A/N: My thanks to all who are sticking with this story. I promise the next chapter will be a little lighter than the previous ones.
Also I was told to put a disclaimer in here somewhere…so…Bioware owns all, I am but a dreamer come into their world.
The Lion Roars
Riordan and Duncan stood in the courtyard watching Leonie. Identical frowns marred their features. She was in the garden. Again. Every day since she had shown him the sketch of the talking emissary, she had avoided talking about anything serious. For three days she had kept very busy, chatted about inane matters and refused to look anyone in the eyes.
"You have to do something," Ceres said, coming to stand beside them.
"You're the healer," Riordan replied gruffly.
"Her physical wounds are healed, Riordan. You know what I'm speaking of. Look at her and tell me that she is whole," Ceres chided.
"She doesn't talk about it. She won't talk about it. Maker knows I've tried to get her to open up," Duncan growled, spinning away from the two men in frustration.
"Well, try harder, Duncan. Just keep poking her with a stick until she grabs it and beats you over the head with it. That's as likely to work as beating around the bushes with that same stick," Ceres returned with equal frustration.
"He's right, friend. She can't resume her duties in this condition."
The point was not lost on Duncan. He knew as well as Riordan that she wouldn't survive her work or the court intrigue that waited for her back in Val Royeaux. But he didn't relish the thought of 'poking her with a stick.' Not one little bit. Her emotions were volatile in the best of times. And these were not even close to the best of times.
He wasn't sure what to think about her revelation that the talking emissary was evolving. Was it just another darkspawn nightmare or was he communicating with her? Was it a trauma induced hallucination? All he could do was hope that Weisshaupt followed through with his recommendations.
"I know she can't. I hoped she would start talking about Montran on her own," Duncan finally confessed.
She was still lost. While no longer wandering in the dark, she spent her days keeping herself so busy she didn't have time to think, or talk, about her ordeal. He understood what she was trying to do. If she didn't talk about it, she could pretend it hadn't happened. But pretending would never make it so.
"Is she still sleeping with the lamp lit?" Ceres asked.
"Yes, and her sleep is restless."
"And the other thing? Is she still hesitant to…" Ceres asked and trailed off, embarrassed to ask his friend such a personal question, embarrassed as much for Leonie's sake as his.
"Hesitant? Terrified would be a more apt description," Duncan sighed, folding his arms across his chest and once again watching Leonie as she gardened. She hadn't touched him, seemed to barely suffer his touch and at night she curled up so tightly on her side of the bed that he felt obliged to keep his distance. He couldn't blame her, didn't blame her, but it was one more indication that she needed to talk.
Gardening was the most obvious sign that she was not herself. She had always avoided gardening. Even as a child when Nila forced her to pick weeds as a punishment, Leonie would find a way to avoid it, talking her friends into doing it for her as she went off to play. Yet every day she went out and weeded, or trimmed, or picked flowers, or pushed the dirt around in a mindless diversion. The garden was slowly beginning to wither under her ministrations.
"I've made her a glowstone. She just has to add a drop of this oil and it should provide plenty of light. Much easier than keeping a lamp lit, especially on her way back to Val Royeaux," Ceres explained, handing Duncan a small runed stone and a vial of oil.
Duncan shook his head. He didn't want her to go back to Val Royeaux because he couldn't be there to protect her. Not that he had protected her to begin with. He rubbed his forehead, finding he was angry again.
"Grab your stick and go beat her," Riordan said with a good natured laugh, slapping his friend on the back.
Duncan raised a brow at that turn of phrase. Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck, he made his way to Leonie. It wasn't that he was afraid of Leonie, but rather of what he might have to say to provoke her. And what she would say in return. The relationship between them was precious and fragile, a rare gift he had believed lost to him. Even if he had trouble expressing those things to her, he felt them. She had given him more happiness in the past two years than he had known all of the years prior. Now he had to risk everything in order to bring her back.
