A/N: A few notes on canon:
This piece takes place at some point during DA2, Act 3, after Merrill's final quest (A New Path) but before the endgame.
It will be a totally original story, and there is one major deviation from Bioware's canon: Leliana is not Sister Nightingale, and several more original themes will sprout from that omission.
M rated because I go into some detail of Leliana's incarceration, including mentions of torture and rape.
'Oh, Mythal blessed land!'
Theron Mahariel hopped from the ship, soft leather boots landing with a nearly silent thump as he hit the stone surface. More than ready to dance on the solid feeling underfoot, he was unpleasantly surprised when the ground lurched to the side and he promptly fell over.
Another pair of boots appeared in front of his eyes, and a delicate voice touched his ears.
'What's this? A child of the Dales, stumbling like a drunken shemlen?'
Theron smirked up at the beautiful red headed human woman looming over him. 'You know, I didn't believe you when you said that would happen.'
'You should have learned by now never to doubt me, my love.' The smile that played across Leliana's face as she spoke sent his heart into overdrive, and his stomach dancing like a da'len in the woods, even after all of these years.
He held up his open hand to her. 'You can't blame me. Who knows when the beautiful Bard will show her true colours?'
She rolled her eyes and took his hand, meaning to help him up, but Theron had other plans. He pulled her down instead, and they quickly turned into a rather dangerous pile of shrieks, laughter, leather and weapons.
'It seems you are too quick to trust, my dear,' said Theron with a grin.
They stopped rolling, and looked into each other's eyes. Theron had spent so long helping Leliana accept her old life, it always felt good to see that they could now joke about it. He leaned forward, and planted a kiss on her soft, glowing lips.
They were attracting a fair amount of attention; a beautiful woman with fiery red hair was kissing a heavily tattooed elf lying on end of a pier of the docks of Kirkwall. But attention was not unusual for Theron; not only was he an armed elf wandering the human lands, he bore the markings of the "barbaric" Dalish. The mutterings and glares of humans had long since ceased mattering to him.
He flashed her a cheeky smile and hopped to his feet, before dragging her up as well.
Theron was, to his great joy, taking a holiday. Ever since Loghain had slain the Archdemon, redeeming his crimes with his sacrifice, the elf had spent six years rebuilding the Grey Wardens, and their numbers were finally beginning to resemble what they had been before the Blight. After finally finding and training a Lieutenant he could trust, a Dwarven general condemned to the Deep Roads for striking a noble, he announced that he was leaving for three months, retrieved Leliana from the barracks and left with no more than the weapons and clothes on their backs.
Their first month had been wonderful. He took Leliana through the forests of Ferelden, marvelling at the still untainted beauty, making love in ancient glades and swimming naked through pools no human had ever laid eyes on. It was the best month of his life.
He had agreed to let her decide the destination of their second month travelling, and she had deemed to show him three great human cities. Val Royeaux had certainly been impressive, but the look on Leliana's face as they entered the gates had touched his soul more than any feat of engineering could. After spending an afternoon in a "spirited" argument about the Chantry on the steps of the Grand Cathedral, and a night of making up that probably offended the Sisters even more, they decided to simply have the luxuries of Orlais delivered to their room, and spent most of the rest of their time indoors.
And now they were in Kirkwall.
He looked up at the vast, ugly, stone behemoth towering above him. Why Leliana had decided this would be a suitable vacation spot still eluded him. He had heard nothing but bad things about the city: a cesspit of inequality, where the dirt quite literally washed from the upper riches of Hightown to the slums of Lowtown and the under-city.
Without Leliana's bright eyes drawing him from his senses, the full presence of Kirkwall hit him like a charging bronto. The scent of rotting fish and mouldy wood filled his nostrils. The baying of humans flogging their wares rattled his ears. The salt air tasted of desperation.
He looked to his love, and the wonder in her eyes could only marginally cheer him up. 'I don't see what the big deal is.'
