4. In Love and War
Leliana fidgeted nervously about her room at the tavern in Dunferin, a small Orlesian town in the Borderlands. It had been days since Geraint was due to come back from the neighbouring Penryn Valley. I should have gone with him. It was a risky task, but he was adamant that it had to be done. And it was for a good cause, so she was told. The troubles had gone on long enough. Pray let the end be near.
She jumped as the door swung open. Geraint stumbled in and instantly collapsed on the bed.
"My dear, you are hurt!" she rushed to his side, cradling his head.
"It is done," he replied, weakly.
"Thank the Maker!" Leliana was relieved. "Did he...suffer?" she asked, worried.
"As I had promised, he did not. He did put up a good fight, nonetheless," Geraint lifted his leather breastplate to reveal a rather large gash in his side.
Leliana gasped.
"A flesh wound, not to worry," he said, whilst seeming not to notice the pain. "With the general out of the way, the boys can easily take on the rest of the troops at the hill station."
"And what of the Wardens? At least two guard every post," she implored.
"They seem to be retreating, even giving up." His face brightened, then added, "Leliana, success is so close, I can feel it."
Leliana carefully dressed his wounds. She admired his strong physique, and quietly enjoyed the feel of his lean, well-honed body as she soothed his aching muscles. He was ruggedly handsome, and so very brave. He was a rogue, like her, but had mastered the arts of a deadly assassin. How could she not fall in love with such a man?
She thought about how she had been so sick with worry each time he had travelled across the border, on a mission in aid of the Penryn rebellion. The fight for freedom, as he had called it, was all that had kept him going. She had joined him herself, on a few occasions. The tasks were dangerous yet thrilling, often involving the removal of one or two high-ranking Nevarrans.
He had reason to fight. She knew well how the troubles had blighted his whole life. Geraint was born to a family of desolate miners in the Penryn Valley. At twelve years of age, he witnessed the death of his father at the hands of the Nevarran soldiers as they came to seize their home and land. Worse yet, he could still hear the screams of his mother as they brutally ravaged her. He had escaped and sought refuge in Orlais, eking out a living as a minstrel and stealing from tavern patrons.
Geraint was recruited into the rebellion at the tender age of sixteen, his skills proving very useful and his connections in Orlais most valuable to them. The meetings with rebels were always shrouded in secrecy, held in small taverns in the Borderlands. Leliana knew of two other rebels based in Dunferin - Audoin, a quiet and serious man knowledgeable in the arts of poisons and explosives; and Liam, a young and idealistic fighter and master strategist. The men often referred to each other and their fellow Penryn compatriots as brothers.
Geraint lay unclothed on the bed as Leliana gently sponged the blood from his face and torso. She saw that he had become aroused. He grabbed her by the waist and drew her playfully towards him.
"It's been awhile, my love," he grinned.
"A week isn't that long. And your wounds need to heal..." Leliana toyed with him.
"Sshh...," He put his finger on her lips to quieten her as his hand wandered down between her thighs. He found his way into her undergarments and proceeded to caress her lovingly. Without saying a word, he then lifted her blouse and softly kissed her nipples.
"Geraint, no...," she whispered half-heartedly. He ignored her weak protestations and worked his mouth on her supple breasts. It feels too good, she thought.
Leliana relented and kissed him back, pressing her body close to his. He tore her clothes off and threw her onto the bed. With an urgency she had never seen before, he forced her legs open and thrust himself into her. Leliana gasped and clawed at his back. He took to her forcefully until he was completely spent and she had cried out. She had thoroughly enjoyed it, although she was sore and bruised afterwards.
Leliana and Geraint held hands as they strolled towards The Jerusalem, a nondescript tavern nearby. It used to be an old millhouse, now frequented by drunks and the lonely travellers. They looked like any other young couple, only much deadlier. Inside, the tavern was dark and the air stale. A few drunks lay slumped in their chairs. A small group of travellers sat quietly around a table, nursing half empty glasses of ale. An elderly minstrel strung his harp in the corner. A bar wench sashayed up to them.
"So, what will't be then?"
