None Without Guile

As Leonie waited in her office for Laurent, she could not help but be reminded of something Riordan had once said…

They were walking down the Grand Boulevard, arm in arm, returning to the compound after visiting the Spring Festival of Flowers. A young girl, no more than five, was standing on a corner, her chin trembling, doe eyes sad, dark brown hair curled and beribboned. She was dressed in a fine muslin gown and when Leonie and Riordan approached, the young girl began to cry in earnest. She looked to be of the middle class, her dress fine but not rich, she was clean and neat. And terribly upset. Going down on one knee, Riordan had asked where her parents were.

"I'm lost," she sobbed leaning against him and Riordan, looking terrified, glanced helplessly at Leonie.

"What do I do, Lion?" he asked, perplexed. She gave him a reassuring smile and then turned the smile on the young girl. The little thing was so sweet and innocent and in such obvious distress, it pulled at Leonie's heart.

"Pick her up and comfort her and we'll try to find her family," Leonie explained and he did so.

The little girl clung to him, one small arm wound around his neck, hiccupping through her tears. But the moment they started walking down the wide boulevard, the young girl squirmed out of his arms and ran away, taking Riordan's purse with her.

"I shouldn't be surprised. No Orlesian is without guile, not one single person. No one," he reflected with equal amounts of embarrassment and disgust in his voice. Leonie huffed at that but then began to squirm a bit at his very pointed look. She was working in the Imperial Court of Her Highness, Empress Celene. It went without saying that she was currently up to her elbows in court intrigue.

"No one is without guile," he emphasized

And so it seemed to Leonie as she went through the list of who might be going through her things and why. She felt ill that whoever it was had to be a former colleague. As much as she had hoped otherwise it seemed more and more likely that it was, but she had no idea why. Had they already found it, whatever it was? There were those among the Orlesian Wardens she just couldn't bring herself to suspect.

Teodar was one of those. While he was quiet and watchful, he was also above all else, honorable. She could no more picture him rifling through her things than she could picture Varel doing so. That he was going to Nevarra once he returned to Orlais distressed her, but if the situation was truly as dire as was intimated, she trusted that he was doing what he felt he had to. Still, knowing that so many Wardens from Orlais and Nevarra were putting their own national interests ahead of their Grey Warden duties was greatly disturbing to Leonie.

As Leonie continued down the list of Wardens, she wound up with no more idea of who it could be than when she had started. Laurent had seemed genuinely surprised when she had told him that someone was going through her possessions. Had that been a ruse? She loved Laurent every bit as much as she loved Teodar. Was it blind loyalty that made her refuse to believe either of them capable of the act? And why was Laurent so insistent she return with them? It made no sense to Leonie.

Laurent finally arrived, looking relaxed and flashing his charming smile. He flung himself into a chair with his usual elegant grace, steepling his fingers as he watched her. She knew immediately that he was playing the Game and she was more than willing to do the same if it got her the answers she needed.

"You wanted to see me privately?" he asked with a wink. "No Loghain Mac Tir to protect you?" he teased.

"As you very well know, Laurent, I am quite capable of protecting myself. But the question really is why would you believe I need protection?"

"Quite right, you need no protecting from me, sweet Lion. Perhaps you are more in danger from your Second," Laurent replied with a smirk.

Biting back the laughter at such an absurd idea, Leonie schooled her face. "Indeed? Why would you believe such a thing?"

Laurent grinned cheekily at her and shrugged. "He's Loghain Mac Tir, killer of Kings and Archdemons. Surely that's reason enough?"

Leonie refused to rise to his obvious bait. Correcting Laurent or defending Loghain would not get her anywhere, would make her look weaker and that was not something she was willing to allow. "As such I would be more concerned with your health, were I you," she suggested with a roguish smile. Laurent chuckled at that.

"You are threatening to bring Mac Tir's wrath down on me?" he asked, shaking his head. "I really thought you could do better than that, Lion. All your time away from Orlais is showing," he continued, feigned sympathy in his voice.

"Or it has shown me how to play a new Game, yes?" she responded with sly smile. "You do not know me now; you cannot determine which behavior will work to secure my compliance in returning with you. I could almost feel sorry for you."

Laurent's eyes narrowed and Leonie felt a faint flicker of triumph. She had struck a nerve. He was concerned that he would fail, that he no longer understood her. She pressed her advantage.

"You make it sound as if Celene and Didier are the reasons I should return with you. You say it is my patriotic duty to do so. Celene would not send a messenger, she would send a personal plea in a private message. Didier would know I would put my duties as a Grey Warden above those of Orlais," she purred, moving toward him. She perched on the arm of his chair, looking closely at him.

