Harbingers
"Huh, I didn't expect a noble to have those kinds of scars," Sigrun said as she stripped out of her armor. She was pointing at the scars that Montran's whip had left on Leonie.
Leonie shook her head. "I am not a noble, Sigrun. I'm a Grey Warden, nothing more."
Sigrun snorted at that. "Just a Grey Warden eh? The Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, according to Golden Boy," she retorted.
They were down at a small creek, washing up. The men were at camp and she could hear the murmur of conversation drifting in the distance. She splashed the cold, clean water on her, shivering as the wind began to stir the grass.
"So, who used a whip on you?" Sigrun asked conversationally as she sat down on the bank of the creek.
Leonie glanced at Sigrun, saw the crisscross pattern of a woman who had suffered a horrific flogging and her heart went out to the young casteless dwarf. "A fellow Warden. And you?"
Sigrun's eyes widened at that. "A Warden did that? Ancestor's blood, what for?" Her voice was a curious mixture of awe and fear.
"Do not worry, Sigrun. Grey Wardens do not use whips as a rule. This particular Warden was not…" she trailed off, searching for a word that would not make Sigrun sorry she was joining their ranks. "Sane," she finally ended lamely.
"Can I ask another question?" Sigrun asked, slipping into her only change of clothes, a pair of well worn linen trousers with a multitude of colorful patches on them and a limp brown linen shirt, frayed and threadbare. Leonie made a note to send the woman shopping when they returned.
"Ask as many as you like, Sigrun. I do not promise to answer them all, however," Leonie replied with a smile, slipping into a pair of thick woolen trousers. She pulled her heavy linen shirt over her head, still shivering. The fire would feel good as the sun, now just a distant orange blot in the west, continued to sink into the heavens, leaving a gray sky painted with dull lemon tints. Long inky fingers of night were slowly following the sun's path and it would not be long before the stars began to make an appearance.
"Are Ser Gloom and the Old Man related?"
Leonie's laughter was loud and long, taking her by surprise. "I take it you mean Nathaniel and Loghain?"
"Yeah, that's them. I just…" the dwarf began and trailed off, blushing.
"Go on, Sigrun, what is it?" Leonie prodded softly.
"Well I forget names pretty easily so I just find nicknames for people. You aren't mad, are you?"
"Well that rather depends on what nickname you have in mind for me," Leonie replied good-naturedly and Sigrun giggled. It was not possible to dislike the young woman, she was an ocean breeze, sailing in tangy and fresh.
"I heard the others call you Lion. That's good enough for me," Sigrun responded and shot her a wide grin. "Not that you actually look like any pictures I've ever seen of lions."
"It is a puzzle," Leonie agreed, gathering up her armor. "And do you have a nickname?" she asked and the dwarf's eyes took on a distant look.
"Not anymore," Sigrun said somberly. Someday, Leonie resolved as she and Sigrun walked back to camp, she would have to find out why. But now was not the time.
"And in answer to your question about Ser Gloom and the Old Man, they are not related. Loghain is Loghain Mac Tir. Nathaniel is a Howe."
Sigrun let out a low whistle. "The Hero of River Dane is a Grey Warden now? How did that happen?"
"That is a very long tale, Sigrun."
"And one you aren't going to tell me, I bet," Sigrun said with another irrepressible grin.
"Well, perhaps another time when my stomach is not clamoring to be fed, yes?"
"Yeah, I could eat a bronto," Sigrun agreed and they were both laughing as they entered camp.
"Ah, the maidens return," Anders said with a grin, looking up from the fire. "I suppose we can clean up now that the fun's over," he added with a disappointed sigh and grabbed his pack.
Leonie put her freshly scrubbed armor in her tent and grabbed her cloak. She saw Sigrun huddling by the fire.
"The surface is a lot colder than I thought it would be," the dwarf explained with an off handed shrug. "But it smells a whole lot better than Dust Town or the Deep Roads, especially the Deep Roads."
"Here, Sigrun, take my cloak. It may be too long, but it is very warm," Leonie offered and Sigrun touched it, running a hand along the thick fabric.
"You sure you aren't a noble?" she asked, taking the cloak and pulling it close.
"Quite sure. My father was a Grey Warden," Leonie assured.
Loghain stepped out of his tent, his pack slung over a shoulder, his cloak in his hands. The black wool was stark against the silverite armor. "Take mine, Commander," he instructed and extended it to Leonie, who shook her head.
"I shall be cooking, I am quite sure that will keep me warm," she replied and Loghain's brow shot up.
"What? You do not think I know how to cook?" she asked with a smile and now he was the one to shake his head.
