"

Leonie smiled, a little shyly. "Well, I believe I can help them. And I want to be a part of... what they're doing. I feel so useless, not being able to help as much as I would like to. Joining would change that." She didn't mention, though, the other half of her motivation --arguably the most important half.

"Did you know that?" Maharel cried to Vaeryn. The inn was relatively empty. There were few travelers coming this way, at least tonight. They could afford to be noisy. It was for the best, as Maharel hadn't quite developed an 'indoor voice' yet. "She says she wants to be a Warden! How about that? Guess I get it, though," she turned back to Leonie, "even though I don't think I could ever join, myself, hah. Good for you!"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
The tavern fell silent when Benjen slammed an angry fist on the tabletop. Vaeryn knew the look on his companion's face too well. It wasn't one that appeared often, but when it did, his friend's sanity was teetering on a dangerous line between civility and utter madness. "Ben," he tried to say. "Hey man, look, I bet she didn't mean it. She was probably just--"

"--talking to a friend?" came the snapped reply. Benjen looked at Vaeryn as if he were nothing but a fool. "Just striking up a bit of friendly conversation? You didn't hear her on the road then, did you? Telling us we were heroes, people to look up to, that she was proud to be traveling with us...Maker, I should have seen this coming." Ben pushed himself up from the table like an angry bear, and the way the bystanders flinched, he may as well have been one. "Who else wants to be a Grey Warden!" he shouted mockingly with his arms spread wide. "Join now, and you'll get a free drink! Maybe even a nice kiss on the ass from King Alistair himself!"

"Benjen!" Vae scolded. He was utterly sick of his friend's odd behavior, the strange stares and outbursts, the hot-and-cold demeanor. He was not about to let Ben make a fool of himself in the middle of an Orlesian tavern. Vaeryn stood and gripped his companion by the arm. "Shut your mouth, wouldja? She didn't mean it. An' even if she did, this isn't a good way to talk her out of it."

"What would you know?" Benjen replied, shaking out of the elf's grip. "Miss Lady Duchess, prancin' on us like she damn near owns us, says she wants to join the Grey Wardens. You know what means. I know what that means. But you're just gonna sit there and let her talk like that, as if we should even consider it?"

"This isn't the place, Benjen!"

"Halamshiral is a day's ride. If we don't smack some sense into her now, she'll never understand!" Benjen reached for Léonie with surprising force and anger, but his hand was blocked by Vaeryn, who clutched his partner's wrist to halt him. The brothers met eyes. "Don't stop me, Vaeryn, or I swear to the Maker--"

"We need her." The elf was firm on the subject, becoming dangerously and uncharacteristically serious. "Don't ruin this for us, Ben. For her. You need to calm down, stop drinking and listen to me for a Maker-damned minute!"

The tavern fell silent. A mug rolled off a table and dropped, and the room echoed with the sound. No one drew a breath for a long moment until Benjen pulled out of Vaeryn's hold with venom in his gaze. "You know nothing," spat the Captain. Taking the tension in the air with him, Benjen stormed from the tavern and slammed the door closed behind him.

The crowd began to murmur. No Grey Warden should ever have made such a display, but there was something so terribly wrong with Benjen that Vaeryn almost expected it. He looked to Léonie with a deep frown. He knew nothing, did he? Vaeryn knew a great many things, but oftentimes his humorous nature overshadowed his intelligence. He didn't know why he felt so confrontational; perhaps it was because he was on the rag, or merely because Benjen was royally pissing him off. Regardless, his heart began to ache. Something is wrong, and Ben hasn't told me. Vae looked to the Duchess again and sighed. "I'll talk to him," he said, and left to follow Benjen without waiting for her reply.

After a minute's worth of searching, the elf found his brother standing by a pond and trying to breathe. Ben turned to him and his lip twitched. "Vae, just go. I'm not gonna--"

"No!" Vaeryn shoved Benjen backwards, so sudden that Ben's eyes widened with shock. "What're you--"

"Shut up!" Vaeryn pushed him again. "I'm not gonna listen to your damned excuses. I know a hell of a lot more than just 'nothing.' I know you don't want her to become a Grey Warden. I know what it would do to her, to you, if she somehow survived the Joining and managed to get into our ranks, but since you already know she can't Join without us, why was it even an issue? She can't Join without us, Ben. If we say no, her plan is foiled. Why the hell are you so upset?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The smaller Warden clenched his fists. "Fine. You don't want to talk? I'll do the talking. I'll tell you everything I know." Vaeryn shoved Benjen a final time, so hard that the Captain fell back into a nearby chair. "I know you've lost a lot, my friend. I know you have a hard time handling your emotions. These are things I know that no one else does, but I also know you barely sleep, you're not eating and you pretend no one notices, but we do! We all have. All three of us. And you just acted like a spoiled rotten child in that tavern, you know what those people probably think? Nevermind--who cares. Point is, you're off your bloody rocker and I want to know why."

For a long time, nothing but the sound of the water accompanied the two friends, leaving both to their own thoughts. "Well," said Benjen. "I guess you'd know a lot about bloody rockers right now, wouldn't you?"

"...oh, Maker--" Vaeryn rolled his eyes, but as frustrated as he was, a smile pulled at his lips. "I'll know more when I beat you bloody with the rocker you fell off of."

"I think you've got plenty to spare right now, thanks." Ben held out a hand in jest. "I, uh...sorry. I really screwed things up in there."