"You look pale, my old friend. Surely you are not nervous," she added, bending down to peer into his eyes. He met hers unflinchingly.

"Of course not, Leo," he scoffed but said nothing further.

"If Celene and Didier did not send you as their messenger, shall I guess who did? I can only think of two who would do so but of course I have no idea how they would manage to get you to agree to it. Blackmail? Or fear? Fear, I would think."

There was just the briefest flare in his eyes, a nerve struck and Leonie stood and began to pace the room, her hands clasped behind her back, head tilted to the side. She needed time to compose her face and marshal her thoughts. Remorse and regret for what she was doing to her long time friend warred with her need to end the Game, to understand why someone wanted her to return. And then another truth struck her, so obvious she didn't know why it had taken her so long to realize it. Maker, it hurt to think him capable of such deceit, to realize that the man she had once known was not the man sitting before her now.

"They were diversions, were they not? The Challenge? The rifling through my desks. The panicked, angry response to my denial that seemed so unlike you. They were meant to keep me from concentrating on who really sent you to bring me home," she finally said, her voice husky with pain. She couldn't hide the hurt, the shock that her realization gave her. "To keep me from asking the reason they want me home."

"Don't be so paranoid, Lion. I have no idea who's been going through your things," he retorted with almost the right amount of indignation and conviction in his voice. Almost. But Leonie had spent six years in the Imperial Court. More than enough time to learn the subtleties and inflections, the nuances, in the voice of someone who was lying.

"You are very good, Laurent. If one had not seen the Game played so often, one would be fooled by your act," Leonie said with a hint of admiration. "Really, I was completely fooled. But it always seemed strange to me that nothing was ever missing from my possessions, that they were disturbed but intact."

Laurent was up, she heard the soft susurration of leather against leather as he moved. His hand fell lightly on her shoulder and she turned around to face him. There would be time for tears later, but Loghain's words were guiding her at the moment. She could not wail and weep every time she made a mistake or trusted the wrong person.

Leonie met Laurent's gaze with her own, steeling herself against the soft supplication she saw his eyes. She wanted to reach out and trace the scars along his face, scars he had suffered one terrible night in the Deep Roads, when she had thought she'd lost her friend forever. But she held herself still, refusing to give in to the plea for understanding she saw in his eyes.

"I can only imagine how desperate you must be to betray me like this," she finally said, breaking the silence but not the wall that was continuing to build between them.

She tilted her chin up again as she moved away. She had to be strong if she was going to find the answers. She discovered she was biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from crying out in protest, in pain. A sharp sweet coppery tang of blood told her she was biting too hard and she forced herself to relax her jaws.

"So, who really wants me back? The Chevalier Dirigeant? Is DeMolay still holding that title? That would certainly be ironic, would it not?" she said with a brittle laugh. "Or perhaps High General Joubert? And why?"

Laurent tried to reach for her but she moved away, whirling to face him once she had her emotions under control again and distance between them. "It is too late to continue with this absurd charade, Laurent. Just tell me the truth now," she demanded coldly.

He had lost the Game and they both knew it. And perhaps, Leonie thought, his heart had never really been in it. She hoped that was the case. His shoulders sagged and he moved to take his seat again. Leonie couldn't sit yet, her agitation, her anger, forced her to keep pacing.

"Joubert. It's General Joubert. One of his agents brought back information that the Nevarrans are interested in you and he said it was to protect you, Lion. He showed me the report. I believed him. Or course I want to protect you, why else would I being doing this?"

Leonie found the edge of her desk with her hip and rested there to absorb the news. "Nevarrans are interested in me? Maker sakes, why?" she asked, too startled for finesse and guile. Too startled to challenge his assertion on why he had betrayed her trust.

"They've heard rumors about the power of your blood," he began and then stopped. "We all have. If you weren't living in this barbaric, Maker forsaken place, you'd have heard them too, Leo."

Heart beating furiously against the confines of her chest, Leonie found it impossible to speak for long minutes. Her blood. Always it came back to her blood. But what rumors? She moved to sink into the chair across from Laurent as she tried to bring her shock under control.

"Do not stop there, Laurent. Tell me everything," she instructed in a voice that was as dangerous as it was calm.

"Joubert came to me with the report, told me that the Nevarrans believe your blood can be used as a weapon, that it holds some special properties. They want to take you into custody and find out what that power is. Joubert wants you to return home and assign a security detail to you, to prevent the Nevarrans from doing so."

The room was tilting at an alarming angle and she found her vision was fuzzy, her skin clammy. For a wild moment she thought she would faint as the shock of his words penetrated her brain. She took a number of deep breaths. The absurdity of the situation helped push away the panic that his words had caused.

"So you wish to take me back to Orlais to use my blood instead?" she finally asked to break the stale silence.

