A/N: This chapter is a series of snippets of the week that follows Loghain's return to the Vigil as Leonie makes her way back home and is from various PoVs.
Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it! And now back to baking pies and a last minute trip to the grocery store…again!

Moments of the Between

Summer's zenith. Mortals could not do justice to such a day, Leonie decided, sitting at her easel, trying anyway. Brush strokes brought the stalks of wheat into focus, long golden shafts, sheaves tied and ready for threshing. She set the brush aside and stared at the sky, made cloudless by the heat of the sun and a breeze that carried sweet grass on its breath. Bees announced themselves with low rumbling content as they found delight in the trumpet vines that grew in wild abundance along an old split timbered fence.

The Vigil was days away, as were the Wardens and duty. The farmstead was not large but boasted a small barn and a four room timber and stone house with a newly thatched roof. She smiled, thinking of Loghain and a crew of local men re-thatching the house while she mucked out the barn.

Leonie looked over at the small pond where Loghain sat, trying to catch their dinner. She wondered if he even knew how little she liked fish. As if he was aware of her eyes on him, he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. Caught in the sun his hair, unbound and ruffled by the breeze, gleamed as dark as winter mink. His smile, still so rare a thing to her, softened the sharp angles and planes of his face, relaxed the tension that so often furrowed his brow. He looked rested and happy as he fished.

Standing, she set aside her paints and removed the long smock that covered her plain linen blouse and skirt. A drowsy day, a day made for celebrating life. Leonie smiled in return and made her way to his side. She straddled his lap, her skirt hiking up to her waist. "Will you fish all day, Loghain Mac Tir? Or will you take me to bed?" she asked with an inviting smile.

The fishing pole dropped in the grass and Loghain's hands ran along her legs, up her thighs and under her skirt to rest along her hips. "Bed," he growled, bringing his lips down to touch her throat. His tongue flicked along her skin there and she gasped, head lolling back. Her fingers brushed along his arms and up to tangle in his hair.

With great restraint, she stood and walked arm in arm with Loghain as they made their way into the farmhouse.

With a startled cry, she awoke in an unfamiliar place, her mind numb with longing, her heart racing. A dream, and yet for a wild moment, she could almost feel his lips on her skin, trailing kisses along the curve of her neck.

Loghain's mouth slanted demandingly across hers, his tongue delving deeper into her, sweeping, playing, teasing. He heard her moan, captured it, returned it with one of his own. Threading his fingers through her hair, he cradled her head, scattering kisses everywhere he could find to kiss, her cheeks, her eyelids, her ears and then capturing her mouth again in a long, slow kiss. He could feel the wild beat of her heart, could feel his own shouting in return, matching her erratic beats.

He leaned back, looking into her eyes and then closed his own as she ran curious and seeking fingertips along his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, down to his tapered waist and wrapped with wicked intent around his erection. His breath hissed out against the warm velvet of her skin as he leaned into her touch. She was torturing him with her slow, steady strokes, bringing him to the very edge of reason and back again, her mouth an onslaught of silk on his skin.

He moved then, to capture one hard dusty rose nipple in his mouth as she arched into him. And almost against his will, he was sliding into her. She was swollen and wholly aroused; all slick, wet satin as her walls clenched around him. He growled, a low rumble of want against her nipple as she dug her nails into his still sun warmed flesh and urged him on with words and body. He tried to hold back, tried to bring her own release to her with fingers that had learned the curves and softness of her body, that knew their way of their own volition, to the center of her core. Gently massaging the spot elicited sharp, wordless cries of need. He gave in to her demands and his own body's demands, a crescendo of wanton abandonment as they moved with increasing urgency, her legs wrapped around him, her lips bruising against his.

He awoke with a startled moan, alone in his room, his erection throbbing for her touch. A dream, nothing more, and yet so intense he could almost smell her desire on his fingers.

First Enchanter Irving looked old and worn, his eyes haunted. He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, as he contemplated her request. Leonie was trying not to fidget. She wanted to be on her way. Ablett had assured her that they could make the Vigil in six days and she was more than ready to be home. But the First Enchanter was a pedantic man, one who seemed intent on knowing why Jarren Tabris was needed by the Commander of the Grey and how she even knew of him.