"You need to watch your temper, mate. It's gotten out of hand." Vaeryn crouched down to better communicate with Benjen at equal level.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Vae."

"I do." Vaeryn placed a hand on Benjen's shoulder. "You love her."

Benjen's only response was a sigh. Vaeryn knew what that meant. "You don't want to lose her. I get it. She can't Join anyway, she's probably the only heir to Orlais that's still alive. She doesn't know that yet, but she will soon, yeah? Then we can put this ugly thing behind us. We'll protect her and all that. Stop worrying so much, and don't make yourself a damn idiot either. Women don't like that. I'd know. I used to be one."

Benjen scoffed. "Heh. Yeah. Easier said than done, though."

"You're too high-strung is all. Just relax. Let it come naturally. Then you can stop scarin' the poor girl away from you for a change."

"Mm." Benjen scratched the back of his neck, eyes cast downward. "I guess."

Vaeryn knew he would need time to contemplate. He stood from his crouched position and clapped his friend on the shoulder for support. "I'm gonna go back in there and do some damage control. Make sure she's okay. But, uh...you stay out here, yeah? Just cool off for a bit. We'll be inside when you've decided to play nice."

"Yeah, yeah." The captain waved a dismissive hand. "Get out of here."

Vaeryn left his friend to return to the tavern, feeling as if something was accomplished, yet nothing at all.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Maharel's praise fell, dead, like a bird shot through with an arrow; the two ladies flinched, in their own way, as Benjen nearly broke the table and glared at Leonie like a rabid beast. Vaeryn began saying something, but it might as well have been a fly buzzing for the effect it had.

Leonie's eyes were wide. It was like watching an avalanche coming at her from a distance. Unavoidable and all-consuming.

He was mocking her. He was mocking her!

And Vaeryn was... speaking for her!

A hot feeling bloomed in her chest and spread across her body. Indignation. Shame. Fury. Her suppressing jewelery were gone. It could not be contained.

'Smack some sense,' he had said. He lunged for her like he was about to rip her to pieces, and while her heart jumped to her throat, she kept her composure like only a true Lady of Orlais would. The fire in the hearth, however, raged and leapt and liked at the mantle and at any furniture that was too close by, adding to the alarm of the other patrons. 'We need her,' Vaeryn added, more towards Benjen than towards her, but the words cut and burned. Need. Like a tool, like an object. The fire did not abate. Tears clung to her eyes for a moment, but they evaporated. Her heart thrummed in her ears like war drums. Vaguely, she recognized that Vaeryn was going to go talk to Benjen, but she did not reply, she merely seethed, in her own little furious bubble. Her breathing came ragged. Her hands on her lap were fists.

"What the... um... hey... Leonie?" Her anger was palpable. Maharel peered at the Orlaisian with unmasked concern, while the rest of the tavern either stared at her or tried to put out the fire that had caught the stools nearest the fireplace. A slight smell of burning filled the tavern, and it didn't just come from the singed furniture. "Are you... em..."

Automatically, Leonie reached for her cup of water and drunk it dry.

"Leonie?"

The Duchess stood and went to the Tavern door, brushing past Vaeryn as the elf Warden re-entered. Her lips were set in a firm line. She did not look at him. She was searching. If he tried to touch her, to stop her, he would find that her skin was too hot to hold on to. She literally radiated heat, making the air around her hazy and mirage-like. The heavy cuffs around her wrists glowed red-hot. Her back straight like a rod, she strode into the surrounding area and found the Warden by a tavern pond, sitting there, pathetically.

She wanted to fight, to rage at him --but that went against her better nature. The extent of her anger and embarrasment showed through the flush in her face, the blazing light in her eyes and the steely cut of her voice.

"How... dare... you..." Each word was sounded out, as if to make him understand the extent of her rage. "How dare you belittle me so. I've done nothing but show you my true heart, and you do nothing but fling it back at me like it's garbage. And despite that-- despite that," here her resolve broke a little, like her voice, like the anger that flashed in her eyes. "Despite that, you've shown me more kindness than what I was used to in the Val. Anyone else would have let me perish." She looked at him for a brief moment, almost softly, but her gaze hardened again as she continued.

"But despite that, my life is not yours. I will make my own choices. I've had enough of being denigated and I've had enough of hiding my abilities. Is the thought of me becoming a Warden so repulsive to you? Do you think so little of me!? I want nothing to do with my past life. I will not join a Circle, and I will not join the Chantry, and I will not be made Tranquil." Leonie de Valroque She drew herself up as if making a proclamation, her words loud and clear, though her hands were still clenched fists at her side. "You may try to keep me from this now, but mark this: I will join and you cannot keep me from it. You are not the only wardens in Thedas. And if you even think to reach for me the way you did in the tavern again, know that I will not stand for it." She laughed then, bitterly. "What Warden in their right mind would turn away a willing conscript? And a mage, at that!?" Her voice took on a desperate note that hadn't been there before. "Why won't you let me have this!?" [/fieldbox]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
Maharel padded to where Vaeryn stood, wide-eyed and thoroughly bewildered, hands clasped behind her back.

