Dust
He came to her quietly when he returned to his room. She was burrowed into the warmth of the bed when she heard the unmistakable click of the door between their rooms. Rolling over, she watched him standing in the soft green light from her glowstone, wearing nothing but a bleak and uncertain look on his strong features. He was magnificent in the light, his body a history of his life, broad and muscled, scarred and shaped by the battles that defined him. She held the covers open to him in invitation. His rough and callused hands were gentle as he took her into his arms and settled beside her.
"You have a very lovely daughter," she murmured drowsily.
Loghain snorted. "I have a stubborn and willful daughter," he answered and there was both exasperation and pride in his voice.
"Yes, I cannot imagine where she would have come by such traits," Leonie agreed, nestling into him with a sigh.
Loghain remained silent for so long that Leonie thought he had fallen asleep. "I know this is difficult for you," he began, his voice gruff. He pulled her closer, dropping a kiss on the crown of her hair. "I don't know whether you want me near you or as far away as possible," he finished with a candor that surprised Leonie. He usually made her guess, often incorrectly, on what he was thinking or feeling.
"As close as you are comfortable with, Loghain," she reassured him. His hands stilled and Leonie leaned away slightly so that she could see his face. He was grim and the melancholy still clung to him, a tangible presence in his downturned mouth and distant gaze.
"What is it, Loghain?" she asked, reaching up to smooth away the frown with tender fingers. He opened his mouth to speak and then fell silent again. She could feel his tension as if it were a living creature. She waited as patiently as she could for him to speak again. When he didn't, she spoke.
"Whether you admit it or not, Loghain, I know this is every bit as difficult for you," she whispered. He looked lost somehow, as if he were in a place he no longer knew.
"We aren't going to spend the night talking about this," he grumbled as she leaned up and softly kissed the sharp jut of his chin and then moved along his jaw.
"Maker forbid," Leonie agreed dryly. She trailed a line of kisses down his neck and then laid her head down, listening to the beat of his heart. His arms tightened around her.
"Maric is no doubt laughing at the irony," Loghain began.
Leonie let her fingers drift aimlessly through the dark downy hair on his chest as she waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she gave him a slight jab with a finger and he grunted, squirming away from the finger before dropping another kiss on the top of her head.
"Because you are sleeping with an Orlesian woman in the palace of Ferelden's queen?" she supplied, trying to keep her tone light. His words were not entirely unexpected, and not as painful to her as they might have once been.
"I miss him," he said in response, his voice once more gruff with emotion.
Leonie reached out and slid her fingers along the runes and the light from the glowstone faded, leaving the room dark, save for the glowing embers of the fire, banked low for the night. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips before tucking it against his chest, folded in his. She remained quiet, waiting for him to continue.
"He would laugh because I love an Orlesian woman," he finally corrected with that same roughened voice.
In the silence that followed, Leonie heard only the steady beating of his heart and the soft sigh of the rain. As the silence lengthened, Leonie thought he might have finally dozed off but he shifted slightly, bringing her hand to his lips again. "He told me something I didn't understand at the time," he added, turning her hand over and placing a warm kiss on her palm.
"He was trying to explain why he loved the Orlesian bard who betrayed us during the rebellion, Katriel. It was the way she saw him, he claimed. He would laugh now because I finally understand what he meant," Loghain ended, bringing his mouth down to hers in a long, deep kiss, lips moving across hers like silk brushing silk.
His hands were moving as well, following the contours of her hips, skimming along her rib cage, nimble fingers brushing along the curve of her breasts. Her moan escaped her against her will, a low urgent sound because her need was suddenly there, a hot and honeyed swelling in her. His kiss deepened, tongue and teeth now, and his hands were busy with the laces of her nightdress. She sat up and he whisked the garment over her head and tossed it to the floor in one fluid motion.
"Say it," he commanded, his tone almost angry. But it wasn't anger, it was need that was driving him. A need to feel connected to the here and now, a need she understood all too well. They both needed to be reminded that they were alive, that the dust and memories that surrounded them could not hold them prisoner unless they allowed it.
"I love you, Loghain," she whispered, pulling him into her, her fingers digging into the hard, tense muscles of his back as her legs wrapped around him. He dipped his head down, tongue warm against a nipple and she moved her hands from his back to tangle in his hair, fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp. His growl was deep and rough, his mouth moving along her skin like liquid fire.
"Say it," she commanded fiercely, fingers tugging at his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. His eyes narrowed and he groaned as she tugged on his hair again, her muscles clenching around him as he continued to thrust into her.
"I love you, Leonie," he growled and then his tongue plunged into her mouth, preventing either from speaking as their tempo quickened; their bodies were slick with sweat. The end came quickly for Leonie, a high keening cry from her, his name and her love for him mingling with his own as he followed her, spilling his seed into her with a shudder and then another before he collapsed on her, spent.
In the morning he was gone. In his place was a note in his simple, unadorned script.
I tried to wake you but you were snoring so loudly you never heard me.
I imagine you'll want privacy when you tour the Grey Warden compound. Gills and Tranace will take you there. They'll know where to find me later.
L
Leonie huffed. She did not snore, damn his impudence. But she was smiling as she dressed in her Warden leathers. It was the last smile she would wear for a number of hours.
The guards, both in plain, serviceable armor, were waiting for her outside her room. Gills was young, with a freshly scrubbed face and a compact and wiry build, bright blonde hair cut short and grey eyes wide. Tranace was tall and rawboned, with iron grey eyes and a warrior's braid of dark chestnut. He was definitely the older of the two, and the less talkative.
"Warden Commander," he said and for the next ten minutes, as they made their way through the palace and then out into the damp morning, he said nothing else.
