-oo-

Chapter 2 - Love's Lost

"Did you think to leave me behind?"

Alistair hoisted his shoulder pack higher, staring down at the speaker. He noticed her hair was longer. She wore it with two long braids looping demurely over her ears with the rest hanging free below her shoulders. She was dressed in Chantry robes, and yet managed to make the drab, faded uniform seem stylish. As she looked hopefully up at him with her bright blue eyes, Alistair was reminded of the first time he had met her. He was struck by her then as he was now, but that memory not only had rejection attached to it, but another set of eyes of deep chocolate brown above a mischievous, winsome smile, so he continued to walk.

"How rude, Alistair! Will you not even acknowledge me? We were companions for over a year. We fought together, laughed together, cried together…"

"If you break into song," Alistair warned her, "I swear I will shove you upside down into that ditch over there."

Leliana pouted. She pouted at Alistair's back, then she pouted at Zevran, who leered at her helpfully as he went past. She pouted at Oghren who burped encouragingly at her; at Jowan who looked as though any association with him would earn her instant unpopularity points - and finally she pouted at Cullen, who gave her the equivalent of a canine shrug.

"Well, I'm coming anyway!" she called after them. "You'll need someone to…" Look pretty? Sing for them? She couldn't cook, she preferred ranged combat and didn't like getting her boots dirty, but she refused to be left out of a Grey Warden adventure. Sprinting back to the Denerim gates, she snatched up her pack and then pelted after the departing group, careful to stay close to Cullen.

The Mabari gave her a look of long-suffering sacrifice, that told Leliana she wouldn't be here, if the kids weren't being troublesome at home.

"Oh?" Leliana asked Cullen in interest. "You are a mother now? Congratulations!"

Cullen shot her a look that told her motherhood wasn't all it had been advertised to be – not when you had nine of them at a time – nine sets of claws and nine sets of very sharp teeth. Humans, that look told her, had it easy. Leliana cheerfully chose to ignore that look and continued.

"I must write a song in celebration. A song that will be sung across Ferelden; a song of the mighty and brave Mabari – who fought at the sides of the Heroes of Ferelden - and the legacy she has left behind!"

Cullen snorted her opinion on that. Glaring at Leliana, she pointed her muzzle towards the ditch running alongside the road in warning.

Understanding the message, Leliana pouted again. Being spurned by the dog hurt her inbuilt need to be friends with everyone. Her eyes automatically found Jowan's slumped shoulders. Well, not everyone, exactly. She wasn't quite desperate enough for that company yet.

-oo-

Maker above I'm so hungry…

Her first experience of the Deep Roads had been confused and sketchy with lyrium screaming in her veins and the Archdemon screeching in her head. Her second experience was still confused but this time she could feel the air and the dust and the gravel beneath her feet. It was hot and claustrophobic and there were far more uncertain pools of darkness awaiting a misstep or a hasty turn for someone not paying enough attention. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd been turned around every time she encountered a dead end, or a looping tunnel.

If she had magic, she'd simply chew the lyrium off the walls and then blast her way through, but there was no magic. No magic, no provisions and nothing to guide her but bewildered determination, an empty stomach and a growing supply of prickling fear.

She didn't know how long she'd been wandering around down here. All she had to measure the passing of time with were the growls of her stomach – and they had been increasing in frequency and discomfort. How did Dwarves mark the days? She wished she had thought to ask Oghren.

She picked her way towards a patch of phosphorescent vegetation on the tunnel wall, thinking dark thoughts about the means by which she found herself ruthlessly dumped and helplessly lost in the depths of the Deep Roads. She didn't know what Urthemiel had meant by 'a gift'. What gift? Was this its idea of a Satinalia prank? Did Old Gods celebrate Satinalia? Perhaps the Little Green Satinalia Goose was an Old God originally. That would make sense – she could imagine Urthemiel leaving rotten onions and dead rats at the foot of the beds of every naughty child in Ferelden. It would be something Urthemiel would do.

Oh…I could go for a rotten onion right now…

Being returned to this plane of existence in an unfriendly place, with no food and no weapons felt more like a punishment than a gift. If it had been a gift, she would have been sent to some place warm and comfortable. Some place with a bed and big, fluffy pillows and unlimited access to the cheese platter. She reached out to scratch at the phosphorescence on the wall with her nail. Much as she didn't want to admit it, Merran wondered whether she might have – maybe – perhaps – sort of – been thrown out of the Fade because she'd displeased the spirit of the Old God in some way.

It wasn't as if the banished Archdemon had sat her down on a Fade log and told her: look…here's the thing…It was all – 'oh, I'm sending you back, see ya!' It was this lack of information, a hint at smugness that led her to think this was a form of punishment.

But what had she done? She'd thought the two of them had been getting along swimmingly. They'd had some lovely conversations together; Urthemiel had tried to teach her Plonk, she had tried to teach the Archdemon Where's Mr Ferret…

Oh, the honeymoon was definitely over and she didn't even get to eat the cake.

Cake…Blessed Andraste…! CAKE…

The stuff on the walls – as she suspected - was some kind of algae…edible algae? Herbalism classes at the Tower had been a bit scant of information on Dwarven plant life. She licked the wall, her face screwing up in a grimace. Yes. It was awful. How desperately hungry was she to eat this off the wall?

Death by starvation was only marginally worse than death by Darkspawn. Then again, she reminded herself that if she were a man, death by Darkspawn would be a definite fate. Being female, there were far worse things than death in the Deep Roads…far, far worse things than starving to death.

-oo-

Leliana strummed quietly on her travelling lute, keeping her voice low so only she could hear it. She had already been told, warned not to sing. Her! Not sing! Oh, what was their problem?