She turned to him with a broad smile. 'This is life, Theron! It might not seem like it, but Kirkwall is one of the few cities in Thedas where a person can truly change their fortunes. The lowest beggar can become a noble if they are smart, strong or lucky, and the viscount himself can be cast down should he fail his duty.'
'Or murdered by the Qunari, if that sailor wasn't too busy drooling down your cleavage to remember the truth.' he remembered with a smile.
'And in his place rises a Champion, no more than a Ferelden refugee just a few years ago!'
She really did believe what she was saying, and it excited her. She had left the life of a Bard behind, but Leliana would never be content to the life of luxury he could provide for her. She wanted, needed the thrill of the chase, the risk of life's dangers, the joys that came with overcoming true adversity. It was one of the many reasons he loved her. It was the reason she had asked to become a Grey Warden. And it was, in the end, the reason he had acquiesced, and put her through the Joining.
He smiled at his love, rejuvenated by her passion as always, and said excitedly, 'Alright then, let's see what we can make for ourselves in this durgen forest! Where to?'
Her eyes filled with the mischievous glint she always got when she was about to recite a favoured legend, and despite having seen the look a dozen times, he felt his heart start to beat faster, his breath grow shorter in anticipation. 'There are rumours, of a tavern near the docks, where nobles sit alongside paupers, where the drinks are made from the sweat of the last nights' drunks. Where pirates are friends with guardsmen, and where apostates wake, hungover, in bed with Templars. A place where tales are told, heroes are born, and legends are forged.
'It is called, the Hanged Man.'
He looked at Leliana, deadly serious. Her face was straight, eyes widened with just the right level of awe and disbelief in her own words. He slowly raised an eyebrow, muscles straining to keep the movement small, to which Leliana responded with the tiniest curling of her lip. He brought his brow back down and lowered it further into a frown of doubt, to which Leliana responded with an insulted pout and the smallest nod of her head.
They stayed like that, silent, in a battle neither had ever won , for more than a minute, before both bursting into laughter, voices melding together in a medley that even made the whores leaning against a nearby wall shake their heads.
Leliana was wrong. The sheep around him could scramble, lie, steal and fight their way up to fame and fortune, but none would ever be as rich as he. Every moment he spent in this beautiful woman, this goddess's company, was life, and nobody could ever convince him otherwise.
She clasped his hand, her voice still dancing with merriment, and dragged him towards a set of stone stairs leading up to the next level of the city. 'Come, my mighty Hero, this way.'
The trip through the city was relatively uneventful. Like every shemlen dwelling there were beggars everywhere; despondent humans and sad, broken excuses of his own kind, glaring at Theron's proud posture with a mixture of awe and hate.
There were merchants, peddling anything from blades to fine silks, from ancient tomes to oversized hats. Leliana, naturally, stopped to look at the latter.
She took an enormous, richly decorated black hat with a wide rim and extensive feather decorations from its stand, and dropped haphazardly it on her head.
'What do you think?' she asked.
She looked stunning. Even though, or perhaps because, she was dressed in rough leather armour, hair disheveled from over a week at sea and face still lightly flushed from their earlier exertions, she looked beautiful. The dark hat seemed to pull the light from the air around her, focusing all attention on the wearer. The spikes of her unwashed hair hung downwards, the red complimenting the black like lightning flashing from a cloud.
He strode up to her, into her personal space. 'I like it.'
She smiled happily, like a child given a gift.
'But, it seems to get in the way...' He pushed the hat back, causing it to tumble softly to the floor, and leaned forward to take her lips again.
'Hey, knife ear, get your filthy mouth away from my customers!'
Theron sighed and looked down. Leliana, recognising what was to come, took a hand in both of hers and whispered, 'Take no notice my love, I will handle this.'
A meaty hand attached to an overweight shemlen crashed onto his shoulder, trying to spin him around. Theron could have broken his arm in four places by now, but he had promised Leliana to be on his best behaviour. Besides, he trusted her to take care of the situation.
