Riding in the Shadows
"Varel, would you please see that Captain Leister and his men have a meal?" Leonie instructed with a gracious smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Warden Loghain, I would have a word with you," she added in the same silken tones as she watched Varel escort the Royal Horse Guard out of the room. She stared after them, all the guardsmen in their beautifully matched, highly polished, dripping wet, dragonbone armor, made her stomach flutter at the thought of going to Denerim.
As soon as they were in the privacy of her office, she tossed the scroll to Loghain. "I do not have the time to go to Denerim and pander to the nobles," she said heatedly.
She watched Loghain as he read the summons. "Dear Warden Commander," she scoffed, hands on hips. "She did not think me such a dear Warden Commander when first we met," she added, now tapping her foot as well.
"You seem unduly upset that the Queen of Ferelden and her citizens want to offer thanks and appreciation for your work in securing Amaranthine with so few lives lost," he remarked with a penetrating stare. "Are you nervous?" he asked in some surprise after Leonie found it impossible to meet his eyes.
"Most assuredly not," she responded, knowing it was a lie the minute she spoke. And he did to, damn him. He was smirking. "I have so much to do here, and the trip to Soldier's Peak should not be put off. The blood mage is an old man who could die at any time," she babbled on, turning away from his continued amusement.
"I believe a man who has lived for over two hundred years is capable of living a few weeks longer," Loghain responded dryly. He moved to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her around to face him.
"You are nervous," he said and his smirk grew into a smile that softened his features and while it usually made her weak at the knees to see such a smile from him, now it only made her feel more agitated.
"You fight ogres with more courage than wisdom, you faced down a horde of talking darkspawn," he reminded her with continued humor teasing his voice. "But you are afraid of the Queen of Ferelden and a few nobles?"
Resisting the urge to stamp her foot childishly, but only just, she replied haughtily, "I am most certainly not afraid."
Loghain surprised her then. He laughed. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him truly laugh. Snicker, yes. Snort, absolutely. Chuckle on occasion, certainly. But the rich rumble of laughter was a rare sound as it caressed the air around her. It didn't last long but it was a sweet song in Leonie's ears. It did not, however, alleviate her nervousness or her growing sense of dread. She had wanted to visit Denerim, but not like this, not without time to prepare for what would be an emotional journey.
"Why are you nervous?" he finally asked, his eyes still lit with amusement.
Leonie had no intention of telling him that she was nervous about meeting his daughter, not the queen. And how could she confess to him that she was even more nervous about visiting the Grey Warden compound? How could she express her dread at having memories stirred up so close to the surface that they would become a physical pain? She stepped away and went to her desk, quickly drawing up a list of instructions for Varel.
"You would do well to stop smirking and start packing, Loghain," she said as she bent her head over her list.
"You are to review all of Woolsey's correspondence, Varel. But carefully, yes? I do not wish her to know you are doing so."
Leonie was struggling to pack her ceremonial armor and what few formal gowns she owned into her small traveling trunk. Varel was standing in the door of her room, the list of instructions in one hand, as they went through the items.
"Nathaniel is to be acting commander in my absence since Queen Anora insists I bring Loghain with me, unless you have come up with a plausible reason why I cannot attend this small banquet?"
"No Commander, I haven't. I'm afraid you will have to make the sacrifice," Varel admitted. Leonie thought he and Loghain might be long lost brothers; the same droll sense of humor seemed reflected in Varel's expression.
"Do not let Alistair stay locked away in his room, Varel. He will only brood if he is allowed to," Leonie continued, ignoring Varel's expression in favor of folding a gown into the small trunk.
"No Commander, I won't."
She stood, pulling out her oiled leathers. "You will contact me if there is trouble, yes?"
"Yes Commander," Varel assured and then stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Be strong, Leonie, they are just shadows," he said with a reassuring smile, before he turned and left, closing her door softly behind him. Bemused, she stared at the closed door for long moments. An open book. That's what Riordan had always told her. She was an open book. Or at least to those who actually took the time to read, she thought dryly. Varel apparently took the time to read.