"Anders, our healer, spoke quite highly of his talents."

"Ah, so it's true. Anders is a Grey Warden now," the First Enchanter murmured. His voice, deep and rasping, held a tone of affection when he spoke of Anders.

"Yes, First Enchanter. A wonderful addition to our ranks," Leonie responded and again resisted the urge to fidget. She had sat for nearly an hour listening to the virtues of Phindar Surana and another hour discussing Duncan with him, a journey that had been surprisingly less painful than she could have imagined.

"I suppose if I don't release Jarren, you'll simply conscript him," he said with a hint of humor in his voice.

"I do not wish to have to do such a thing, First Enchanter. However, a Blight so newly ended brings with it much work for Grey Wardens and I am in need of this mage."

"If he is willing to go along with you, I won't stop him," the First Enchanter finally agreed and Leonie's relief was immediate.

The mage in question was very near in age to Leonie. His hair was a tawny mane, flowing halfway down his back and his liquid brown eyes were full of intelligence and a bit of suspicion. Leonie and Jarren waited for the First Enchanter to leave before they spoke.

"What do you want of me?" he asked bluntly, running an agitated hand across his forehead.

"Are you not the most brilliant alchemist in Thedas? Or did Anders make that up?" she replied with a smile.

"Anders doesn't compliment anyone else's skills unless he wants something," Jarren Tabris announced, tilting his head and studying Leonie intently.

"Perhaps he decided unlocking a mystery was more important than using someone, yes?" she replied and then tried not to flash the triumph smile as his attention, first caught, was now held firmly.

"Unlocking a mystery?" he echoed. "What sort of mystery?"

"I cannot say more, unfortunately. This is a Grey Warden matter. Should you wish to solve this mystery, you must travel back to Vigil's Keep with me. I will not force you to become a Grey Warden, but you will not be able to discuss this with anyone outside of the Wardens. Ever," she emphasized firmly.

"A hint about the mystery would be nice," Jarren replied with a hint of impatience.

"It involves the properties of blood," she said and watched his reaction. He smiled and nodded. She found herself smiling in return.

"How soon can you leave?" Leonie asked, mentally bracing for the inevitability of a long wait.

"Ten minutes."

True to his word, Jarren Tabris, carrying a pack full of notebooks over one shoulder and a pack of clothing over the other, was ready to depart the tower ten minutes later. It was decided he would ride with Leonie and the first hour of their trip was spent explaining the situation.

"I'll need some of your blood, some of this Svanar's you mentioned, darkspawn blood, another Grey Warden's blood and I'll use mine as well," Jarren instructed and then fell silent, deep in thought.

Leonie was content with the silence as she became lost in her own thoughts. She needed to apologize to Loghain. He had been right when he accused her of wanting him to change into someone he wasn't. She hadn't realized it until her mother pointed it out. As the miles fell behind her group, Leonie continued to contemplate how complicated her relationship with Loghain was and how little she had acknowledged that it was difficult for Loghain as well.

When they stopped at midday, Travis came over to her and pulled out a small, sharp knife. "We need to take those stitches out," he said quietly. Leonie looked down at the gap in her riding breeches, held closed by leather lacing now and quickly untied the lace.

"It seems very soon for the stitches to come out," she replied nervously and he clucked.

"Now's an odd time to stop trusting me," he replied with a chuckle.

To her surprise the wound on her thigh was already closed and healing well with no sign of infection. Her experience with stitches had been they stayed in place for days, until the itching of mending skin drove her half mad. But these stitches, small and neatly formed, were ready to come out and did so with little pain. "I do not know what to say, Travis. This looks almost completely healed."

Jarren poked his head over Travis's shoulder and nodded his approval. "Couldn't have healed it better myself," he said and then looked at Travis.

"Chasind healer," he commented and then went back to his meal.

"Are you indeed a Chasind healer?" Leonie asked and when Travis started to rise, she reached out and held his wrist lightly to stay him.

"Sooner or later you will tell me, Travis. I would prefer it be sooner."