She sauntered around, gently swaying her hips, and lifted the man's hand from Theron's shoulder. The man stopped his ranting at the contact, mouth hanging open wide enough that a dagger could enter his brain without touching his teeth.
Tossing a hidden wink at Theron, she put on her huskiest voice. 'Brave man, saving me from the brute...' She drew close, and thrust a knee up into his crotch with enough force to make Theron wince a little.
The man let out a noise not dissimilar to a darkspawn shriek before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped to the floor. With a satisfied smile, Leliana took the hat from where Theron had knocked it to the floor and replaced it on her head.
She began to stroll from the shop when Theron caught her hand. 'Ma vhenan, we are not thieves.'
She pouted a little. 'I like this hat.'
'As do I.'
He pulled out his coin purse and dropped a sovereign onto the man curled on the floor, before smiling openly at Leliana. 'And now we can leave!'
She smirked, and led him from the store, continuing their journey towards the Hanged Man.
'Brute?' He asked incredulously, a grin working across his face.
Leliana giggled and placed an arm around his waist, ignoring the outraged looks from the "proper" women of the city, whose elves trailed behind them carrying their bags and perfumes. 'I know what you're like.'
'If you knew what I was like, you would never have said that.' Theron grumbled, with good humour.
'And why is that?' Leliana sounded innocently clueless, an obvious ploy to prompt his response, a ploy he decided to indulge as he lowered his voice.
'Because you would know exactly what brutish consequences it would have.'
She leaned in closer and whispered into his ear, hat being knocked off centre but looking only better for it. 'Maybe that's exactly what I'm hoping for.'
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder; despite his naturally slight elven stature he had a few inches on the shorter human woman. They had been denied any real privacy on the ship from Ferelden to the Free Marches, and it was clear both were looking forward to getting to their room.
He was thinking which response would wind her up the most when they turned a final corner and Leliana broke their embrace.
'We're here!' she laughed, before running off, body swaying appealingly in her tight leather armour.
Leliana darted through a door and left him standing in the street, looking at the grubby building. It was slightly less dirty than the surrounding residences, but he could have urinated in the street and the place would become, on average, less dirty. There was a giant, wooden carving of a man swinging from side to side above the door, and the sounds of a typical human drinking establishment coming from within.
He took a deep breath and entered the tavern.
It was not, to be fair, as bad as he was expecting.
The furniture was all intact, and he could see the wood floors were well made and maintained, underneath the layer of sawdust laid down to soak up the spilled drinks, blood and vomit the night would bring. There was a pleasant tune coming from a band in the corner, not drowned out by the chatter of conversation but not overwhelming anybody. The large room was only half full; it was early afternoon and no doubt the place would fill up later, but for now the atmosphere was almost welcoming. He saw Leliana already speaking with the bartender, and he gave a smirk at how unashamedly she was flicking her hair, leaning forwards over the bar and whispering to the man.
They would be getting a very good deal on their room.
Sure enough, Leliana soon sauntered up holding a goblet in each hand, handing one to Theron.
'The sweat from last night's drunks?' He asked, sniffing the contents carefully.
Leliana poked her tongue out at him. 'The house's finest wine. They are preparing a bath for us in one of the rooms upstairs, would you like to sit with me?'
'I can think of nowhere else in Thedas I would rather be.' He replied, visually drinking in Leliana's radiance.
They sat for several minutes sipping their wine, in a wonderful silence not the most fulfilling conversation could have beaten for satisfaction.
'Yer bath's ready.'
As one they looked up to the serving girl who announced her presence. She looked tired, sounded bored and had a demeanor to match. However, her eyes widened a bit as she took in the sight of a Dalish Elf, distinct red markings covering his face, sitting with a beautiful fiery human... 'Hey, ain't you-'
'I'm afraid not.' Theron said quickly, heart sinking. 'Can you please ensure our room has enough wine for several days?'
'I... er... yeah, sure, whatever you say...'
They stood together and made their way upstairs. Theron sighed before speaking 'There's no way she bought that. We'll be mobbed by the time we're done cleaning up.'