With a last look around her room, she closed and secured the small trunk. Patrain, a young elven servant, came and hoisted it up on a shoulder with a grin. "Imagine sending an escort and a cart for you," he breathed in something akin to awe.
"Yes, imagine," she replied with a kind smile as he made his way out of her room. Imagine the queen sending an escort and demanding their presence immediately.
What, she wondered quietly, was Queen Anora up to? A banquet to honor the heroism of the Wardens was certainly plausible but she doubted, given the urgency of the summons, that a banquet was all that the queen wanted of them. Once in her leathers, she pulled on her waxed canvas cloak in the hopes of keeping the rain off her. A futile hope, as it would turn out.
She didn't see Loghain again until they met in the stables. He was busy saddling Taranis and spared her only a cursory glance. She gathered her tack and went to a stall that housed a pale grey courser, one of those gifted from the Orlesians. Her name was Bendis and she was almost the color of moonlight. Leonie brought out an apple and made friends with her new mount. She handed Loghain half an apple for Taranis as well before she began saddling her horse.
"How long will it take us to reach Denerim?" she finally asked, cinching her saddle with a tug.
"No more than three days, less if we ride hard," Loghain responded and then gave a grunt as Taranis nipped at his shoulder.
"You were right to warn me of his ill temper. It seems even you are not immune to it," she snickered.
Loghain said nothing by way of reply but just before they mounted, he put a hand out, stopping her. "She is a good woman. You've nothing to worry about," he said softly and she nodded. Even he seemed unaware of the shadows of the past, shadows of a life that had been taken from her. But they plagued her, warned her that both she and Loghain would be walking in the shadows.
"So Varel has reassured me," she said glumly as he helped her mount.
There was nothing as miserable as riding in cold, heavy rain on an unfamiliar horse in wet leather, Leonie decided as they splattered and splashed along the road to Denerim. She was angry, which did nothing to alleviate the misery she was experiencing. And when the wind came up, shrieking like a madwoman, Leonie knew just how it felt.
There was no reason at all for her to go to Denerim to meet with Queen Anora and attend a banquet held in their honor. Loghain could have just as easily done so by himself. She had even offered to send other Wardens in her place. There were so much to do, none of which would be accomplished if she was pandering to a throng of drunken nobles. Loghain had been adamant. Varel had agreed.
She knew they were right; she hadn't spent six years in Celene's court not to have become politically aware. It didn't mean she was happy about it. She had not started out angry. She had not even been angry when the rooms procured by the guardsmen each night of their journey included separate ones for Leonie and Loghain. She assumed it was on the orders of the queen and one that Leonie understood. There was no reason to let the world know she and Loghain were involved. There was a nagging concern that Loghain may not have told his daughter that he and Leonie were together, but she pushed that worry aside. It seemed inconsequential compared to the other emotions beginning to play havoc with her.
Loghain was remote, nearly a stranger that rode just slightly ahead of her, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to ride beside her, but couldn't quite bring himself to be too far away. She understood only because she felt just as remote and just as in need of reassurance. She suspected his reasons were much the same as hers, and the closer they drew to Denerim the more remote theyeach became. They both were about to walk in the shadows of memories and neither of them wanted to.
Leonie felt a heaviness of spirit, a weight that pressed deeply in her chest, wrapping with cold fingers around her heart. Denerim was where her beloved Rivaini pirate had stayed for much of his time in Ferelden, especially in the Grey Warden compound on the grounds of the Palace. She would not just be walking in his footsteps. She would be shadowing his steps, taking inventory in the warehouse in the market district, reading his journals. Sleeping where he had slept. The shadows of the past would surround her while she was there. The thought of that was making her queasy and there were times when she had to remind herself to breathe.
Denerim, where Riordan had fallen to his death, where he had spent the last days of his life, where he had been tortured. Her wonderful, high spirited friend who had sacrificed himself in the hope of saving a homeland that didn't even acknowledge him. Her tears were present only in the lump that seemed to have taken up residence in her chest. She wondered if Loghain was feeling the same slow rise of pain as memories echoed in the darkness.