"So... um," she murmured, "Duchess. They're not actually married, huh?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
If Léonie struck him, he would not flinch. Benjen knew he deserved every ounce of her rage all the way back to their daring escape from Val Royeaux. The only affection Benjen had ever known was from one-night stands and harlots; what could an half-Avvar orphan possibly know of love? What could he--he, a non-believer--make of mistaking a Duchess of Orlais for a goddess he did not believe in? Léonie de Valroqe embodied everything Benjen believed he could never have, and for that, he was angry. Angry at her. At himself. Angry at the whole damn world. Somehow, he'd deemed she should suffer for it.

Still, there was never a reason to act monstrous toward a lady, toward any woman. He was ashamed of himself and knew that any chance he'd ever had of taking Léonie's heart had been spoiled by his own hand. So, instead of offering pleas for forgiveness and untrue excuses, the Warden merely rubbed his face and sighed. There was no mask when he spoke to her this time. Only Benjen. Only truth.

"You can't Join," he said calmly. The words were uttered low, like an admittance of failure. "It would crush the nation of Orlais and send Thedas into chaos, not to mention it could kill you. And that's only half it." Benjen rose from the chair Vaeryn left him in and drew a dagger from his belt. He rolled up his sleeve. "Don't look away," he told her, and in a fluid movement, he swiped the blade across his bare forearm to cut open his flesh. Blood wept from the wound and spilled, but something else bled from him as well, a dark substance that oozed like sludge at the base. Benjen tightened his jaw when he searched her for signs of fright. "This is the secret of becoming a Grey Warden, Léonie. Darkspawn blood runs in our veins. The proper ritual calls for a vial retrieved by the recruit themselves, which you drink and take in as a part of you. It's why we see Darkspawn in our dreams and know their movements. It's how we can sense the Archdemon and why we knew of this Blight before it happened. It's also why our days are numbered. Darkspawn blood is poison; it will kill us eventually. Most Wardens say it takes ten to twenty years from our Joining before it takes us. We go to the Deep Roads to die among the dead, never to return--if you even survive the Joining, that is. Only one in five do, that's why there aren't very many of us."

Cautiously, he took a step toward her. Benjen's arm remained outstretched as the ooze continued to fester. He wanted to scare her, to show her what it meant to be tainted so she would come to her noble senses. And he refused to shy away from the truth. "Can't you see why most of us are ex-criminals or orphans? Why we're nobodies? No one will miss us when we die, Léonie. We have no royal inheritance, no families, no life to keep living except for this one purpose. I wouldn't wish that on someone like you. You have good things. You have--" He paused a moment. "You have life and joy and happiness waiting for you. A kingdom to shape. And as much as the selfish thought of fighting by your side for the rest of my life is tempting, it can't change my mind. This curse? This would take all the talent and gifts you've been given and shit on them 'till there's nothin' left. I won't let you do that to yourself, but even if I wanted to, I couldn't. There's more to you than just magic. I'd be damning Orlais if I let you risk your life joining an Order meant for the forgotten."

Benjen dropped his arm and moved away, sitting back on the chair with a huff. He retrieved a small strip of bandage from a satchel and carefully wrapped his self-inflicted wound. "You might be the last surviving heir to Orlais. As a daughter to a Duke, it puts you in line for the crown. The Emperor is dead. Your family did not survive. At Halamshiral, if no one above your birth can claim the right to the throne, it is yours by law." He took a moment to swallow his disdain. "That's why I saved you at Val Royeaux. I knew you could be the last of the royal line, and even though I'm Fereldan, I can see the total chaos a fallen empire would bring. No matter the benefit, the Empress of Orlais cannot be made sterile by the Taint. She needs heirs. The line must continue. The throne must be passed down. You could very well sit with a crown on your head while we, the Grey Wardens, the forgotten ones, save the world again. You will be thankful you did not Join when that day comes, Léonie. I can promise you that."

So many words, so much meaning and weight behind them. Benjen threw the dagger into the dirt at his feet and rested his elbows on weary knees. "That's the truth. The whole truth. And I never should have acted so angry to you, I'm sorry. Can't explain it. Not even sure I'm ready to..."

You love her, Vaeryn had said. Oh, how right he'd been.[/fieldbox][fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
Vaeryn nearly choked on the drink he'd been given. He'd forgotten that Ben and Léonie had kept up their sham of a "marriage" for the sake of keeping Dalish relations safe and secure, and Maharel's sudden inquiry took him entirely off-guard. When he cleared his throat of any excess ale and placed the mug on a table nearby, the Warden looked awkwardly to his nomadic companion. "I...well. Sometimes it's a term of endearment...?"

Clearly she had not bought the lie. Deciding it best to remain truthful, Vaeryn nonchalantly placed a hand on her back and guided her toward the opposite end of the tavern. "Outside," he said. "Best not to talk about it in here."

Like any gentleman should, Vaeryn opened the door for Maharel and closed it behind him. The night was indeed beautiful despite the unnecessary drama of it all. Despite his alienage origins, Vae had always felt connected to the outdoors, on par with any of the Dalishmen he'd met in the clan. A bit of fresh air would do him good, he decided. Time to calm down from the outburst and the exhausted feelings of "womanhood" was the only beneficial option he could see. Vaeryn gestured for Maharel to follow him to the middle of an open plain, where he promptly sat in the grass and began to pull it from its roots, if only for something to occupy his hands with.

"They're not married," he said with a small laugh. "Surprised it took you so long to figure it out, honestly. I just kinda said that for some reason when you had us trapped in the forest. I had to protect her identity. Her real name is Léonie de Valroque, and she's probably the next Empress of Orlais."

