When I was writing "Threshold", my Teagan/Surana fic, Cadsuane said, in passing, she wanted to read a Fergus story where he was happy and married (to ANYone but Anora). Xandurpein had included an Easter Egg in the form of my Neria and Teagan in his fic, "Queen of Thorns". I wanted to return the favor these two very nice people had done for me by helping me with my own stories, so was born the characters of Leah (A nod to Cadsuane's own Lya character) and Rogue Michael (Xandurpein's character, slightly retooled). As their roles in "Crossing Over" and "Homecoming" were very small I wanted to write another story, telling the tale of how Fergus and Leah came to fall in love.
As always, my eternal gratitude goes to Cadsuane for her wonderful editing skills and the creative energy she brought to the story, and to Xandurpein for his assistance with the male PoV and dialogues for Michael and Anora. Both have proven invaluable in getting this story out of my head and seeing print! Also a thank you to Bioware for their wonderful world of Thedas, all rights to characters in this tale belong to them.
If you like this story, check out Xandurpein's "Rebel and the Queen" a refreshing, new take on the Anora/Cousland dynamic, set in the same world!
For the Love of Leah
Chapter One
The first thing he was aware of when he dragged himself to consciousness was a throbbing deep in the base of his skull, shooting up from his spine, intensifying when he stood. He was unaware of the passage of time as he had lain unconscious, half buried in swamp water. It could have been minutes, hours, even days. The hazy, gray, overcast sky above didn't reveal a sun he could place an hour of the day to, or even if it was the same day.
He remembered scouting with some of the men from Highever. They had found a group of stragglers in the Korcari Wilds, or rather they had been found by the darkspawn. There had been a short, heated skirmish in which he remembered being struck on the head then falling into a rapidly flowing river finally coming to rest on the bank here. Of the fate of his men, he had no inkling.
Suddenly his stomach protested and dropping to his hands and knees he proceeded to retch up water and what little he had in his stomach. Helplessly, he could only respond to his body's need to expel for a few minutes before he lay back looking up at the sky.
"Maker's breath, I think it's going to…" he murmured.
Then the first droplets splashed on his face. Large, ponderous drops as cold rain began to pour down on him, forcing him to crawl over to a stunted tree, its branches low to the ground and offering some shelter from the elements. Shivering, he pulled his cloak around his body and closed his eyes, slipping back into concussion-induced unconsciousness.
Light brown hair framed her face and fanned out on her pillow. That morning he had wakened beside her, she had been wrapped around him. She always enjoyed cuddling after their lovemaking, or even just as they slept, and he would often wake in her arms or holding her in his. She wasn't awake yet and he spent some minutes looking at her face. She had fine features, sweet soft lips with which she would tease his body, and beautiful blue eyes.
And she was so warm.
He kissed her, their day starting off as usual. Oren would be up and running around soon and would precipitate waking because he and Michael, Fergus's younger brother, would have dreamed up some way to torture Oren's nanny.
But Oriana smelled so good, Fergus couldn't resist waking her up for a little early morning closeness. He nuzzled her neck and kissed the soft spot behind her ear. She protested half-heartedly, but he felt her arms come around him to hold him closer to her. Her fingers glided over his skin across his hips and, down his abdomen to wrap around him, sending jolts of pleasure along his spine. Her petal soft lips brushed over his skin as she started coming fully awake.
He cupped his hand over one full breast, his calloused thumb flicking over her nipple before bending to take it in his mouth, his tongue brushing along it, lightly scraping with his teeth. An answering gasp of pleasure from his wife encouraged him and he bent to the other nipple, eagerly pulling that into his mouth.
Whispering love talk in her native tongue in her ear brought a giggle of appreciation from her. His accent was terrible, he knew, but that he made the effort to try at all she had always appreciated. Or at least that's what she had told him. Sometimes he wondered if she laughed because he was saying it all wrong. For all he knew he could be waxing poetic on the merits of oatmeal.
Then Oren burst in, barely containing his excitement. Hastily, with a small groan of frustration, Fergus had to relinquish his wife to their son.
"Father, there's a messenger from the king in the castle!" he had exclaimed.
"Is there now? And how do you know it's from King Cailan?" Fergus had asked, smiling indulgently at his pride and joy.
A light rap at the door frame made him look up to see his younger brother, Michael, filling the space. His brother stood there with an air of insouciance, but Fergus knew it was a façade Michael had long ago adopted to hide his deepest feelings. From the tension in his shoulders and the way his arms crossed over his chest, Fergus knew, something was happening that would affect them all even as far north as Highever.