'Then what do you say to taking refuge in our room for the rest of the day?' Leliana replied with a sunny smile.
The elf returned her happiness, feeling a smile tug across his face. 'I knew we worked well together. You're the brains of the operation, I'm just the muscle.'
She bumped him with her hip, knowing fine well that not only could she fight Theron to a standstill in hand to hand, but also that he had a real knack for strategy and was not nearly as stupid as he let on.
They entered their room, and both sighed in relief at the sight of a large tub of steaming hot water in the corner, with several tubs of cooler water beside it.
The barmaid returned, being none-too-obvious in eyeing them up as she dropped off half a dozen bottles of wine while they put down their packs. Theron had to shoo her out after a minute, and locked the door behind her.
'Maker, it has been far too long.' Leliana walked over to the tub and dipped her hands into it, cooing in pleasure as she washed her face.
Theron walked behind her and began to undo the buckles of her armour. He would find somebody to clean and patch their armaments tomorrow, but for now the woman in front of him took all of his attention.
It had taken over a year for Leliana to allow him to touch her in this way. Their half-hidden encounters in the camp while they chased the Archdemon had been beautiful in their own manner, but to allow him to see her in a fully lit room; to allow him to undress her, caress her, had taken months of patience on both people's parts.
He dropped the thick leather outer pieces and she sat on a nearby bench, allowing him to remove her boots as well.
She was now wearing just a cotton shirt and thin leather trousers over her underwear, and Theron silently began to work the trousers down, not averting his eyes or flinching at the scars across the tops of her thighs. She stood again and he lifted her shirt over her head, gently running a finger over the lash marks on her back, the burns across her shoulders. He accepted his love as she was, scarred and torn, knowing the true beauty that lay beneath.
Those early days had been hard. She did not like it when he tried, out of misguided respect, not to look at her, so eventually they had begun sharing their secrets: he would tell of a mistake, a buried horror about himself every time Leliana revealed the origin of a scar.
When she told him of the near daily whipping, he told her how he had once been caught by a group of humans and beaten, almost to death, only to be brought back from the brink by the Keeper's magic.
When she informed him of the burns, how the torturers would joke about leaving their names in her flesh, he confided that he still saw Connor's face in his dreams, as he cut the sleeping child's throat.
She relived the lashes, humiliated, tied and bent over a table, while he grieved over the purge he conducted of the Circle of Magi; dozens of innocent mages butchered by himself and Sten, so he could have his Templar army.
She whispered of her greatest shame, her greatest horror: how the soldiers would disturb her sleep to drag her in front of baying crowds and rape her, where all could see and nobody cared. How the women spat on her, how the men would try to join in. How sometimes the soldiers would let them. He wept over his betrayal of his best friend, Alistair, cast aside because Loghain was the better soldier, the better general, the better tactician, the better Warden.
They knew each other. Every shameful secret, every scar they hid from the world, every fear, every mistake, every horror they kept in their souls, they shared.
And they accepted each other. Leliana, now completely bare from the waist up, accepted him. For all of his mistakes, for all of the damage he had done, she accepted him and loved him, as he did her. He took a sponge and drew it across her beautiful, ruined back, washing the filth of travel from her, just as she washed away his guilt.
He knew she was the better person. What had happened to her, was not her fault, whilst all of his choices, his mistakes, were his own. But still she loved him, still they loved each other and shared something the world outside could not comprehend. People could only glimpse the edges of what they had, and feel jealous that they would never know what it was to know another person so completely.
They finished cleaning each other, and spent several hours languidly making love, about to relax into a haze of euphoria and wine when they heard a chant begin to rumble from downstairs.
Cham-pi-on!
Cham-pi-on!
Cham-pi-on!
Suddenly the floor of their room literally shook with cheers.
Leliana, head resting on Theron's chest, opened a half-lidded eye. 'Do you think the Champion has arrived?'
Still not quite sleepy, he gave a sly smile. 'Which one?'
The redhead responded with a not-gentle poke to his ribs. 'You know which one!'