It felt incredibly odd to say the words. The woman he'd befriended, the sweet girl who'd searched for firewood and told court stories by the fire would soon be leading a country. Although it had yet to be set in stone, it felt like destiny. Vaeryn stopped yanking at the grass and folded his hands together. "I didn't know if your people would have killed her or not. I just--said something, and for some stupid reason the two of them went along with it, and continued to do so long after we'd left your clan. We met her at the ball in Val Royeaux and didn't know her a moment sooner. She was barely our friend when we came to you--or, my friend at least. I doubt she wants Benjen as a friend now, eh?" Vaeryn chuckled nervously. "Besides, I doubted you'd accept her. Orlais isn't kind to us flat-ears and a noble walking into your camp could cause fright. Even now, there are a lot of things I'm not sure of how you'll react to..."

Like me.

Before he said anything more, Vaeryn laid back upon the open grass and kept his eyes knowingly on the glittering stars. "It's amazing," he said, "the things people will say when they're afraid."[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"]
Rage to answer rage. That's what Leonie expected. Perhaps it's what she hoped for --a chance to rant, to seethe. Too much had happened in too short a time. Too much for anyone, but especially for her; reintroduced to the world and reintroduced to feeling. It was too much, and it all culminated, for her, on the knowledge that this Warden who she wanted with all her heart to call her friend was toying with her hopes and dreams.

Her body still ached from sleeping on the ground. The enchanted metal of her bracelets burned, searing pain. And yet he did not stir! And yet, he did not rise. He sat there, a lump on a log, sighing and sad. It almost made her feel sad, too, to see him so defeated.

But then came the words, "You can't join," and she felt like bursting with hopelessness. She felt like a child being told off, and she hated him for it. He continued, explaining his reasons, and none of them made any sense. But there was a gravitas in his voice and motions that made some of her furious heat dissipate. She felt smaller, colder. The tears in her eyes did not evaporate. She was tense and standing in place.

Benjen cut himself, deep. Blood blossomed and Leonie fought back a whimper, followed by a glare. Was he trying to scare her? He was, the beast! He approached her and she did not move or flinch or flee. Her feet were rooted to the spot. Her eyes were glued to his wound, until she felt his eyes on her and she met his gaze.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sorrow he held there. She had to look away. The ground, first. Then back at the corrupted, bleeding mark. She wasn't burning anymore. She wanted to ask him to stop, to stop, but she couldn't. Perhaps he did mean to scare her, but she couldn't feel that over the sadness that had settled into her core. Each word made it heavier.

He moved away, finally. She felt like she could breathe. But as he took a breath she didn't realize she'd been keeping, her breathing hitched, and she began to weep. Quietly, at first. Leonie covered her face as she began to sob.

"Oh, no... Maker, no..." she wept, quite alone, standing there, and quite small. "I am so sorry." Leonie sniffed and wiped her face on the sleeve of her dress with dutiful determination, going towards him and taking his outstretched arm. Leonie could not bring herself to meet his gaze or look at his face at all. Instead she just looked at the wound he'd wrapped up and used one hand to hold his arm steady while the other hovered, trembling, above the cut. Leonie just took hold of him, she didn't give him a choice. She breathed between weak half-sobs and furrowed her dark brows, focusing with enough heart-felt energy to make her desires manifest power from the Fade into the waking world; she would heal his wound.

And once done, she sniffled again and threw her arms around his shoulders in a desperate hug, hiding her teary face in his shoulder. She was standing, he was sitting. It was the only way she would ever be at the level to look over his head.

"Benjen... no..." she didn't even know what she said 'no' for. Perhaps to all of it.

She didn't believe him. He hadn't saved her because he knew she was nobility, he had saved her because he could.
[/fieldbox]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
A red eyebrow, raised incredulously, was the response she deigned to give him when he tried to continue the farce. He said they should talk outside, and she mm'ed knowingly. But of course. Where else would be a good place to speak?

Maharel let him sit and pull up grass. Her hands were on her hips, but she was looking up at the stars. She didn't interrupt, and, honestly, it wasn't all that clear that she was listening.

The elf plopped down next to him, sitting on the grass as comfortably as if it were silk pillows. Her eyes were still on the stars, but she began fiddling with her long hair, idly braiding it in thin pieces.

"One time, I unlatched the halla pen's door and forgot to close it. They all got out, just before a big storm, too. It was such a mess. I lied. I said it wasn't me. Coz I was scared shitless of what she'd do to me!" She laughed. "The Keeper looked to my sister first as the source --she had just started keeping halla, ya see. So I had to come clean. It was fine, in the end --I got most of them back after a few days."

She paused, a little awkwardly. "I dunno why I'm sharin' that. I guess... I know what you mean, is all. But, for the record? I'd prefer to know the truth. Empress, huh?" She whistled, as if to say, wow.

Maharel lay next to him and pointed up. "That's 'the halla.' Do you see it?" She outlined the way the stars made the shape of a horned deer in profile. "'The Keeper's' staff is there. And that's 'the spider,' just there. Oh! And that's 'the Oak.' For Andruil." She paused and dropped her hand down. "... Can you see the stars much in the city? Or are the buildings too big?"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Benjen did not hesitate to wrap her in his steel embrace when she threw her arms around him. He did not know why he hugged her so close, why he cherished her this way, but perhaps the true reason was not hard to comprehend. He loved her after all. He kept Léonie as close as he could and let her weep, vowing silently to always let her do so. Her tears melted his heart, and when he finally pulled away, he wiped her cheeks with a calloused thumb.