"I know you don't know how. Aren't you the one who cooked the black rabbit stew?" he asked with a feigned shudder. Or at least Leonie hoped it was feigned. That had been an awful meal, even she could admit that. And then she saw that he was teasing her. Teasing! And the surprise and delight of such a rare and remarkable occurrence made her heart flutter and dance in her chest.
"I think I still hate you," she replied and she watched as he made his way down to the creek, her lips twitching in a smile that reflected her delight.
"Ah, so that's why he keeps staring at you. You two are doing it."
Leonie felt a blush creeping up from her neck and flooding her face. She blamed it on her proximity to the fire. "No we are not, if I understand your meaning, Sigrun." But her heart fluttered again at the thought.
"Does he really stare at me?" she couldn't help asking and Sigrun giggled.
"He almost walked into a tree, he was staring so hard," the dwarf replied with another giggle and Leonie couldn't help but join in.
"Actually, I'm really surprised you aren't going for Golden Boy or even Ser Gloom. That man looks like a younger version of the Old Man."
"Ah, I think perhaps I am older than you realize," Leonie replied and turned to the fire again.
"No, I'd say you just prefer seasoned men," Sigrun disagreed with a surprising amount of insight. Leonie swung her eyes back to Sigrun and found the young woman staring at her intently.
"I suppose there is truth in that," Leonie agreed quietly.
"So why aren't you two doing it?" Sigrun asked, coming and taking the pot out of Leonie's hands.
"Least I can do, I've been cooking since I was old enough to steal…ah... find food," she explained with a sudden blush of her own and she bent quickly and began to rummage in the food pack, as if to hide her shame and embarrassment.
"It is alright, Sigrun. I know you must have had a very difficult life as a Duster," Leonie reassured quietly. "And your past is your own, yes?"
"Maybe but you being such a lady and all, I don't really want to brag about my past," Sigrun answered, sliding the cook pot onto a rock that had been placed near the fire and slicing dried apples into it.
Leonie chuckled. "Sigrun, I am neither a noble nor a lady," she replied and then realized that was not entirely true. She was technically Arlessa Leonie, but that too was a complicated tale. Her life, she decided, was entirely too complicated.
"You didn't answer my question, Lion," Sigrun said, grinning over her shoulder as she added water to the pot and settled it closer to the fire.
"Ah. That is a complicated tale as well," she answered and Sigrun chuckled.
"It isn't complicated, at least not the way dwarves do it," she replied, shooting another grin at Leonie. "But maybe you surfacers do it differently?" she teased.
Leonie's blush, just recently departed, returned with surprising speed. "I believe the act is the same," she said dryly.
"Well what are you waiting for?" Sigrun prodded. "I mean he is older but he isn't too hard on the eyes."
What was she waiting for? Leonie pondered that as Sigrun stirred the delicious smelling stew. Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, she sighed. She was waiting for a man who was too prideful for his own good to ask her, she realized. And with that came the realization that it would have to be so, he would not accept an invitation from her. Maker, give me the patience to wait. A prayer, a fervent plea to walk the right path, for him to walk that path with her, for whatever time they had.
"Don't worry, just keep smiling at him that way and he'll be tripping over his…himself in no time," Sigrun recommended wisely and then giggled. "Or just get him good and drunk and take him off to a bedroom before he sobers up.
Laughter bubbled up, replacing Leonie's momentary sadness. It was impossible to stay somber around the young dwarf. "I cannot imagine that Loghain drinks all that often or all that much."
"No, he looks like the brooding type, they never drink. They should, but they don't," Sigrun agreed and before they could continue the conversation, the men returned.
Leonie took third watch and Nathaniel's gentle hand shook her shoulder when it was time. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her sword and blanket and made her way to the fire.
The night sky was a ribbon of glittering gems, the air so clear that the stars all seemed to twinkle and flicker, so thick they seemed to flow like a river caught silvered in the sun. The wind had softened to a sigh and the fire was a beautiful bed of glowing orange embers. Even the night creatures seemed to have gone to bed for the night, the silence almost deafening.
Sigrun was a harbinger, Leonie felt, a herald announcing new directions, new discoveries about herself. Sigrun was fast becoming a friend and it occurred to Leonie that the last true female friend she had had was Marliss. Aura and she were friends but only on the very surface. There was no depth there as Aura, knowing Leonie was her husband's commander, held herself back. And while she liked Aura, she had never felt comfortable confiding in her as she had Marliss, and now Sigrun.
She had never had many female friends. Most of her friends had been men, her Warden comrades, and there were many things she had not felt comfortable discussing with them. A sigh escaped, a deep sigh of regret and times long forgotten. Men who had helped shape her and were lost to her now.
"You realize you keep sighing?" Loghain asked quietly and she startled, a yelp escaping from her.