They should be leaning on each other, they should be relying on the other to help overcome the gloom that surrounded them every bit as much as the fog that had dogged their entire trip, but that was not Loghain's way and eventhough it was her way, she couldn't bring herself to talk. She couldn't overcome her own malaise any more than he was able to shake off his depression and so they rode along in the rain, nearly strangers to each other. That was the source of her anger. And it was not anger at Loghain, but rather at herself. She gave herself a mental scolding, leaving her other emotions raw and too near the surface but at least, after three days, her simmering anger was leaving her.
If she was feeling the sting of tears rising up to feed her dark thoughts, she could well imagine that Loghain was beating himself up with bitter, painful memories and she finally nudged Bendis up to ride beside Loghain. Even in the gloom of approaching twilight, she saw how grim his expression was, how tense he held himself. She peeled off one of her wet gloves and, unmindful of the guardsmen around them, reached out and brushed her fingertips along the sharp angle of Loghain's cheekbone. "I am with you," she said only. Those were the first words either of them had spoken all day. He nodded once in acknowledgement but said nothing.
The city of Denerim appeared in the gathering dusk, a behemoth looming in the drizzle, shrouded in the mist, oblique and distorted by the shadows of dusk. It was everything that Val Royeaux was not. Rather than wide, bright boulevards and graceful, columned buildings, it was a jumble of half timbered structures that seemed to be built on top of each other. The streets were narrow and twisting and they rode across several bridges as they made their way through the city gates toward the palace.
Duncan had told her that the city was carved out of the rocky mountain it sat upon and she could see that now in the profusion of rooftops of various elevations that rose before her. Not graceful, but solid, hardy buildings that seemed to match the spirit of the citizens. Not classically beautiful but rugged and durable, enduring, he had claimed.
He was right about the smells of the city as well. Val Royeaux always smelled of fragrant herbs and the flowers that grew in gay profusion all around the city, of the sea and of the incense from the Grand Cathedral. Here the air was heavy with the scent of wet timber and peat fires and people living too closely on top of each other, of fish markets and spices she was unfamiliar with. Not sweet and subtle, but pungent and alive. Robust.
The sound was different as well. Rather than the dulcet tones of the Choir of the Divine singing the Chant reverently to the Maker, she heard the muted clatter of horses on cobblestone, the distant barking of dogs, children laughing and the rain slanting off the pitched rooftops to splash on the cobbled streets.
All of it seemed so foreign and yet strangely familiar because of Duncan. He had loved Denerim, said it teamed with people who made no apology for who they were, rich or poor, that there was a strength in them and the city itself that he had never seen in the pristine façade of Val Royeaux. Other than the cold and damp, he had been happy here. She could feel her grief unfurling again, a dull twist of a rusted blade in her heart as memory enveloped her. And with each step the horse took, she wondered if she was walking in the shadow of Duncan.
The palace loomed in the foreground and only added to her bleak misery. The outriders had made their arrival known. The torches were lit along the road to the palace gates, which were open in welcome. Leonie wrestled with the urgent need to rein in or wheel her horse around and ride into the dark labyrinth of streets. Panic, pride and grief warred in that flash of time before her shoulders straightened and she centered herself in the present. Pride won out.
They were greeted by an elven maid, an Orlesian from the sound of her accent, Leonie guessed. A man servant, dressed in the formal clothes of a noble, was also there. Both sketched very minimal bows.
"I am her Majesty's High Steward, Blakely. I welcome you to the Royal Palace of Her Majesty, Queen Anora of Ferelden. She will greet you in her private apartments in one hour," the man said. He was tall and pale, as thin as a reed with light brown hair and drab brown eyes. He had a morose look about him, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth downturned.
"Your old quarters are prepared, Your Grace," Blakely said with a rather stiff bow for Loghain.
"Warden Loghain," Loghain corrected coldly and Blakely paled, if such a thing were possible for a man with so little coloring.
"I am Erlina, Warden Commander. I am the queen's personal maid. I will show you to your quarters," the young maid said, stepping forward. She was Orlesian and from the dark hair and eyes and full mouth, she suspected the woman was from the Val Royeaux alienage. Which struck her as an odd thing, the Queen of Ferelden having an Orlesian maid. Before she could give voice to her curiosity, they were moving.