"Don't be sorry," he told her kindly. "I chose this path. Vae and I, we're nothing. This gives us purpose, even if it means we won't live as long. I've been a Warden for twelve years already. The Blight will end, my time will come, and you and I will go our separate ways. No reason to cry about it; that's just how it works." For the first time, his smile to her was genuine. Unaltered. "Just, uh...do right by Orlais, fix what was broken, and it'll all be worth it in the end. You don't need to become a Warden to do those things. That's how you become your own hero."

Oh, but she was already a hero to him. She was courageous, beautiful and willful beyond her station. She was a woman of morality and justice. She did not let her birth keep her from being kind to elves, she was sweet in nature, and not to mention her voice was spectacular. Benjen loved to hear her rant. And her magic, how her magic enchanted him! He would sit by the fire just to watch her toy with it carefully, and laugh when she caught something on fire. Léonie was everything to him, and it ached because she was so very far from his reach.

But she was not an empress yet, and if anyone of noble birth could choose their lover, wouldn't it be an empress?

"I wonder..." he found himself saying. "I wonder, if things had been different..."

He dare not finish his words. Her eyes had trapped him, and Benjen's hand gingerly cupped her cheek.[/fieldbox]
[fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
Vaeryn loved it when her mind bounced from topic to topic, dragging whoever was listening along with her. Maharel was a spectacle and he felt he was her best audience. He sighed, content to listen to her rant about stars and constellations and whatever the hell they meant, but he preferred to listen to the sound of her voice over what she was saying. Her accent was very pleasing and her excitement put him at ease. Vaeryn realized he did not want her to stop.

"Stars? Oh, you can see 'em in the alienage. For sure." He laced his hands and rested them over his aching stomach. "Maybe not as many, though. It's not as open like this. But whenever we wanted to watch the stars, Ben and I would go out into the woods in a treehouse we built there. Much better, and not so many other lights to distract you." Vaeryn sighed. He missed the days of before, when there was less trouble and more freedom.

"And you like the truth?" He turned his head to look at her. "Because I've got a lot of truths I could say right now, but I'm not sure if they'd be good to say."

Vaeryn was always better with women than Ben, more flirtatious and knowledgeable of how to woo them, but when it came to serious emotions he was just as terrible. There was fear in coming clean, and if this went poorly it could affect the alliance with the Dalish. Still, though...looking her eyes made him want to speak honestly. And if she'd said she appreciated it, perhaps he should not be so doubtful.

"I'm female," he blurted rather hastily. "I mean, I'm a guy, but...you know. I have girl parts. I drink potion to look like how I truly feel inside. A woodswitch taught Benjen how to make it, and I take it every night." Vaeryn couldn't look at her anymore out of embarrassment and instead fixed his eyes on the stars. "But that's not the only truth. I know one of us will not survive this Blight. I don't know who, but our little party of four will shrink to three by the time this is all over. This feels wrong. And it's not the usual Blight either, it's like something darker is leading them, something old and ancient. And I'm afraid for Orlais. I'm afraid for all of us, and I know fear isn't something a Warden should admit to, but not confronting it makes it worse. And lastly, I know you're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and even if I do die during this Blight, I can die a happy man knowing I got to meet you."

Vaeryn, filled with bittersweet understanding, looked over to Maharel and laughed. "How's that for truth?"[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Remaining composed in the face of adversity was a skill that had been emphasized from the start for Leonie; however the 'adversity' she'd faced in the past seemed like stage plays compared to this. She let him hold her and let him pull away once she was too tired to weep anymore, and she let him dry her tears and she let her eyes meet his. It was strange to lose her voice like this. She couldn't find the words.

"... What is there to wonder, Benjen?" she replied, her voice a low murmur. Perhaps she didn't follow his logic, but regardless, Leonie brought her hand to his, holding it on her face. "Please. Do not say you, you and Vaeryn, are nothing. You are not. You will never be 'nothing,' at least not to me. I treasure you very much and I am so thankful that you are with me."

She brought the hand on her cheek to her lips and, with the slightest hesitation and the slightest intake of breath, tenderly kissed his the heart of his calloused palm.

"I will try very much to make you proud of me." It felt like the truest confession she had to anyone in a long time, perhaps since she first told her older brother that she was a mage. But that confession had been filled with dread for the future; this one, on the other hand, was tinged with hope.

Leonie laced her fingers through his, and touched his other hand, that still rested on her waist, starting to straighten as if to guide him somewhere. "Will you..." she had a thought, though, which gave her pause. Leonie looked at him, sad and smaller than he had any right to be, and a little bit hopeful. What was he longing for? She searched his face.

Oh, yes. Of course.

Her free hand found his bearded face and gently traced the line of his cheekbone, just before her lips met his as she gave him soft little kiss. It was given as a gift, just for him, because her heart ached for him to know happiness. But deep down, she knew, she'd be lying if she didn't long for him, too. He'd shown her more kindness and fairness than she'd ever come to expect, and though he was brusque and sometimes callous, he had a good heart, unclouded by 'the game' or other petty squabblings. It was difficult for her to tell if she was reading too much into his kindness. He was worldly, and he'd seen much. What was one clueless mage? What was one orphaned young woman? Despite all that, she knew that she cared for him deeply; as deeply as the sea. Leonie lingered near him, then pulled back slightly to speak. "Will you come back indoors with me?"