"Later it is," Travis replied calmly, with a glance at Ablett and Winslow. "Ask me when we get to Vigil's Keep," he added softly.

"Casteless?" Sigrun asked sympathetically, pointing to Darius's tattoos. She had found the new Wardens in the dining hall, eating a large breakfast, even by Warden standards.

"What?" the elf asked uncomprehendingly. The look he gave Sigrun was colder than the frost riming the windows. She grinned and tried again.

"Are. You. Casteless?" she asked again very slowly, enunciating each word clearly. She heard the young female elf choke on her breakfast.

"I'm clanless, if that's what you're asking," he responded tersely and fell silent.

Sigrun sighed. "I meant the tattoos," she replied, trying to put some perkiness back in her voice. She pointed to her own tattoos. "This one is a brand to announce to the world that I'm casteless. These are the brands of the Legion of the Dead," she explained earnestly. "What do yours mean?"

"Our ways are not your ways, Durgan'len," Darius Mahariel intoned grimly and went back to eating.

Sigrun bit back a chuckle. "I can be gloomy too," she began and then lowered her voice, her face taking on a serious cast. "Woe, alas and alack, I travel alone in the dark. Just me. Woe," she said despondently and then stood with a cheeky grin. "I choose not to be," she added as she moved away from the handsome, tattooed elf. She heard Karlin laughing as she left.

He found her in the library. "Vallaslin, it's called Vallaslin," Darius said quietly. "Blood writing," he added. "I'm Dalish."

Sigrun set aside her book. "Blood writing? Ouch, that sounds painful."

"And branding doesn't?" he queried, curiously. Sigrun stared at him. Was he serious? She thought she detected the tiniest flicker of humor. She went with it.

"Ha! Good point. Glad there's a sense of humor in there," she replied.

The elf stared at the books that lined the walls. Sigrun watched with interest as he went to a shelf and ran his fingers gently along the spine of a book. "The library is for all of us to enjoy. Help yourself!" she chirped. He reached for one and she immediately spoke again.

"That particular one probably isn't one you'd be interested in," she added, blushing. He had chosen a rather steamy romance, "The Bard and the Bandit" and even Sigrun had been embarrassed by some of the passages.

"There's a book or too written about the Dalish," she offered, standing and walking over to another bookshelf. "Bet they're just as inaccurate as the ones about the dwarves but it's kind of fun to see how humans view other races," she finished and then grinned up at him. He was not all that much taller than she was and her grin widened, nearly splitting her face. At least she wouldn't get a stiff neck looking up, up, up at him all the time.

Alistair wandered down to the dining hall, still adjusting his armor. He had slept very little and his mood was not light. He carried the weight of Loghain's words heavily on his shoulders. It galled him to admit how true Loghain's words had been and that truth gave them power.

"Hey, I recognize you!" the young elf from the Alienage cried as he sat down to eat his breakfast.

Alistair looked up from his plate of oatcakes and honey, studying her. She looked only vaguely familiar and he couldn't decide if he'd actually seen her before or if she just had that kind of face that could belong to almost anyone.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before," Alistair mumbled, taking a long drink of cider.

"You and that elf mage, the Hero of Ferelden, came to the Alienage and stopped the slavers. Soris and Shianni are cousins," she explained and then gave a bitter snort. "Most of us are cousins in some way," she added with a grin that was as feral as it was brief.

Alistair acknowledged that with a short nod before returning to his meal. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss Phindar or their exploits together, especially those leading up to the Landsmeet. His mind shuddered away from it, from Loghain's truth.

"That bastard," Karlin hissed as Loghain entered the dining hall.

Alistair glanced at Loghain who quietly gathered a cup of tea and a plate of bread and cheese before making his way back out of the room. Surprised, Alistair heard himself speaking.

"I don't know if anyone mentioned it to you, but a Warden's past dies when he takes the Joining. Whatever happened before then no longer matters. Save yourself some grief and accept it," he said and started to shove away from the table.

"Well isn't that convenient?" the young woman sneered.

