In A Dream, Darkly
Darkness seeped into every nook, every space around her as she groped her way down the corridor.
"Papa! Where are you?" she called out. But the sound was hollow, falling into the impenetrable darkness, echoing off walls she could only feel, not see.
A light appeared, far down the corridor and she moved toward it. A tall shape cast shadows against the illumination. Her steps picked up as the light got brighter.
Stepping onto the docks, Duncan glanced around for Leonie. He felt a stab of disappointment that she wasn't there to greet him. Undoubtedly she had business to attend to. He scanned the crowded dock again, hoping to see her brilliant smile but she wasn't there.
Picking up his pack, he stepped toward the busy street that led to the Grey Warden compound.
"Ho there, Duncan!" a deep baritone called over the din. Duncan turned to find the owner of the voice with a grin.
"Ho there, Bertran! Well met. What brings you to the docks, my friend?"
Bertran, a tall man with a ready smile and an ear for gossip, shouldered his way through the throngs and came up to Duncan, gripping his shoulder. Duncan saw the grimness in his friend's face and felt a twinge of fear. Bertran's ready smile was absent. His face was pale and drawn.
"What is it? What's happened?" Duncan asked quickly. A twinge of fear began to trickle through his veins.
"It's a long story, and not fit for the docks. Come."
Bertran took off at a near run and Duncan had to trot to keep up with him, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest. Something had happened to Leonie, he felt it. Bertran had been his eyes and ears in Val Royeaux, trying to keep Leonie and Montran separated, trying to keep her safe. His steps faltered. The trickle of fear became a rushing torrent.
Duncan broke into a run.
As soon as they entered the Grey Warden compound, Duncan grabbed Bertran and spun him around.
"Tell me," he instructed grimly.
Bertran's voice was thick and bleak. "It's Leonie. She – she was taken by Montran," he began.
"What? When? Have you found her?" Duncan cut in and the torrent of fear froze in the pit of his stomach. He was too afraid to ask the most important question. Was she alive? The question lay on his tongue, bitter as bile.
"He took her to a room in the sub basement. I don't know what all he did to her. When we found her, he was dead and she was unconscious. There was blood everywhere. She – she bit him on the neck and he bled to death."
"She's unconscious? But the healers are with her?" Duncan broke in anxiously and began to run towards the infirmary without waiting for an answer.
"Wait, Duncan!" Bertran called but Duncan continued on, propelled by a sudden hope.
She was not in the infirmary which furthered his hope. If she were well enough to be in her rooms, his mind reasoned, then she must be alright. He paused outside her door, catching his breath, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. Another steadying breath and he opened the door.
Sitting upright in a chair facing a large window, she was dressed in a soft woolen dress, her hair braided and falling over her shoulder. He saw angry red lines across her neck, disappearing under the collar of her dress. How well he recognized marks left by a whip, he had enough of them on his own back.
His hands tightened into fists, wishing that Montran was not dead so that he could have the pleasure of killing him. Slowly and painfully.
Marliss sat in a nearby chair, quietly plying a needle to a gown. The maid glanced up when Duncan approached and she set her sewing aside.
"Ser Duncan," she said deferentially, standing and bobbing a brief curtsey.
"Thank the Maker you are well, Leonie," Duncan said, his voice raw with relief.
Leonie did not turn to him, did not stand up and come to him, simply continued to silently stare out the window. A frisson of dread flickered through him as he moved to her. Dropping down on one knee in front of her, he looked into her eyes and saw…nothing. Her expression was blank. Not even a hint of recognition. He reached up and grazed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs but she did not move, did not acknowledge his presence in any way. Did not seem to know he was there.
"Duncan, we need to talk," Bertran panted, coming into the room. Sweat was beading on his brow and sliding down his face.
"Tell me," Duncan said, sitting back on his heels. He reached out again to Leonie, taking her hands. They lay limp and docile in his. He had seen people like this before, people who were so shocked they went blank. He shuddered. Some never came back.
"There was a ball in her honor. She drank more wine than she normally does. She allowed herself to be escorted out by Montran. I was too far away. Too far. Maker take me, I was too far," Bertran began and his voice cracked. Tears joined the sweat as his face crumpled and he began to sob.
Duncan stood up and went to him, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Tell me," he commanded, his voice hard and cold. The fear was now a living creature, writhing in his belly.
"By the time I got out of the ballroom, they were gone. I came up here immediately but she wasn't here so I went to Montran's. Nobody was there either. I went to look for Veralis but it took time to find him. Too much time," Bertran whispered and the grief in his voice was matched by the grief in his eyes as he finally met Duncan's glare.
"Tell me," Duncan again commanded, his grip on Bertran's shoulder tightening further.
"Veralis told me where to find Leonie. He said the taint in Montran had started to manifest itself in madness. Even he was afraid of Montran.