"Get up, Father, get up," said Oren, pulling at Fergus's hands.
Oriana watched indulgently as her son pulled at him and bounced around him excitedly on the bed. Fergus looked at his wife pleadingly, but she shook her head. There would be time later for love. For now, he had to go see what news the king's messenger brought to Highever.
"Oren, fetch Daddy's trousers there off the chair," Fergus said.
His son bounced down, plucked them up and brought them to his father. Fergus slipped into them, looked back imploringly at Oriana one more time before she grinned and shoved at him.
"Go," she said. "Take our son downstairs so I can get dressed. We can 'talk' later."
"I'll hold you to that, my love," he said.
The man from King Cailan was talking to Father in the main hall. Bryce was frowning, looking over the message. Eleanor stood nearby. Lady Landra was standing next to her, and her son, Dairren, stood with his hand on his mother's arm.
"Tell the king we'll set out by day's end," Bryce informed the messenger who bowed and exited the castle.
"Father, what's happening?" Fergus asked.
"Darkspawn, son. They've risen in the south and are on the move again. King Cailan says it's a Blight. I want you to lead our troops south to Ostagar. I want to finalize preparations here and then will follow you tomorrow morning. Arl Howe is here and will go with me. His troops will be arriving tomorrow to escort us."
"Of course," Fergus nodded.
"What of me, Father?" Michael asked.
"Michael, I'll have to leave you in charge here, I trust you to do what you must if worst comes to worst."
"What? That…no! Father, I want to fight!"
"No!" Eleanor pleaded. "It's bad enough I must send my husband and firstborn son off to fight this menace. I couldn't bear it if you left, too."
"I'm sorry, pup, I have every confidence that you'd make a fine showing down there, but I need you here. Someone has to keep the peace in the region."
"Sorry, little brother, looks like you will have to wait for the next Blight," teased Fergus.
Michael narrowed his eyes and got that look in them, the one that always bespoke trouble brewing behind those stormy blue orbs, but said nothing further in protest.
Fergus left them then, mustering his troops, preparing them for the long march in the cold to the south.
He was aware of hands on him, pulling at him. Opening his eyes, he saw a darkspawn, yanking at his armor, trying to divest him of it. He put up a feeble hand to protest, his wounds having sapped the last of his strength, but the creature pulled out a wicked blade preparing to skewer him with it.
An arrow pierced its throat, dropping it to the mud.
Fergus looked up to see a cloaked figure approach leading a horse, a longbow in her hand. It was a woman, but all he could make out was her gender and dark hair framing her face under the cloak.
"Maker's breath! Fergus! Is that you?" the woman gasped.
He knew that voice but he was too weak to even speak her name. He groaned and felt the world graying around him again, slipping back into unconsciousness.
Leah bent over him, a rush of memories flooding her. Fondly recalled childhood memories spent teasing him and his little brother, climbing trees, scraping knees. Those mingled with more recent not so fond memories of blood and death and war.
She had wanted to help in the war, following her father's, Bann Sighard's, army south, but she'd been discovered two days ago and sent back north. Managing to ditch her escort, she'd been working her way back to Ostagar when she had seen the horde amassed near the ancient fortress. Helplessly, she had seen the slaughter that happened when Loghain's troops abandoned the king, his army and the Grey Wardens.
Shuddering, she shook her head trying to dispel the images that came to mind. No one should have to see something like that and she didn't know why she had watched it. Some part of her felt it needed to be witnessed, that those who died there deserved to be remembered. If there were survivors, she didn't know. The horde had continued to 'play' with its victims long after the battle. Surely those who had survived the initial wave were dead now. Finding Fergus here was a stroke of good luck, possible only by being this far from the main body of the horde. This, however, left her with a different dilemma. Where could she go to find help to tend his injuries and find shelter for them both?
With a soft sigh, she looked down at the man at her feet. Tugging at Fergus, she managed to rouse him enough to get him over her horse's saddle and then climbed up beside him. They had to get out of this Maker cursed rain and his wounds needed tending. She cast a glance back the way she had come, Ostagar was lost, and there was a horde between her and help. To the north lay Lothering, perhaps she could find help there.
Nudging her mount with her knees she directed the horse north up the Imperial Highway toward the small town that offered some hope for her.