Leonie sent a pleading glance over her shoulder at Loghain but he was already making his way in the opposite direction and as the distance between them grew, so did the heaviness in Leonie's heart. She turned resolutely away from his retreating back.
Hopelessly lost, Leonie followed Erlina to a small guest quarters with a bedroom, a private bath, and a small balcony overlooking a rain-soaked garden. She had no idea how far away Loghain was, where she was in relation to the Queen's private quarters, or what was expected of her. She felt completely lost and for a moment was angry at Loghain for being so distant, angrier with herself for being so melancholy.
"I find it most odd that Queen Anora has an Orlesian bard for a personal servant," Leonie remarked finally, as she stood dripping on the expensive carpet beneath her wet boots.
Erlina was moving with quick, sparrow-like grace around the room, showing Leonie where all her belongings had been stowed. The ceremonial armor was on a stand, polished to an almost blinding sheen. Her gowns were already pressed and in the armoire. The cart with their trunks had not stopped at night, pressing on to Denerim. It was a relief to Leonie to have her things, the familiarity of her possession so close.
"Bard?" Erlina asked and then a smile lit her almond shaped brown eyes. "Ah, the Lion of Orlais would recognize a bard, yes," she agreed and at this Leonie raised an eyebrow.
"I know that you are the one who killed Maraville and for that act alone, I hold you in high esteem," Erlina said quietly.
Leonie blushed at that. "I did what was necessary, it was hardly heroic," she finally replied.
"You and I know better, Commander. We know that humans do not defend elves, yes? Yet you did. You killed a chevalier to do so," Erlina said firmly and Leonie had seen that odd stubbornness before, somewhere. She frowned slightly as she stared at Erlina, trying to place the woman. .
"How long have you been with Queen Anora?" she finally asked and Erlina grinned, the servant's demeanor gone completely in that moment.
"Long enough to know that I answer only to her," the elven woman answered and Leonie found herself chuckling.
"I will tell you only what you need to know, Commander. She is a good woman who loves her father."
So saying, Erlina went to the door and then turned. "Someone will come to escort you to the queen's private quarters. Do not be too trusting of the others within the palace. They all seek the favor of the queen." With that cryptic warning, Erlina was gone.
Leonie made her way into the bathroom and was pleased to find a steaming bath awaited her. She peeled off her wet leathers and gratefully slid into the hot water. She yelped as the heat hit her cold skin. The hot water felt like needles that were pricking her skin and it took several uncomfortable minutes for her skin to adjust to the sudden change in temperature.
She stretched out in the warm water, closing her eyes and willing her tense muscles to relax. She had seen Erlina before. Or rather, someone who shared Erlina's stubborn jut of chin and those inquisitive, almond shaped brown eyes. Not Marliss or Faulon, but someone from Val Royeaux. She sighed, her mind no more relaxed than her body. With a splash, she sat up and reached for the lavender scented soap.
Leonie pulled a dark green gown with an embroidered stomacher out of the armoire. It was not the latest style, none of her gowns were. She didn't usually care. She rarely armed herself with fripperies and pretty clothes. That was not how she gathered her courage, but somehow tonight she wished she had a dazzling new gown and she hated herself for that thought. Sighing, she wondered how soon she would be able to return to her room. Leonie went to the window and stared into the darkness, listening to the patter of rain on the leaves.
Somewhere nearby was the Warden compound. Maker, would she ever stop missing Duncan? She touched her ring, knew each rune by heart. She sighed again. This was not how she had envisioned her first trip to Denerim. A tear slid silently down her cheek and then another. She blinked and wiped away the tears, pushing against the shadows. She would not meet the queen with red and swollen eyes. By the Maker, she would not.
A light tap broke her out of her reverie. Her escort had arrived and there was no putting off her meeting with Anora Mac Tir Theirin, the Queen of Ferelden. She opened the door and stared into a pair of blue eyes.
"Your Majesty," Leonie blurted out in surprise.