"Maker, Leo! You don't really think that, do you?" Laurent cried, offended. He stood up and came to kneel beside her chair. He took her hand in his and squeezed it, as if to offer her comfort. Leonie looked down at their clasped hands and then back at him.

"This is me! I am the same Laurent I have always been. I'm your friend! You know me, you know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you," he continued in a soft, persuasive voice. "Joubert wants you back so we can protect you, to prevent the Nevarrans from abducting you, of harvesting your blood as a weapon."

Leonie's laugh was bitter. "You were never so naïve before, Laurent. Do not think for a minute that the head of the Orlesian army wants to protect me. He wants my blood in case the rumors are true. And if he believes that my blood has some sort of power, he will bleed me dry," she said and the bitterness of her laugh was reflected in her voice.

"What has Joubert done to make you so willing to send me to prison, or worse, my death? Tell me, what the going rate is for such a betrayal, Laurent?" she finally asked when she could trust her voice not to break as her heart was.

Laurent squeezed her hand again and then brought it to his lips. "He only had to point out what would happen to Orlais if we lose a war with Navarra. I see it as my duty, Lion, and a way of protecting you from the Nevarrans who would abduct you, harm you," he said and she almost believed the sincerity of his belief. Or maybe he actually did believe he was protecting her. She would rather believe that then the alternative.

"And your duty to the Grey Wardens? Does that no longer supersede your duty to Orlais? Can you so easily betray the sacrifices of all those who went before you?" she asked in a voice going husky with the tears she was holding back through sheer force of will and her stubborn pride. The more emotion she showed, the more of a weapon it became in Laurent's hands. He remained silent, no longer willing to meet her gaze.

"There is nothing in my blood. You heard the report from Weisshaupt, you were there when Didier read it. So you betrayed me for nothing," she whispered, anguish wrapping around her words and heart, suffocating her.

Laurent's face paled, his scars standing in stark relief. She wanted to wake up from the growing nightmare. She wanted to look at Laurent and see her old friend, her comrade, her fellow Grey Warden. She saw only a stranger. She removed her hand from his and stood up again.

"Andraste's arse, woman! I have seen you in the throes of an Architect induced nightmare. You were connected to him. Your blood does have some power. Most of the Wardens in Orlais believe that. And some of those Wardens are now in Nevarra, assisting the Nevarran armies. If they were to discover what makes your blood so important, if they could unlock the secrets of it, Orlais would be destroyed!" Laurent exclaimed angrily.

"Whatever power that was within my blood died when I killed the Architect, Laurent. If you had been honest with me, talked to me about these things, I could have told you that," Leonie replied, the hurt a tight knot in her chest. Laurent remained quiet after his outburst.

"And should you go back to Orlais without me? What happens to you?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

"I don't know. I convinced myself you would come back," he answered simply. "I suppose he'll have me killed on some pretext or another. He doesn't want anyone to know he actually believes the rumors, it would weaken his position as the head of Orlesian forces."

Leonie's mind was carefully sifting through options as she paced the room again. She stopped once more in front of Laurent. Her heart and mind were at war. A headache screamed at the base of her skull and her stomach was roiling. It was shock, she kept telling herself.

"You have one hour to gather your gear and men and leave. Before you go, I will have my healer draw a vial of blood for you to take back to Joubert. Do not worry, I will do so in front of you and the other Wardens so there can be no doubt as to its authenticity. Let Joubert's best people examine it. They will find there is nothing special in my blood. And you will discover that you have betrayed me for no reason. Live with that, Laurent," she finished bitterly.

Laurent opened his mouth and Leonie pushed her fingers against his lips. "You have nothing more to say that I would want to hear," she assured him, removing her fingers.

"One hour," she reminded him and turned her back on him. The door closed with a soft whine of metal hinges.

Her shoulders sagged and her breath came out in a long, lonely sigh. Some day she was sure she would find a certain irony in the events that had transpired throughout the day but now was not that time. Now she had to manage to get through the remainder of the day. Somehow.

Leonie walked over to the door that separated her office from Loghain's and quietly opened it to find Loghain standing there, an angry scowl on his face. "So you were able to hear the entire meeting, yes?" she asked, leaning against the door jamb for support as her legs felt like they no longer wanted to carry her.

"I was," Loghain replied grimly. "I ought to kill that bastard," he snarled, fists clenched.

"And risk having even more Orlesians invade?' she asked with a shaky laugh. Even she heard the tinny sound of hysteria edging her laughter.

Leonie looked up to find Loghain watching her. He was concerned and she saw the sympathy in his expression before she let her eyes drop. All her confidence, her strength would be lost if she allowed herself to rely on him now, but it was so tempting to just rest her head against his chest, to hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her ear.