Duncan knew himself, knew he could be tough and implacable and brutally honest. But he found it very difficult to be deliberately cruel. He had suffered his father's cruelty far too many years to want to inflict that on someone else.
"Good morning, Lion. How did you sleep last night?"
Duncan hated the nervousness that even a child could hear in his voice. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders again.
Leonie looked up, shading her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I was not sure you were ever going to wake up," she said with a snicker. "Must be your age," she added with a smirk. "I do not think I realized before how old you are."
If anyone had been poking anyone with a stick lately, it was Leonie poking all of them. He shouldn't be surprised or even hurt, but at times her tongue and tone were wicked and her barbs stung. And it was so uncharacteristic of her that he was always a bit stunned to hear those gibes fall from her lips.
He frowned at her, one eyebrow raised. "You think if you insult me enough I'll just go away, do you?" he asked bluntly. He folded his arms and shifted slightly. Like I'm preparing for battle, for Maker's sake, he thought and took a deep breath, relaxing his stance.
He watched as she stood up and dusted her hands off, avoiding his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
"You sit here every day tending a perfectly groomed garden or talk for hours about the weather and I'm being ridiculous?" he asked dryly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked with a hint of anger, hands on hips. Good, emotion at last.
"It means that you can pretend to enjoy gardening all you want, but it doesn't change what happened, Leonie. No matter how badly you want it to."
"Don't, please Duncan," she pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. She turned from him, gripping her hands tightly together. "Just please, please go away."
Duncan wanted to gather her up in his arms and soothe her. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and go on with life but she was stuck in a dark room still, for all that she stood before him in the warm sun.
"You've become cruel, Leonie. You lash out at people. If they offer to talk, to help you, you shove them away with some spiteful jab. You're hurting all the people who care about you because you don't want to deal with Montran."
He saw her flinch at his words. He hated this. He hated being the one hurting her. He clenched his fists and continued on, grimly determined.
"You need to get back to Val Royeaux. You have work to do there, important work. But you aren't ready to travel because you are locked away in your own misery. You forget how many others are in pain as well. "
"Stop it!" she suddenly yelled her voice hot and furious, her hands fisted in her skirt. "Just stop it!" Ah, there. A crack in her veneer.
He was relentless, even knowing it might cost him the only thing in his life he had ever really wanted.
"You have a duty, Leonie, a duty that can't be forsworn, you know that. Do you believe that if you ignore it long enough that duty will disappear?"
"Duty? Duty?" she cried harshly, as if she couldn't believe he had mentioned the word to her. She turned to him, her face pale, eyes large and luminous with her tears.
He resisted the urge to step away from her or towards her. He wasn't sure in the fleeting moment which he wanted to do. He had never seen her so out of control. The fear coiled in his stomach, fists clenched tighter. No longer cracked, her veneer was crumbling, leaving a vulnerable, hurt woman unmasked.
"Do not dare speak to me of duty! I watch you ride away after each visit, knowing I may not see you again but letting you go because we each have a duty that is greater than ourselves!" she stormed.
"I watch you ride off, leaving me alone! Do you think that Montran would have dared touch me if you had been there?" she snarled, coming to stand in front of him, eyes like those of a wounded animal.
"None of you were there! Not one of my brothers! Where was their duty to protect their own?" she berated, her voice now iced rage.
"I needed you, Duncan! I needed you and you were not there!" she accused, her voice low and harsh as she brought her fists up, pummeling his chest with each word.
It was Duncan's turn to flinch as her words struck home, twisting a knife in his own wound of guilt. Her fists didn't hurt but her words were painful to hear, tearing right through his defenses and cutting into his heart. To his horror, he felt tears prickling at his eyes, eroding his resolve. He clenched his jaws, focusing on Leonie and her pain, pushing away his own. It would do neither of them any good if his veneer crumbled as well.
"I'm sorry Lion," he said quietly. Maker's breath, she would never know how sorry he was.
"No matter how much I want to protect you, I can't always be there and for that I am sorry. But being sorry is not going to help you heal," he continued in a voice that was stronger than he felt.