"And necessary. You can't fight next to your brothers and sisters if you are busy hating them," Alistair snapped. He certainly had figured that out the hard way.

"Yeah, well your friends and family weren't sold into slavery by that pompous arse," she hissed.

Maker, had he sounded that bitter and angry? He supposed he must have. He had certainly been that bitter and angry, blaming everyone and everything for decisions he hadn't had the courage to make.

"You think so, do you? I was at Ostagar. I lost far more than you can imagine," he finally replied and there was less heat than sorrow in his words.

He watched as the young woman's face paled but to his relief she offered no pity or false condolences. She tucked into her food, her expression less hostile. He pushed away from the table and started to leave but turned and said quietly, "We're all brothers and sisters, Karlin. This is now your family. You'll be much happier if you get used to the idea."

Maker knew he was still getting used to the idea.

The Roster of the Dead lay open on the desk behind him as Loghain watched the small procession march through the Vigil's gates. Alistair and Sigrun, bundled against the harsh wind in their warm grey cloaks, led the procession and he saw Alistair throw his head back, laughing at something Sigrun said. She was struggling to keep up with the young warrior's long strides and Loghain watched with a snort of amusement as Alistair tried to shorten their length, mentally revising how long it would take their round trip.

With luck, they would return within the week. He'd wanted to send the two of them on horseback but the eight soldiers with them didn't know how to ride and he wasn't sure Sigrun could sit a horse. Three days there, three days back, weather and circumstances permitting. Maybe by then Leonie would have returned. He hoped.

Loghain rubbed weary hands over his face before turning and sitting down once more. He added Irmas Durahn's name to the list and then looked at some of the other entries. Leonie had written a few words about each Warden, a way to remember each sacrifice. He thought there might be tear stains on the most recent entries. Her brothers, her Orlesian Wardens who had died on foreign soil. The losses had been far more difficult for Leonie than he had given her credit for. Loghain wrote a brief description of Irmas beside his name and closed the book.

There was training to arrange and the two newest recruits needed to learn how to ride. They needed more gear. There was a list of things Loghain wanted to accomplish before Leonie's return. He went in search of Varel to explain what he wanted. The two men discussed the stores and supplies set aside for their use through the winter and how long it would last. They had enough for their use but Loghain was not confident about the supplies for the arling. He rode out later that day to visit with Eddlebrek.

Their third night on the road was spent in an old abandoned cottage, one wall gone, but it kept the whipping wind from freezing the blood in her veins and Leonie leaned toward the fire with sincere appreciation for its warmth.

The moon was rich cream, melting down in long streams that dappled the countryside. It had been too quiet, their hard ride across the winterscape unmolested by bandits or darkspawn. Nervous anticipation quickened her thoughts, made her nerves snappy and oversensitive. When Travis laid a calming hand on her shoulder, she jerked.

"They do not seem to be following us. Does that not make you nervous?" she asked, looking into his steady gaze.

"No. What lies before us is another matter," he said seriously, squatting down beside her and pulling out a thin string of meat.

She sniffed. At least it wasn't fish. Maker, she was sick of the smell and taste of fish. And oatcakes. If she never saw either again, she would rejoice in the streets of Amaranthine. He handed her a piece of the dried meat and she accepted it with a smile of relieved thanks.

"Do you suppose they yet know that the assassins failed?"

"Hard to say. Not even sure why they want to kill you," he admitted.

Leonie shrugged. "Why does anyone ever want to kill another? Some see me as an Orlesian threat to the crown. They believe I have conscripted the most powerful men in Ferelden and am even now amassing an army."

Travis clucked, patting her arm lightly. "And the others?" he queried softly.

"Ah, well, that is a complicated matter and one that is Grey Warden in origin."

"So I'll need to become a Grey Warden to know that it has to do with your blood," he began and Leonie felt a knot of fear and surprise push a fist into her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning accusing eyes on him. But he returned her look with his usual candid openness that seemed to hide more than it revealed, for all its openness.

"Oh don't look so frightened, Leonie. I'm not here to harm you or steal the secrets, just an observation after meeting the mage," he reassured with another pat on her arm. "And if it wasn't your blood, they wouldn't want you, would they?" he continued reasonably. She raised a brow, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

"I told you before, not all Warden secrets are," he added. "You give yourselves away more often than you'd guess."