"I grabbed Nellier and we went down to the sub basement. We – she was – we thought she was dead at first. There was so much blood. So much blood," Bertran whispered, his voice breaking again.
"Tell me."
"He hit her several times, broke her nose. He – he whipped her. The healers say he didn't – he didn't," and here, Bertran broke down completely, shoulders heaving with his sobs.
Marliss spoke then, her voice soft and sad. "She was brought to the healers. They tended her wounds but she didn't wake up. One of the mages said that she was lost in dreams, but not in the Fade. She said it was the dark between the Veil and the Fade. She said they can't heal her spirit, that only she can." Marliss paused, sighing.
"She sits here silently each day. We tell her to eat and she does. We tell her to go to sleep and she does. But she is not here. The nights are the worst. She wakes up screaming until she is hoarse and even with a sleeping draught, she does this. The mages do not understand how that is possible," Marliss said quietly.
"She is – she is broken, Ser Duncan," Marliss ended, going to stand by Leonie. "And I think only you can fix her."
Duncan loosened his grip on Bertran's shoulder and blinked several times before speaking. He needed to get beyond this brain deadening shock and do something before Leonie was truly lost. Why wasn't I here? Why wasn't I here, Maker damn me.
"Bertran, arrange passage on the next ship heading out that has a stop anywhere near Jader. Then get word to Aeric and tell him he is to continue in my stead until further notice."
Turning back to the maid, he ordered, "Marliss, pack her things."
Duncan came and stood behind Leonie, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. He bent and whispered softly, "We're going home, Lion."
She was lost.
Each time she thought she was getting closer to the light, a twist in the corridor sent her in the wrong direction. She sighed, frustrated, rubbing at the ache behind her eyes.
"Papa! Papa!" she cried and her voice danced and bounced off the stone walls of the corridors.
There were times when she could almost hear his voice or another familiar voice that she could not quite place but always too far away for words to be distinguishable.
Driven, she continued on, tripping and slipping on the slick stone. And always the light, tantalizingly out of her reach.
Duncan stood on the deck of the ship, his arms wrapped around Leonie, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head. She didn't notice. Nor did she notice the wind, sharp and brisk. But Duncan talked to her, pointing out a familiar landmark as they sailed toward Jader, or a bird that flew by. He whispered against her wind whipped hair, hopeful that somehow he could reach her, give her the guiding hand she needed to come back.
The nights were indeed worse, as Marliss had claimed. He had alerted the captain that she would have nightmares and when he explained that they were both Grey Wardens, the captain understood and said nothing.
Her screams were blood curdling, filled with a pain he couldn't begin to comprehend. Her hands, clawed and bent, seemed to be reaching for something. He would hold her, rock her, give her a sleeping draught and whisper to her as her screams diminished into whimpers before she quieted, sinking back into the dark.
Duncan had never felt so powerless, so completely helpless. No matter what he said, he could not break through the protection she had built around her wounded mind.
He blamed himself. In the quiet between her nightmares, he lay beside her, stroking her brow and silently castigating himself because he had not been there when she needed him the most.
She deserved more. She deserved a husband that would be there every night for her, wake with her every morning. She deserved someone who was not so caught up in duty and a sense of obligation that he couldn't bring himself to wed her and bring her to Ferelden. He owed the Grey Wardens far more than he could ever repay, although holding Leonie as she screamed in terror made him wonder if that was really true anymore.
He never expected to fall in love. After seeing the pain it caused his mother, both physically and mentally, he was determined not to let anyone wield that much power over him. Yet Leonie held his heart and soul in her hands and he could not imagine it any other way now.
His mother died from fever when she was thirty. He blamed his father's abuse and the poverty and the hard hours of work she put in each day. He was twelve when she died. Love wasn't supposed to be pain and despair and death.
When his father, in a drunken rage, whipped Duncan one time too many, he ran from their little hovel in the small port town of Turnstable like the thief he was, never looking back. He was fourteen. A rough and tumble, undisciplined boy with a chip on his shoulder and a skill that would only land him in trouble. He made his way to Orlais, to Val Royeaux where pockets were deep.
Duncan owed the Grey Wardens everything, including his life, his discipline, his desire to give serve for the greater good, his battle skills, all of it, all of what made him the man he was, the man that Leonie loved.
Most of those things he found in Jader, among his fellow Grey Wardens. Experiencing what a loving family could be like tempered a wild young man, gave him a purpose his life had otherwise lacked. While he could attribute some of it to Genevieve, and even some to Fiona, most of it was learned from the Caron family, specifically Leonie Caron.
He never expected to fall in love. But now that he had, he would give his life to preserve that love. She had shown him what love was supposed to be.