"You have no idea what I went through. It is well for you and the others to sit back so sanctimoniously and decide what is best for me. But you weren't there and you have no idea what happened!"
Her face was flushed red now and he could see she was trembling with rage.
"You're right, Leonie. We weren't there. So tell us what happened. Tell me what happened. Talk to someone about it."
She came at him again, fists clenched, but she didn't touch him. Her voice was rough and low.
"You wish to know what happened, Duncan? I will tell you. I killed a man. I bit him to death and every time I close my eyes I see it, taste his blood in my mouth, choking me. I hear his laughter and his screams in the middle of the night. I see him die, over and over again, and some part of me is glad I killed him. That same part of me wishes he had suffered more. What kind of animal have I become?"
With that, she turned on her heel and ran. He watched her, even knowing that he would have to follow her and undoubtedly poke some more. He rubbed his forehead, wishing again that there was some other way to reach her. He felt raw, stripped bare and flayed by her words. He took a moment to collect himself, rubbing his forehead again, as if to erase the words now imprinted in his brain.
Duncan knew where she would run to and he made his way to the meadow by the creek, wondering what he would say when he found her and whether she would ever forgive him. Or if he would ever forgive himself for not being there when she needed him.
She was sitting in a heap of misery when he found her, sobs racking her body. The Lion had finally broken and now she could truly begin to heal. He would not have to poke her again. The weight of his relief dropped him down to his knees beside her, but he was reluctant to touch her, afraid she would reject him, and rightfully so. He could only watch helplessly as her sobs shook her.
She groped blindly for him and he caught her up in his arms, pulling her into his lap as he fell back on his heels, so grateful for her touch that his eyes smarted with tears.
"I'm so angry," she cried between hiccups. "I just want to break things and I don't know what to do with it."
Duncan stroked her back, silently waiting for her to continue as her sobs gradually began to subside.
"What do I do with all this anger?" she whispered against his chest.
"Talk about it, Leo. Talk until you can't stand to hear yourself talk about it. And then talk some more," he whispered against her hair.
She was silent, leaning into him and hiccupping through her tears, her breath coming in long shuddering sighs.
"Spar with me. Spar with Riordan if you don't want to spar with me. The physical work of sparring will do you good and the garden can't take much more of your tending," Duncan added with a hint of a relieved smile.
She looked up and gave him a watery grin. "Don't let Mama know. Her poor roses may never recover."
They sat there quietly for long moments. Duncan felt almost numb now, but there was a niggling worry that she would not be able to forgive him.
Leonie looked up at him, her expression contrite. Taking his face in her hands, she leaned in and kissed him lightly. Because she knew him so well she knew his fears, he realized, grateful that he would not have to voice them.
"I am so very sorry, Duncan. Those things I said about you and to you? I did not mean them."
"You have every right to be angry with me, Leo."
"No I don't and don't make me angry all over again by arguing," she said in a weak attempt at humor before continuing, "I don't have a right to be angry with anyone except Montran and perhaps myself for being foolish enough to drink too much wine."
Her tears started again, quietly rolling down her cheeks and dripping soundlessly from her chin to become lost in the fabric of his shirt. "I once told you that whatever hurts you suffered in your past, you would not suffer at my hands. Yet you have," she said softly. "And for that I ask your forgiveness."
Duncan bowed his head, blinking rapidly and when he spoke his voice was husky with emotion. "Forgive me then, Lion. Forgive me for not being there. Forgive me for always being the one to leave."
She reached up again and took his face tenderly into her hands and kissed him. "My love, there is nothing to forgive. You are the reason I found my way back. I heard you calling to me in the dark."
And then, sitting in the lush grass of the meadow, with the creek burbling in the background, she told him what had happened with Montran, her voice unsteady and sometimes inaudible, but gaining strength as she continued on. Duncan listened attentively although there were many times he wanted to rage at what Montran had done. But she was safe and in his arms and his rage would not undo what had happened. So he held her and gave her his strength and thanked the Maker that she was finally healing.