"Now, we must find Anders, yes?" she said, wrapping her stubborn pride around her like a cloak.

Anders was in his room and when Leonie explained what she needed, his eyes widened. "What's going on?" he asked, both suspicious and curious. She patted his cheek with a grim smile.

"We shall talk later, Anders, but now is not the time," Leonie said, trying to reassure him.

She left both men to make her way to her room a few minutes later, rubbing her thumb across her palm thoughtfully. She had to stay centered, to stay focused until after the Orlesians departed. But it was difficult to put the tumultuous thoughts and feelings away for the time being, they persisted in beating at her from within, crying plaintively to be heard. She continued to ruthlessly tamp them down. She would be Maker damned if she was going to borrow a handkerchief from Loghain.

Time crept forward as she continued her restless pacing and her emotions continued their relentless assault on her heart. When she heard the tap at her door, Leonie Caron, the Lion of Orlais, straightened her shoulders and answered the knock with surprisingly dry eyes. Loghain escorted her downstairs, saying nothing, standing near without touching her. She was grateful for both his presence and his presence of mind in not offering her physical support. It would be her undoing should she lean on him, so tightly held together she could almost hear her nerves snapping.

"So, my Orlesian brothers, the time has come for your departure. It has been a great honor and privilege to have you as guests of the Ferelden Grey. Should any of you ever need a home with us, know that you will be welcomed," Leonie said, standing before the assembled Orlesian Wardens. Her Wardens fell in behind her and she was grateful they were there, finding solace and comfort in their steadying proximity.

"Warden Commander Leonie Caron, we thank you for your warmth and hospitality," Laurent said cordially and then stepped closer. Loghain stepped closer as well and Anders came to stand directly in front of her.

Leonie held her arm out, palm down and Anders brought out a vial and a small knife, blade caught gleaming in the sun. Loghain took her wrist in his and pressed tightly as Anders quickly made a small incision. Crimson drops of blood splattered on the stone as the vial was filled. With a whispered caress of healing magic, Anders stepped back and Leonie handed the stoppered vial to Laurent.

"I do not think we shall see each other again, Laurent," she whispered and lightly stroked his cheek. "But once I was honored to call you brother and I shall remember that time and not this."

Laurent nodded solemnly and then bent to touch his lips to her cheek. "I too will remember those times, Lion. Someday I hope you will understand and forgive me for what I felt I had to do."

Tears began to sting the back of her throat and she nodded once before he stepped away. Each Orlesian Warden in turn came to say their goodbyes. It became more difficult for Leonie to contain her tears.

Finally Teodar came to embrace her and she held him tightly to her. Taking great care, she surreptitiously slipped a vial into his pocket.

"Give this to your leaders. Tell them it is my blood," she instructed softly into his ear. He looked confused at that but she smiled gently. "They will know what it means," she assured him. He nodded and then stepped back.

Long after the Orlesian Wardens had marched out of sight, Leonie continued to stare after them. Her Wardens were dispersing but Loghain and Anders stood there with her. Her tears, still held in check by iron will, would not be content to remain so much longer.

"How long do you think it will take them to realize it isn't your blood?" Anders asked.

"With any luck they will never figure it out, Anders. But at the very least, this may allow us time to learn the secrets of my blood," Leonie replied quietly.

"Thank you for your willingness to offer up your blood, Loghain. There is a certain irony in once again besting the Orlesians, yes?" she added, turning a weak smile in Loghain's direction.

"It's not the first blood I've shed fighting Orlesians. I doubt it will be the last." he agreed dryly.

"Anders, you would make a fine bard with your light hands. Even I could not discern whose blood was filling that vial," she complimented the mage, who grinned.

"No worries, dear leader. Although I am curious about it all."

"Tomorrow, yes? Tonight I am going to take a bottle of Antivan brandy to my room and quietly drink myself into a pleasant numbness," Leonie responded in a tone far lighter than she felt.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Commander?" Loghain asked sharply. Leonie paused and put a light hand out to cup his cheek.

"It is absolutely the best idea, Loghain," she replied. "I shall see you all in the morning."

And digging into the last of her energy, Leonie kept her tread light, her shoulders straight and her chin high as she made her way up the curving stairs case. Valiantly pushing away guilt at tricking an unsuspecting Teodar, she hoped fervently that the mystery of her blood would be solved long before he became aware of his unwitting role in the Game.

She entered her room and quietly locked the door behind her, trying to also lock out the guilt and hurt that were crowding away other thoughts. She was a master at the Game and it gave her no sense of peace or pride to realize that.

Perhaps Riordan was right. Perhaps no one was without guile. It was that thought that finally freed her pent up tears.