Gathering Leonie into his arms, he sat in the tiny cabin of the ship bound for Jader, rocking her, whispering to her, hoping that she could feel how much he loved her and needed her.
Darkness pressed in on her, hot and oppressive, stifling her. She wandered the corridors, searching for that fickle light that seemed there one moment and gone the next. She stopped to listen but the silence was so profound she didn't even hear her own heart beating.
Something was there. She sensed it and it sent a prickle of fear along her spine, raising the hair on her arms.
She stopped again, cocking her head to one side, listening. There! A shuffling sound up ahead. She turned a corner and saw a shadow flicker on the wall, illuminated by a single candle.
"Papa?" she asked, her mouth suddenly so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
The man turned to look at her, a man whose face was as pale as snow, a man whose gaping neck wound fountained blood. She turned, screaming, slipping and sliding on the blood that flooded the floor beneath her.
His laughter trailed behind her.
Sitting on a blanket, hands folded, Leonie gazed vacantly ahead. Duncan sat next to her, reading aloud from the book he held. For three days he had brought her down to the meadow, beside the creek. It was her favorite spot in the Jader compound. He hoped it would spark some reaction but so far it had not.
Frustrated, he tossed the book aside. "Leonie, you have to come back now. We need you. I need you," Duncan whispered and he pulled her onto his lap so that she was facing him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her cool lips. Not even a blink of an eye in acknowledgement.
"Come back now, Lion. You're safe. I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you again," he said more forcefully.
A single tear slid down her cheek, sparkling like a falling diamond as the sun caught it.
"I love you, Leonie. Come back now," he said, giving her a gentle shake. Another tear slid down her cheek.
Duncan pulled her into his chest, his own tears threatening as he held her to him. She's there. She's coming back. Thank the Maker. Relief washed through him in waves.
He picked up the book and began to read aloud again, keeping her pressed against him. Glancing down, he saw that she had fallen asleep. He closed the book and leaned his head back against the tree, letting out a long sigh as he closed his eyes.
A glow emanated from the walls, lighting her way as she ran down the twisting corridors.
The laughter behind her grew fainter as she ran, the air less dank and stale. But just when she thought she was about to break out into the open, another corridor opened and led her away on another twisting path.
She cried in frustration. She was so very tired. Perhaps if she just slept for a bit, the answer to the puzzle would find its way to her.
"I love you, Leonie. Come back now."
She startled. She knew that voice. It wasn't Papa's. Whose was it? She felt drawn to it, comforted by it and so she propelled herself onward, looking for a way out.
The voice meant home.
Duncan bent down, reaching for Leonie's brush. She sat in the chair as docile as she had been earlier. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of her bath. She was lovely with the light of the lamp casting a golden glow over her skin. He leaned down and kissed her brow, whispering, "I love you, Leonie. Come back now," just as he had earlier. No tears this time, but he felt her lean just ever so slightly into his touch. He hoped.
The domestic intimacy of so simple a task as brushing her hair while she sat in her nightdress flooded him with images of a life they might have had, were things different. Rather than making him melancholic, he felt a surge of love for her, for who she was and what they were together. She had not been born for an ordinary life, nor had he. Still, here with her now, braiding her hair in the quiet evening was a picture he would keep in his mind's eye, saved for those nights when he missed her so intensely that he couldn't sleep.
An opening ahead! The glow from the walls seemed to be leading her in the right direction and she started off with renewed vigor.
She had the impression that some thing, some one, was guiding her now as the illumination from the walls lit a specific path. She found if she stayed on that path, the opening grew larger with each step.
As she drew closer, she heard a sound behind her and paused, glancing back the way she had come. A familiar darkspawn emissary stood watching her, his lipless smile macabre against his destroyed face. She shivered, drawing her arms tightly around her.
"Yes, Warden, your time here is done. But we shall meet again," he said softly, his voice a caressing sigh. "Now, continue to follow the glowing walls, they will take you back."
She was surprised to feel her face wet with tears. She looked at the emissary again and asked, "How do you know me? Why are you here?"
"All answers come in time, Warden. Now you must hurry, before you are lost in the dark forever."
Leonie ran, without a backward glance, without a thought, just the need to be home.
Duncan stirred and reached out for Leonie. He sat up with a jerk and swung out of bed. She was gone.
He scrambled into his clothes, mind and heart racing. Stumbling out of the room, he went in search of her, his mind full of terrifying scenarios. Every minute that he didn't find her, his fear grew.
She was in the library, sitting at a desk, sketching. Her forehead was furrowed in concentration and she didn't look up or acknowledge him.
For a few pulses of his heart, he thought she had truly lost her mind and that thought sent grief flooding through him, threatening to take his own sanity, so sharp that it rendered him speechless.
"He is evolving," she said finally, holding out the sketch.