"A pitcher of your strongest ale for me and port for the lady," Geraint answered as they sat down in a corner.
The beverages arrived promptly. As they sipped their tipples, Audoin walked in, crossed the room and sat at their table. Geraint greeted him with a nod.
"The boys killed them all," Audoin said as he motioned to the wench for a drink. "The station is ours, much thanks to you."
"I'm glad to hear. How are they holding up in the mines?" Geraint probed.
"Not too well, but I have seen to that. The explosives have collapsed all the entrances. Even if we were to lose our foothold, it will be a long while before any of them become accessible again."
"A job well done, brother. And the marketplace?" Geraint had clearly not heard of the bloody outcome.
Audoin paused, choosing his words carefully. "We showed them that we are no small force...,"
"And what exactly does that mean?" Leliana interjected. "Are you saying..." her voice trembled.
"A hundred deaths, and still counting," Audoin replied, emotionless.
A look of horror crossed her face. "We agreed that we would never hurt innocents. Have you lost your mind?" She started shaking.
"We did what we had to do," Audoin raised his voice. "Sacrifices had to be made, woman. We had no choice. They raised the stakes, we merely retaliated," he spat.
"Sacrifices? It was a massacre! All those helpless lives, lost," she cried.
"You are a fool! You do not understand now, but in time you will see the light." His fists pounded the table, his face reddened. A few heads turned, curious at the disturbance.
Geraint, sensing the unwanted attention, stood up quickly to leave. "Leliana, come. Brother, you must excuse us. I will send word to Liam. Till then." He lifted his pitcher.
"For our brothers," he said as he drained it.
"For our brothers," Audoin echoed.
Anora had an odd feeling that she was being watched as she sat at her writing desk. She turned around quickly, only to catch Alistair bending over her shoulder, hands behind his back.
"Your penmanship is captivating," he grinned.
Anora laughed. "I can't help but feel that you're speaking metaphorically," she said, casting him a sly look.
"Alright, I confess, I was looking elsewhere." He put a finger on her breast. "Right here, to be precise."
"Well, I am glad you enjoyed the view," she said, laughing as she slapped his hand away.
Alistair truly surprised her. He was so much like Cailan, yet so different too. He was charming, in a naive sort of way. When they made love, he was so gentle. And he made her happy, somehow. As much as she hated to admit it, she found herself enjoying their moments together. Am I falling for him? She was afraid it might be true.
She's so beautiful when she laughs, he thought. Alistair took her hand and kissed her fingers. He paused for a moment, uncertain why he had just done that. He was acutely aware of how his pulse quickened when he was around her, and how he had enjoyed her smell and the feel of her skin when she was close to him. He had much admiration also for her wit and charm also, and found himself listening with great pleasure whenever she spoke. I am in love with her, he realized. He turned around and walked hurriedly away, without saying a word.
That night, they made love with such passion that Anora, overwhelmed by her own unwelcomed feelings for him, wept silently afterwards.
"I want no part in this blood feud," Leliana said, through her tears. "The end cannot possibly justify its means."
"Leliana, I understand why you are upset. It pains me too that others must suffer for our cause," Geraint said as he sat on the edge of their bed, his head in his hands.
"Then let us end this now. No more wars with our brethren," she pleaded.
"Do you not see? It is almost over!" Geraint raised his voice. "As Audoin said, the Wardens are retreating and Nevarra will soon return our lands to us. We cannot give up now."
"Then I will."
"Just one more push, and we will finally be free. I promise. We are so close."
"No, Geraint. You are free, but chose not to be. I love you, but I cannot live like this." Her words tore through his heart like a blade. Leliana had packed her possessions, and made ready to leave the inn.
"And I love you, more than you can imagine. Please don't go. Stay with me." It was his turn to plead. He stood up and took her by her arm, holding on tightly. "Don't," he growled, breathing heavily.
"Please, Geraint." She shook him off. She undid the pendant that hung around her neck and placed it in his hand. "Keep this to remember me by. And know that I will always think of you."
She did not look back as she walked out the door. Geraint, enraged, threw a chair at the wall.