It was a boys' club. Only Zevran had deemed her important enough to converse with and his conversation had been guarded, with none of the usual flirtatious banter. Oghren had belched his way through a liquid dinner, before falling over backwards. The men had ignored the dwarf, stepping over his body if they had needed to cross from one side of camp to the other. Granted, she had come along uninvited, but there was no reason to treat her like she didn't exist. What had she done to have earned their dislike?

Through the flames, Leliana could see Jowan brooding on the other side of Zevran, well away from Alistair. The relationship between the two men appeared to have soured since her expedition for the Ashes, so at least she was not alone in being disliked by someone in the party. She was curious as to the reason behind the estrangement between the two Grey Wardens, but not so curious to risk being snarled at by either man.

A few minutes later Jowan stood and disappeared into his tent muttering 'goodnight' under his breath. Zevran watched him briefly with raised eyebrows but said nothing, continuing to sharpen his throwing knives on the rune-carved whetstone he said was lucky. As the elf did not show any inclination towards social discourse, she shifted her attention to Alistair.

The Grey Warden sat staring into the fire, the flames reflected on his shaggy mane of hair and beard in dancing slivers of red and gold. He was still in his armour – an impressive set of plate armour with the stamp of the Grey Warden griffon on the chestplate. Leliana had been shocked by his appearance at first. If it hadn't been for those remarkably intense amber eyes, she would not have recognised him at all. Gone was the close-cropped, slightly spiky hair; the clean-shaven chin. In their place was a wavy mass that brushed the tops of his broad shoulders and fell carelessly across his forehead. His beard had been trimmed and kept neat, but the overall effect made the Grey Warden look much older, much less sulky, more brooding, manlier and quite frankly…sexy.

Leliana pulled herself up short. She had never been attracted to Alistair before. Little boys had never interested her, even if the awkwardness had appeal at times, she had found it frustrating and annoying talking to him. She had much more appreciation for men like that fascinating Arl Teagan. The man had smoulder down to fine art. Young men like Alistair was too much trouble; too much work and in any case, anyone with eyes to see would have recognised at a glance that the young mage had been more his style.

The Alistair back then, anyway.

The Alistair now…Leliana cocked her head to the side, noting the beat in her chest appeared to have increased …slightly. Hm, yes. The Alistair before her now was doing unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant things to her insides.

As though sensing her scrutiny, he looked up, scowling at her through the flames.

"You're still here," he stated curtly.

Leliana smiled sweetly, unperturbed by his gruff demeanour. "I'm still here," she confirmed.

"Why?" he growled. "You have no idea where we're going, or why. Why bother?"

She shrugged. "Why not? My expedition was successful. I would have been at a loose end. Why not travel once more with my companions?"

He grunted at her.

"So?" she asked. "Where are we going? To slay a dragon? To save a princess trapped in the highest tower in the middle of a lake of burning lava?"

"You have odd ideas," he said, sounding like the Qunari that had once travelled with them.

Leliana smiled again. She had been the mage's friend. When she had been alive, Leliana was happy to encourage mage and templar to form their own little bubble of happiness. But the mage had left this world and she could see the gaping wound left behind. Wounds should be healed. They should not be left untreated to fester…

She knew he had once imagined himself in love with her. It had turned out to have been a boy's first crush and nothing more, but if there had once been a spark, it might be interesting to see whether there was any chance of re-igniting that spark; perhaps turn it into something more…heated.

There were certain skills she had learned as a Bard to lure prey and she drew on those skills now, testing the Grey Warden for his resistance to her well-practised charms. Laying her lute aside, she leant forward ever…so…slightly, allowing the neckline of her robes to gape. He continued to glare but by the darker colour suffusing his cheeks, Leliana knew he'd taken a nibble at her hook.

His brows snapped down suddenly and he rose to tower over her.

"If you must know, we'll be assisting a friend of the Wardens complete some family history. No slaying of princesses or rescuing of dragons will ensue, Sister."

"Oh, how noble!"

"If you say so."

His eyes travelled to the flames of the fire, but Leliana had detected just the slightest drag away from her décolletage. She too stood, wondering what it would be like to tangle her fingers in that mane of hair.

She nodded agreeably. "Well, I look forward to it."

Alistair grunted again. Saying nothing more, he turned towards his tent. Leliana licked her lips, thinking how much fun this particular trip was going to be, when she heard a soft huffing noise.

Looking downwards, she located the origin of the sound. Zevran and Cullen were laughing at her. The elf slapped his leg in high humour, wiping tears from his face. Waggling his finger at her, he chuckled, "Thank you, Sister Leliana. I have not been so amused since Jowan's pickle barrel incident."

"I fail to see what you find amusing," Leliana stated with forced calm, internally stewing.

"Oh, I am sure you know of what I mean." In one fluid movement, Zevran was upright and standing mere inches from her. He reached over and with little warning ran a single finger along her collarbone causing involuntary goosepimples to prickle on the surface of her skin.

"I like watching an amateur at work," he purred. "I would offer some advice, but I fear much enjoyment would be lost from not seeing you try and…fail."

Leliana did not know her jaw had dropped until he closed her mouth for her, teeth clicking together noisily. And then he leant in closer, doing something with his eyelids that made Teagan Guerrin's smoulders look like ice-storms. His smile was slow, lazily creeping over his chiselled face. Something flickered at the corner of her eye. She had no idea what he was about to do, mesmerised by his golden gaze, until he'd flicked her nose hard, sharp pain bringing instant tears to her eyes.

"Good night Sister. May you dream of better strategies."

Laughing, he left her standing immobile by the fire. When she had regained use of her limbs, she looked down again, to see Cullen lying on her back, paws akimbo…snickering at her

She stamped her foot at the Mabari – and the Elf. "Ooh!" she hissed angrily. "Amateur…indeed…!"

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