[/fieldbox]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"]
Somewhere during his confessions, Maharel had rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows to look at his shifting features rather than the stars above. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes were concerned.

"... Wow. That's, um... damn. That's... a lot." Her lips set into a thin line, and she shook her head. Then she sighed and closed the gap between them for a kiss, which was as leisurely as it was accepting. She sighed again, and sat up to meet his gaze more easily. She still looked very concerned.

"You worry a lot, Vaeryn. You should worry less. It's not good for you. My Keeper always said that, and she's very wise... I'm actually pretty curious about what growing up in an alienage was like. Never been in one, but I've heard... mm. Well. I won't even try to pretend I've heard any good things. What was it like? Were you born there? But you learned some Elvish-- so did you always want to join a clan? Or why did you learn it? I guess it's just, it's rare for a city elf to learn it... wait, wait," she shook her head as if changing the direction of her thoughts.

"About you being female, that thing?" She said, giving him a rare serious look. Though that dissolved as she spoke, since being seriously serious didn't come naturally to her. "I don't care. Well, wait--obviously I do care, because it's important to you, but what I mean is, all I really care about is that you're a good person. And I won't tell anyone, obviously. And thank you for telling me. I can tell it wasn't easy. Really. Thank you." Maharel sighed again, feeling a bit restless. She touched his hand gently, as if she didn't want him to bolt. "Just try to relax, alright? It's a lot, but --take it day by day. That's what I try to do when I'm feeling overwhelmed. I know I'm not a Warden or anything but..." she shrugged, and offered a smile. He had spilled his heart and she had soaked it up without pausing to make room for judgement or scorn. A friend was a friend, for Maharel it was as simple as that.

She lay down again, and, if he let her, she would take his hand in hers. "Does Benjen know about all this? Your fears about the Blight, I mean."
[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
Her proposal was dangerous, if it was a proposal at all. Benjen wanted her, that was true, body and soul and otherwise. She was beautiful and willful. But Benjen knew the price of his affections, knew what his heart would suffer if he bonded with her now. They were on a mission of delicacy. Sex couldn't enter the picture, not here, not now, and probably not ever. A Grey Warden and the Empress of Orlais...

It wasn't meant to be.

Benjen let out a disappointed sigh. Duty weighed heavy on his shoulders. "Aye," he said at last, "I'll take you back to a room. You and the Dalish girl can have one, Vae an' I'll take the other, yeah?" He curled her hair behind her ear affectionately. His body hated those words, for he wanted nothing but her love and to give her all she offered in return, tenfold if need be. But he couldn't. There was a time and place and an opportunity for such things, and none of those prerequisites were met with Léonie. The captain in him advised putting the duchess aside and focusing on the mission ahead. It would be easier said than done. Already, the beast of regret was tearing him apart.

Benjen accompanied Léonie back to the inn, and the tavern fell completely silent upon his entry. "Relax," he said, ashamed of how the bystanders eyed him warily. "Just forget that ever happened, yeah?" He reached into a small pouch and pulled out ten silver pieces, placing the handful on the front counter. "Two rooms. One for the lady, the other for me."

"Sound about right," replied the innkeep. His voice was harsh and judgmental. He took the money from Benjen swiftly and pointed to the stairs. "Go on, get up there. I'll have no more trouble from you tonight."

"No sir." Benjen guided Léonie up the stairs, and when he was no longer in the tavern, usual chatter and drunken activity returned.

The rooms themselves were dull affairs, with one large bed, a hearth and a small window to the west. Benjen busied himself with making a fire for Léonie and Maharel, and when he was done, the crackling flame was the only sound between them. He didn't know what to say or how to act anymore, now that she knew what was at stake. He found himself wishing Halamshiral was closer so he could say goodbye and never suffer in her presence again. Was it cruel to think that way?

"If there's...anything you need, just ask the innkeep." He brushed off his hands on his pants. "I think I'll head to bed."[/fieldbox]
[fieldbox="Vaeryn; The Dearest Friend, tan, solid, 0, tahoma"]
She kissed him. She kissed him! Vaeryn wore the biggest of smiles as happiness flooded him from head to toe. The Archdemon could strike him down at this very moment, and he would not fight. He could die happy. He closed his eyes and folded his hands over his stomach, content to revel in what she'd given him as he listened to her speak.

Once again, she bounced from subject to suject, but Vaeryn followed her all the way. He told her of alienage life and the orphanage where he met Benjen, about what it was like to feel disconnected from the rich elven history so lost to the ages. He talked of the struggles of switching genders and how it changed him as person, made him stronger, braver. And he accepted her much-needed advice on taking things one day at a time. Talking to her so in-depth was like a breath of fresh air when he'd been strangled, that final relief of knowing your life would continue. And he was at ease with her more than he'd ever been with anyone--except Benjen, of course.

"Benjen..." Vaeryn sighed. He didn't want to swing the subject back around to his complicated friend, but like a boomerang, it had returned. "If I told Benjen about my fears, he'd think they were legitimate and want to investigate. He'd want to know exactly who was dying on what day of the year, what minute by what method, and do everything he could to save them. But that's the thing--all that information...you can't know that. Not even the most powerful mage can read the future. It'd drive him crazy. I can't do that to him, not with so much on his mind already and Halamshiral right around the corner." He yawned, closing his eyes. "I just want him to be happy. I want all of us to be happy."