He drew Leliana in closer, loving the scent of her; soap, sweet sweat and sex, loving the feel of her body pressed against his.
'Want to go see?' He asked
She groaned and nuzzled in closer.
Theron's smile widened, and he prompted again, 'can I take that as a yes?'
A louder groan, and Leliana began to run a hand over his toned body, tempting him to stay in the warmth of the bed.
Theron played his final gambit. 'You said this place is where legends are made. The Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Ferelden drinking together has something of prophecy to it, does it not?'
He hated that title, but he knew exactly how to please his love, in more ways than one.
There was another groan, but she looked up and he knew he had her. The thrill of a new story was glimmering behind her eyes. Like him, Leliana would never change.
They dressed quickly, into what passed for nice clothes when they had to carry their worldly wares on their backs, and descended the stairs.
The tavern was now very busy but the shouts had died down, and everybody looked to have a full drink, a round on the Champion's coin no doubt.
He was not hard to spot. The Champion sat, facing away from Theron, at the head of a table with a group so diverse it threatened to put his own merry band to shame. To his right sat a woman with bright orange hair, strongly built, in the heavy armour of the City Guard. Next to her was a glum-looking elf, markings on his skin like no vallaslin he had ever seen; white, almost glowing in the dim light of the tavern. Opposite him, glaring in what appeared to be an attempt to out-brood the elf, was a man he recognised all too well. Anders, the coward he thought dead at Vigil's Keep. Theron would deal with him later.
A dwarf with no beard sat at the far end of the table, with another familiar face draped over his shoulder, one hand grooming his rather extravagant chest hair. The pirate Isabela, who, unknowingly, had saved Ferelden from the Blight. As Denerim had become a hotbed of tension and arguments during the build up the Landsmeet, Theron had found himself more and more withdrawn, snapping at anybody who tried to help, destroying the cohesion he had spent so much time trying to build. A chance encounter, and the pirate had taken he and Leliana to her bed for a night of such vicious passion Theron still occasionally winced when he sat down. Afterwards, the tension with Leliana disappeared and their behaviour radiated out, relaxing the whole team. Finally, beside the Champion was a handsome man in gleaming white armour, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and out of place, sipping what appeared to be water.
Theron started down the stairs, only for the waitress from earlier to call out. 'There 'e is! The 'ero o'Ferelden!'
Every face except one turned to him, and again the place ruptured with enormous noise. A drink was shoved into his hand, and he was practically ushered down the stairs. As his angle grew more favourable, he saw the profile of the Champion.
He certainly looked the part. A strong jaw, with pitch black hair across both his head and chin, falling into a perfect pattern that looked both threatening and heroic, and hazel eyes that glowed gold in the light from the fire. He bore an unusual set of arms; an impractically spiky suit of armour, heavily plated across one arm and shoulder, but otherwise made of tattered cloth and chainmail. He had an strange weapon laid against the table. Half of the length was taken up by a wicked blade, but the other was gnarled, patterned wood, with the ornament at the top reminding him of the staves Dalish Keepers carried. Was he a mage, outside of the Circle?
Suddenly Theron's eyes were caught by the elven woman perched on one of his knees. He had not seen her earlier, because of the bulk of the man's armour. She was slight, dressed in glittering white armour decorated with green engravings and trimmings in the pattern of leaves and trees. She saw him, her enormous eyes, green flecked with gold like the sun shining on a forest, widening as they caught his own. She blinked almost comically, before brushing a dark braid out of her face.
She had not changed at all, in all of these years. The same hair style, her vallaslin just as he remembered, accentuating the beautiful, delicate features of her face.
His breath caught in his throat.
Leliana leaned in, curiosity in her eyes, and followed his gaze.
'Do you know that woman?' She asked.
Theron's response came out as no more than a whisper.
'Merrill?'
A/N: Thank you for reading. The idea for this piece came from a random chat with TSLi, who has also been kind enough to beta read for me, for which I can offer only eternal gratitude.