A/N: This chapter is Duncan's PoV.
Having a Ball
As he made his way from Denerim to Jader, Duncan tried not to think about how complicated his life had become. He was not a man who appreciated complications of any kind and he felt, at times, besieged by political complications and personal complications alike. But the harder he tried not to think, the more his mind became consumed with thoughts.
Arl Eamon, with the approval of King Maric, had given Alistair over to the Chantry when the boy was ten. For three years now Duncan had found his promise to Fiona impossible to fulfill. Fiona was not happy, not at all. Every few months he received a letter from her explaining why she was not happy. He couldn't blame her. He had promised to keep an eye on the boy but it was difficult to do so when the boy was in a monastery.
He blamed Maric for not demanding his bastard son be treated better.
He blamed Arl Eamon for being weak willed enough to listen to the insistent caterwauling of his shrew of a wife.
He blamed Arlessa Isolde for being the very worst kind of Orlesian, spoiled, shrill and arrogant.
But blame did little to correct the injustice. He felt he had failed Fiona, Alistair and himself. He could not help but feel that somehow Loghain knew about Alistair's origins and that he had a hand in sending him off to become a templar.
Just thinking of Loghain gave him a headache. The man was still keeping a tight leash on the Grey Wardens. He was convinced that the Wardens were all spies for Orlais, despite the constant reassurances that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were comprised of Fereldans. And though he had been conscripted in Orlais, Duncan was not himself Orlesian. But no amount of talking could convince the jaded, paranoid man from believing otherwise.
But the largest and most unnerving complication was personal and it revolved around Leonie Caron. Or more to the point, his emotional attachment to her.
Every time he thought of that night and that damned kiss on his cheek he felt dirty and lecherous for having had the reaction he did. He had spent months trying to erase it with a series of women that left him unmoved and wanting something deeper with someone who actually touched his soul the way Leonie managed to without even trying. And that thought made him feel even worse.
Each visit to Jader after that night had been a kind of slow torture where he spent most of his time avoiding her or watching her covertly from the shadows as she went about her daily business of training or set up her easel to sketch or paint something that caught her eye.
When he did come into contact with her, he always felt off balance and guarded. She had noticed it, he was sure of it, and that only made it the more obvious. And made him feel a bigger fool.
Before he could reconcile any of the thoughts or emotions that beleaguered him, he was riding through the gates of the Jader compound, come to celebrate Leonie's eighteenth birthday and subsequent Joining two days later. Another reason for the complicated emotions plaguing him.
The thought of Leonie submitting herself to the taint and succumbing to a horribly painful death made him physically sick. He had somehow convinced himself over the years that she would decide on a different vocation and he had been proven wrong. She was the most opinionated, stubborn, willful girl he had ever known. Woman, he corrected and that made his heart do funny things in his chest. Which made him angry with himself. And with her, as if it were her fault she was who she was.
He didn't need complications, or emotional attachments or the foolish dreams of the young man he had once been.
She was not waiting for him and as he walked by the huge oak, he stopped and looked up, remembering a time when she would launch herself out of the tree and into his arms with a joyous whoop and mischievous smile. Uncomplicated. He missed those days more than he wanted to admit.
Yet he felt a thrum in his blood knowing he would see her soon. Hold her, however briefly, in a welcoming hug. He sighed wearily and wished he could just stop thinking.
Riordan was in the small library, the only person not upstairs busy with preparations for the birthday ball. He looked up lazily from his book and grinned.
"If you are smart, and you have always been, you will find a quiet place until the festivities start, brother. Tensions are high," he said and set his book aside to clasp the other man in a back slapping embrace.
"Sound advice, my friend. I take it the Commander of the Grey of Orlais is putting in an appearance?"
"Of course he is. It would be impolitic of him not to, as much sway as Balfour has with the imperial court. Leonie is not happy about that. But her unhappiness pales in comparison to Nila's. You know how she feels about him."
And still more complications. With another sigh, he gathered his pack and headed to his room. Stripping out of his armor, he lay down on the bed and slept. Or pretended to.
He watched the dancers sweep by and felt an angry knot forming in his stomach. That ass Montran was holding Leonie much too closely and leaning down to her in a very provocative and intimate manner. He felt his hands clench into fists at his side.
"You can't kill him with a look, Duncan, no matter how murderous it is," Nila said softly, coming to stand beside him. She smiled at him. "And you do not feel any more homicidal toward him than I do." She sighed, and rested a hand lightly on Duncan's forearm.
"Have no doubt that she will put him in his place very quickly, Commander of the Grey or not," she added and her smile widened as Leonie soundly trounced Montran's foot and with an obviously fake smile of apology, left the dance floor as the music came to an end. Montran's face was a mask of outrage and pain. Duncan chuckled softly.
She was beautiful and radiant when she re-entered the room. She literally took his breath away. Her lustrous dark hair was swept up in a simple chignon with loose strands framing her face. Her eyes, the color blue that only spring skies were allowed to wear, were large and luminous in her oval face. Delicate pink tinged her cheeks. Her dress, a tribute to the Grey Wardens, was a royal blue overdress with grey silk trim that fit snugly, emphasizing her narrow waist and flaring hips. Duncan couldn't take his eyes off her and, damn her, she knew it as she came up to him. He could tell by the triumphant gleam in her eyes.
"You have been avoiding me, Duncan. Are you not going to ask me to dance?"
"My Lady Leonie, I fear too greatly for my feet to even attempt a dance with you," he said, pleased with how smooth and light his voice was. Her lips, pursed in displeasure were entirely too tempting.
His infatuation was embarrassing and he was sure he would swiftly become the laughing stock of the others but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. She was mesmerizing. And young, he reminded himself. And a complication that he could ill afford.
"Well in that case, perhaps you would take me for a walk in the gardens?" she asked, winsome and sweet, a knowing glint in her eyes that belied the tone of her voice.
The little tease. His face darkened, his eyes looking away from her to survey the room.
"And deprive all these men of the pleasure of your company? I wouldn't dream of it." But even as he said those words he wanted to recall them and take her the garden and ravish her. And that was the problem. The complication.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him and he could see that she was hurt but he held fast to his stance with a forced smile, arms folded across his chest. Complication, he reminded himself grimly.
"Yes, we wouldn't want that. So many men, so little time," she said in a tight, hard voice and made her way to Riordan, who bent low to catch what she said and then threw back his head with a laugh before taking her onto the dance floor.
And that made Duncan feel like an even bigger ass than Montran.
He excused himself shortly after and made his way up to his room. He wasn't sure now why he had come. He could have used the excuse of his duties in Ferelden. But if he was honest he knew why he had come and she was downstairs enjoying the attentions of a room full of randy men, young and old alike.