And that won't happen.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] He tucked some hair behind her ear and she smiled softly, searching his face for... something. She couldn't place for what, exactly. But she nodded, agreed, and stood up straight with him. Her hand lightly rested on his arm as they walked back together.

The suggestion of two rooms was perfectly adequate. Anything else would have shocker her... probably. Once that thought took root in her mind, she wondered... had he wanted to suggest that they share a room? A... bed? Léonie felt her cheeks coloring, unsure what to do with that thought.

His behavior was almost meek -perhaps ashamed?- and though he had behaved rudely, the way the tavern keeper treated Benjen sat poorly with her. He was a Warden, was he not? But her mind was clouded with other thoughts, and she did not react to any of it.

There was an atmosphere between them now, a tension. Discomforting, but not uncomfortable. She didn't know what to make of it. As such, she inhaled sharply, averted her gaze, and chose to act on her basic instinct-- how she had dealt with her magic for so long: to thoroughly ignore it and hope for the best.

It was the most basic room she'd ever seen, hardly even fit for a servant. But it would do, and at least, it was a bed rather than a forest floor. Benjen immediately went to the fireplace to get it ready, and she watched him for a moment, wondering if he had forgotten that she could do the same thing with a simple gesture.

Idly, she approached the bed and pressed her hand into it, finding it firm and springy. He said he would head to bed. There was hesitation in his voice.

"Yes. I think I will, as well," she responded delicately. "Thank you."

She didn't look at him, even though she felt like he was looking at her. A pause, which felt thick. "Good night. I hope you can sleep well."

But then she paused, reflecting on what they had spoken of in the woods. "I... um. Benjen." She glanced at him, then gathered her hair over one shoulder as if to give her hands something to do. "Thank you. For what you told me today."

It felt like a goodbye, like something was being left unfinished, and she felt rather sad, wanting to throw her arms around his shoulders again. But she didn't. Léonie stood still and cool and watched him from her safe distance across the room. [/fieldbox]

[fieldbox="Maharel; The Moving Target, green, solid, 10, georgia"] Maharel listened to him speak with ease. She had an affinity for stories, for those fleeting moments that made life so unique and worth preserving. And Vaeryn was certainly unique, and his stories deserved an audience. Idly, as he spoke, she had begun to braid her hair in thin strands and eventually lay down next to him.

He said he wanted everyone to be happy, and she laughed -giggled, really. It was such an innocent and pure-hearted wish that it almost caught her off-guard, coming from a seasoned warrior, from a Warden. A delightful wish. But sleep was calling her, too.

She stretched out her hand to take one of his. "I'm glad I met you," she murmured drowsily. "Do you want to sleep out here with me? I've never been one for buildings... and the night is so nice..." [/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
"Don't mention it."

And he left without a second thought.

Benjen slammed his door when he entered the room designated for him. He felt like a fool, like every meaning and synonym of the word, and he yanked off his armor in an angered haste. There wasn't anything he felt like doing. Screaming, maybe. Yelling. Cursing. But Benjen did none of these things, knowing he'd had his outburst for the day and realizing his emotions needed to be kept in check. He would be a statue from now on, immovable, stone-like. When Léonie took her throne and he left her behind, he could finally feel like himself again.

Benjen crawled into bed and closed his eyes. Sleep would come and take him away, and he could forget this night ever happened.

---

Darkness and pain, darkness and pain. It pumped through his veins like fire. Burning, burning. Skin the color of snow. Smell of rotting flesh. His own? Claws, overgrown fingernails ripping through a child's bones. The village is on fire. Someone should help them die.

He moves. A drawling walk, a gait as if he's been wounded, like the dead come to life again. Savage teeth gnarling as his bites the leg of a screaming mother, wailing for her children to run. They do. Some of his friends will catch them. He smiles and laughs, a shriek unknown to the living world, but he knew it, he'd heard it in his dreams. Felt it in the night. It was a part of him, like a wolf answering a call. He grabbed the woman and threw her on her back. Blades were raised. He held her down before ripping her insides from her belly with a black sword.

Her eyes, her eyes...so familiar. Dark. Youthful. Beautiful.

A golden crown rolled off of her head. The village, Val Royeaux, the Orlesian flag smothered in blood.

Thedas burned. The empress was dead at last.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] An abrupt departure that left the night feeling unfinished. Leonie lay alone, the bed was hard but free of bedbugs, and any bed was preferable to the forest floor. Moreover any bedroom alone was preferable to what she'd had to put up with in the elven camp. She would dream alone, as it always had been before her life had been torn from her hands. The Duchess still held on to the enchanted trinkets, tucked safely into a soft leather pouch, left safely on her bedside table. She couldn't bring herself to be rid of them, or to remove the last cuffs that shackled her wrists. In a perverse way they reminded her of home. Removing them would mean leaving everything, everything behind. And she wasn't quite ready for it.

She said a quiet prayer for peace and for strength, to Andraste and the Maker. For herself, and for her companions.

Leonie slept alone, wrapped up in thin sheets and heavy blankets. A dreamless sleep, dark, almost mercifully so.

Someone was laughing.

As she slowly came to, feeling like she was being pulled up from deep, dark water, she realized the laughter wasn't exactly... laughter. Short gasps, cries. Not laughter? Short screams. That sent panic shooting through her, she tensed and opened her eyes. But the inn wasn't on fire, no man with a knife stood over her bed, no archdemon swooped overhead.