"Are you really the Lion of Orlais?" Gills asked, a bright patch of color on each cheek as he spoke.
Leonie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How had so many of the people of Ferelden learned of her nickname? "I am Warden Commander Leonie, or just Commander," she replied kindly and the young man ducked his head in acknowledgement.
"Are you recruiting?" he asked a minute later. "I'm a good blade," he added hopefully.
"Indeed? Are you not in the service of Queen Anora?" Leonie asked with some interest. In her experience recruiting a monarch's guards was never a good idea. She had done it only once and Celene had not been happy.
"Oh right enough you are, Warden Commander, but there's plenty of us who'd like to be Greys," the young man continued. Tranace gave him a quelling look and the young man blushed again, falling silent.
"Your service to your sovereign does you great credit," she remarked and before he could say more they arrived at a stone and timber building tucked into the far corner of the palace grounds. There was a small training yard with two dilapidated target dummies leaning forlornly against each other off to the left of the building. Leonie felt her hands begin to tremble as she unlocked the door.
"Please wait here," she said quietly and her voice trembled slightly as well.
She entered and stepped into the barracks with a row of bunk beds but the footlockers were gone, no doubt lost at Ostagar. Leonie felt a wave of relief. She didn't think she could go through thirty footlockers, her emotions already twining around the knot in her stomach and squeezing.
Off to one side of the large room was a single bed, no doubt for Aeric, Duncan's second. A long table with benches, placed near a cooking hearth, stood bare, coated in dust. She could almost see the men gathered there, laughing and enjoying meals together. A tremor ran through her. Duncan's men. Gone now, all but forgotten. The room was dusty and cobwebbed, a sad and lonely sight that made Leonie's heart ache. She walked down the row of beds and then carefully opened the door at the far end of the room.
A desk stood against the near wall. Over the desk was the shield Duncan had received when he took command of the Grey of Ferelden, dark blue and emblazoned with a silver griffon. She recalled so clearly how proud he'd been, taking over as commander. He had laughed when he'd received the shield, he'd never used one before and so he had hung it on the wall, a reminder, he said, of all those who had fallen in service to the Grey. She reached out and ran a finger along the griffon's wings as tears gathered.
Sitting down at the desk, she sighed, her sorrow stirring to life. She gripped her hands tightly as she struggled for control of her tears. Duncan would have been appalled at the dust and rust collecting on things here. She opened one of the drawers and her eyes settled on a letter, never sent and still sealed. She recognized Riordan's flowing script and it was addressed to her. She blew the dust off the letter and blamed the motes, hanging suspended in the still air, for her watering eyes. When she had control of her emotions, she broke the seal with shaky fingers and began to read.
My sweet lass,
I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but you know I love you, don't you? I couldn't let you come here and sacrifice yourself. We both know Duncan would have come from the Beyond to kill me if I'd allowed that. So if you're reading this, the Blight has ended and you can begin the rebuilding process. Duncan's right about you, much as I hate agreeing with the old man. You were always meant to assume command of the Grey of Ferelden.
You might have a problem on your hands, lass. You've me to thank if that's the case. We conscripted Loghain. Whatever it takes and it will take a man who knows how to command an army to do this. I know you'll understand.
Remember that episode with the honey and feathers? That's when I knew that Duncan and I had finally met our match. Don't forget to have fun, Lion. I'd hate to think I wasted all those practical jokes on someone who'll never play them on anyone else.
I wish I could have saved him for you, Lion. I wish you'd had your chance to say goodbye.
Do us proud, lass. Do us proud.
Ever your Peacock,
Riordan
She put her head down on the desk and closed her eyes, missing them both so deeply she couldn't breathe for long moments. It seemed like a lifetime ago, her time with them. She was a different person now, shaped and reshaped by her losses and a new life. She wouldn't let go completely of Duncan and Riordan, they had helped define who she became. But she no longer clung to their memories so desperately, no longer felt the searing stab of pain when she thought of them. But here, in this dusty, forgotten room, they were a living presence to her and she sat for a long time, lost in her memories.
When she was sure she had her emotions once more under control, she continued going through the contents of the desk. Duncan's recruitment records and his roster of the dead were in the second drawer and she took them and added them to a small pile of things she would be taking with her. She found Riordan's notes on his trip to Ostagar, but couldn't bring herself to read them so she added them to the pile instead.
When she had finished going through the desk, she carefully removed the shield from its mount on the wall, thinking of Alistair. He would appreciate it more than any other Ferelden Warden and Duncan would like the idea, she knew. She noted sadly that his footlocker was also gone and with another look around, she quietly closed the door to his room and made her way out of the barracks.
Tears danced on her lashes, teased at her throat. But she held tightly to them, held tightly to the items she had collected as well, feeling rough and raw and scraped bare as she followed the guards back to her room. If the guards spoke on the way back to her room, she was unaware of it and she was surprised to find herself standing at her door. She didn't remember anything about the walk back from the compound.
The Archdemon blood and important documents, once stored in the warehouse vault, had been transferred to the Keep months earlier and she was not, by the Maker, going to go rummage through the warehouse today. She didn't think her nerves could stand it, she knew her heart couldn't. Sometime soon she would have to go through all the records and Riordan's notes. Sooner or later she would have to face Ostagar. Those thoughts made her feel physically ill.
Lunch was brought to her as she was cleaning the dust out of her hair and off her hands. She nodded and thanked the maid but the thought of eating made her stomach scream in protest. Instead, she curled up on her bed and closed her eyes, letting her tears out, silently weeping until she fell asleep.
When she woke, she found Loghain sitting quietly in a chair, reading.