Leonie found it very difficult to get comfortable enough to sleep that night, her mind twisting and her stomach churning. Travis knew more than he should. Was it really just observation? Was it something more? Had someone told him something? And yet she couldn't bring herself to distrust him. That bothered her almost as much as his clear and concise observations about her and the Order.

On the fourth day of Alistair and Sigrun's departure, Loghain tossed the training leads to Nathaniel. "You see if you can get through to her," he growled and walked quickly to the Keep.

"He sure gets mad easy," Karlin remarked snidely, sitting astride the small chestnut mare.

Nathaniel turned to look at her. "Not without good reason, usually," he returned quietly.

Darius had learned very quickly, having ridden hallas in the past. But Karlin's own obstinacy was preventing her from learning at all. Nathaniel hadn't had to watch long before realizing that. She was being deliberately provocative and then snide when Loghain lost his temper. The surprise was that Loghain was allowing her to get under his skin.

"Weren't you a volunteer?" Nathaniel finally asked as he led her horse back to the training ring.

"Sure, why?" she asked, puzzled.

"You could be a little less quarrelsome then. Nobody forced you to be here so why the hostility?"

"Ah, offended your noble sensibilities, did I?" she poked and he stopped, his face and voice solemn when he spoke again.

"I'm not a noble. Neither is Loghain. And before you start with that useless prattle about being mistreated, stow it. It doesn't belong in the Wardens. If you can't let go of the bitterness, you'll poison us all."

Karlin's eyebrow shot up and her lips tightened. "My bitterness has saved my arse on more than one occasion," she replied with cold dignity.

"Ha. I could have said the same before I joined the Grey Wardens. They gave me a chance to let it go, to start over. You'd be a smart to do the same."

An hour later, she was trotting around the training ring. An hour later, she was learning how to groom the horse. Nathaniel left her in the stables to report her progress to a surprised Loghain.

He was in the training room watching Tamra and Karlin fighting on the seventh day. Tamra had been a remarkably good influence on the young elf. She was slowing her attacks, planning her next move. Loghain watched as she spun and ducked from Tamra's assault. She had the same strange mix of grace and awkwardness that Leonie had when she fought, without the skill and long practice to make it effective. With time she might be every bit as formiddable as the Commander.

"Riders!" Anders exclaimed, coming into the room, his face lit from within, his smile nearly splitting his face. "Four riders approaching! Lion's home!"

All movement and noise ceased for a moment and then pandemonium ensued as the older Wardens dropped what they were doing and went to find cloaks and gloves. The day was dark and heavy with the threat of fresh snow and the wind was vicious as it swept in from the east, bringing the scent of icy saltwater on its breath. Darius and Karlin shrugged at each other but made their way out to stand with the other Wardens.

Loghain made his way out to the courtyard to join the Wardens. He had thought Sigrun and Alistair would be back by now. If they didn't return within the next day or two he decided he would ride out in search of them. Not that he knew how to make his way through the tunnels Alistair had described but he wasn't willing to sit idly by if there was trouble at the Peak.

He was surprised to see Anders standing so close to Aura that the woman was in his shadow, but noted that Anders wasn't touching her and he wondered if the mage's cheeks were pink from the wind or something else. He smirked. No wonder the mage had been oddly quiet all week, and so anxious for Leonie's return. Loghain had been irritated with Ander's constant questioning about when she could reasonably be expected back at the Keep, an odd jealousy tickling at Loghain's subconscious but now he realized Anders needed her advice and his smirk turned into a grin. Never had he thought to see Anders in need of advice on matters of love and the fairer sex.

And then the riders made their way through the gates and into the courtyard and Loghain had no more time to think. He came to Leonie's horse and held his hand out to help her dismount. She took it with a tired, heartfelt smile. She was home and everything else could wait.

A/N: Alistair and Sigrun's visit with Avernus and Leonie and Loghain's reunion will be in the next chapter, lest you think I was going to ignore both events.