But someone still screamed. Someone -- Benjen. Her heart froze as she leapt from her bed, barefoot. His cries wrenched at her very soul, he sounded like he was dying --like he wanted to die, but couldn't. Cries of pure despair, a lost child in the dark, a man losing everything. Leonie flung open the door to her assigned room and crossed the short hall to fling open the door to his, thanking the Maker it hadn't been locked. What greeted her was beyond what she had expected. The Warden thrashed on the bed, wrapped so tightly in the sheets that she thought they might be choking him. Even in the dim light of the moon, for he'd never lit his own fireplace, she could see his face covered in a damp sweat. The candle and pitcher on his bedside table had been knocked over. He was screaming and moaning, like a man damned. A nightmare had him, its claws sinking deep.

She shut the door behind her, a small precaution to try to make sure his cries wouldn't wake the entire place. Vaeryn was nowhere to be found. She strode towards the bed and shook his shoulders, trying to wake him and hold him steady. "Benjen! Benjen! Wake up!" But obviously he was too strong for her, and he was deaf to her supplications. He thrashed and howled and broke free of her grasp, and she was convinced he would hurt himself. His pain somehow felt like her own, she felt herself close to tears. She drew near again, and murmured his name, stroking his face. "Benjen, it's Léonie... you are dreaming, please wake up. Benjen..."

But he flailed and thrashed and shook her off again. Thankfully, perhaps due to Vaeryn's absence, the other nightstand had not been disturbed. Thinking fast, Leonie grabbed the pitcher of cold water and dumped it on the Warden's face, crying, desperate, "Wake up, Benjen! You're dreaming!"[/fieldbox]

 

[moffnat]

[fieldbox="Benjen Iverstill; The Blighted Soldier, gray, solid, 0, andale mono"]
In the dream, he'd been covered in her blood. But when the warmth of her life faded into the ice of cold water, Benjen gasped and sat upright, panting as if his life depended on it.

She was lucky it was a nightmare. If someone had woken him in such a way, Benjen would curse and shout, perhaps slap the person who'd dared ruin a peaceful night sleep unexpectedly. But this was not unexpected. He should have known, should have taken precautions. Slept with his mouth covered, his wrists tied to the bed. Such measures were not unfamiliar. But when he looked into Léonie's eyes, into the horror and the fear that overtook her at the sight of him, his shock fell to pity. Sympathy and sadness. The nightmare was easy to shake off, he'd done it countless times before, but the look on her face...

That would never leave him.

Benjen couldn't speak for many moments. The nightmare had taken his words from him, and he was too weak to move beyond what he had already. He fell back against the bed and huffed, breathless and tired. His hair clung to his wet face, wet from water and sweat combined, and his hands slowly released the sheets that had been balled into his fists. His breathing fell from panicked to slow and steady, in through his nose, out through his mouth, but he was still too weak to say anything.

In.

Out.

His muscles slowly relaxed. He drew a deep breath, for it was all he could manage.

In.[/fieldbox]

 

[Astra]

[fieldbox="Léonie de Valroque; The Unsung Song, Darkmagenta, solid, 10, times"] Maker save us both, she prayed, tossing the now empty jug onto the empty bed and watching the Warden as if she was watching him dying. Or more accurately, like he had died, and was struggling, clawing his way back to life.

"Benjen... what happened? Are you alright?"

She might as well have not spoken at all. He didn't -perhaps couldn't- hear her.

"Y-you were... you were screaming... and..." the duchess tripped over her words, uncharacteristically. She had never seen him this weak before; this vulnerable. She felt tense and lost, and incredibly unsure. For a moment she considered leaving --he certainly liked his solitude, after all. But she wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if she left him like this.

Approaching the edge of the bed slowly as if she was approaching a viper, Leonie eventually perched gingerly on the edge of it. Her hand hovered over his, but she thought better of it after a moment or two. Instead, she very delicately placed her hands on her lap and watched him continue to gasp for breath, straining for the right words.

An idea came to her and she fidgeted, feeling incredibly stupid for even thinking about it.

And yet he struggled to breathe.

Finding her voice was difficult, she opened her mouth and the sounds were weak and straining. "My-"

She flushed and cleared her throat, dropping her gaze to her hands. She cleared her throat again, a little quieter this time.

"My Soul:
come to the winding stair,
set your mind upon the steep ascent
Upon the crumbling battlement
Where we might finally meet.
Upon the breathless, starlit air
To choose our fate, if we might dare,
Upon the tower, broken, bare,
Where we might finally meet."

She was singing a song, keeping her voice low and melodic, thinking that the rhythm might soothe; might give him something to focus on, other than whatever was causing him so much grief. Leonie paused, trying to find the courage to sing more verses.

She'd sung in front of others before. It was a way for her parents to show her off; perhaps she was ill and strange, they would say, but she could sing and entertain as well as any Orlesian lady.

This was different. This was the opposite of a staged performance. She was no longer in a gilded cage, wrapped in golden chains.

It wasn't a game; it wasn't The Game. It mattered more. It mattered the most.

"W- with stars above and earth below,
The brazen sun has hid her face,
None shall tell us where to go,
When we will finally meet

The milky moon will light our path
The river guides our wandering feet
But we shall wander side-by-side
my Soul, we finally meet"[/fieldbox]