He came to sit beside her, close but not touching. "You are worried that I will guard the camp as poorly as I cook, I presume?" she responded finally, staring into the fire.
"I came to tell you that I understand now. I will not hesitate, should it become necessary," he said solemnly and she turned her gaze to meet his, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"Thank you, Loghain. It eases my mind to know this."
"The Father that the darkspawn mentioned, that is the Architect I assume?"
Leonie shivered and he drew closer, his thigh brushing along her hip. "I think it must be. And the mention of the Mother makes it all the more likely that he wants me to be a breeder for him. I will not," she finished fiercely and her hands tightened into fists.
Loghain reached out and gently grasped a fist, taking it into his hand and absently rubbing the knuckles with his thumb. Slowly her fist uncurled and he clasped her open hand in his. "No, you will not," he agreed firmly.
Silence settled once more. Even the fire was silent, as if the life of the wood had been bled dry, glowing warmly and quietly.
He squeezed her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly before returning it to her. The silence returned, as if neither of them quite knew what to say to the other, to the change in their relationship.
"Sigrun seems a likeable enough recruit, quite skilled in battle," he finally said, as if the silence was too oppressive to bear.
"A wonderful addition to our ranks, I believe," Leonie agreed with a smile.
"You two certainly chattered and giggled most of the evening," he continued and there was amusement in his voice, amusement she was not used to hearing and she wondered if perhaps that too was a sign of things to come.
"That is not an entirely bad thing, surely?" Leonie teased, her mouth turning up at the corners.
"You look very young and carefree when you giggle," he replied and there was that reluctance in his voice again. That pulling away and she was not going to allow him to hide behind that veneer, that ridiculous notion that he was old and she was young. That was a fight she knew she could win.
"I am hardly young and carefree, Loghain. I am nearly thirty and for a woman that is dreadfully old," she answered with another smile.
"Well, thirty. Yes, quite an old woman," he agreed dryly.
And in the ensuing silence, his lips found hers, hard and lush against her own, his hands cupping her face in a rough and tender caress. She gave herself to the feelings the kiss awoke, the hammering of a heart willing to flee from its confines, blood singing with joy in her veins, a pool of heat tightening in her belly and flowing down with honeyed languor. She let her hands wander freely, one curving along his broad shoulders and one tangling in his unbound hair. His tongue washed along her lips, pushing beyond to find the warmth of her own and a moan escaped her, held breathless by her sudden need.
She could feel him tighten and tense and then pull away. "When we return to the Vigil we should talk privately," he whispered, a promise and her heart, already erratic and frantic, trembled and dipped.
Dawn begged to chase away the darkness, tentative pearlescent light heralding the sun's arrival and Loghain moved away again, but not before she felt the wild beating of his own heart against her hand. And this was surely a sign, a portent.
The first birds began to sing into the brightening sky, long and low and sweet. And though she knew that the coming days would be busy and difficult, she could not help but feel that the song of the skylark was also an omen of the joy that was yet to come.
They broke camp and began the long trek back to the Vigil. Leonie wondered if it was possible for them to walk any slower. She kept her eyes studiously away from Loghain's straight back as he took point. Sigrun walked beside her, chipper and cheerful and chattering.
"So, you look pretty happy today. Something happen with the Old –um, Loghain?"
Leonie shook her head and then chuckled. "Not yet. But there is hope, my friend. There is hope."
Free of the watch duty that night, she sank into her bedroll. She slept soundly, deep and dreamless, surprised when morning was announced by the noises of a camp waking up. Loghain was already rolling his tent and she wondered if he was as impatient for their return as she was but with everyone busily breaking camp, she had no chance to ask and decided it was just as well. She was almost afraid to mention it, lest he second guess himself and decide it was the wrong course.
Late in the afternoon, when the sun began to chase the horizon, the towers of the Vigil came into view and Leonie's heart began to pound, almost painfully, in her in chest. Her steps slowed and she took a deep, steadying breath, an unreasoning and ridiculous fear banging into her other emotions. This is what she wanted, wasn't it? Her heart leapt. Yes, it seemed to scream at her with each pulse. And yet she felt an overwhelming desire to run, to slip into the forest and hide. She was afraid and as she examined the fear she saw that it was the fear of loss, of having one more thing stolen from her. He had taken the Joining when he was much older than most and the taint was growing stronger in him, she could sense that. How long would he have before it overwhelmed him, called him? How long before she once again had to mourn the loss of someone she loved?
"Hey, Lion, get a move on," Anders complained, poking her gently in the ribs. She had come to a stop, lost in her thoughts. Loghain stopped and turned, watching her with a frown beginning to form but her panic was almost paralyzing now.
"Commander?" he called. She heard the concern in his voice, the curiosity, saw a flicker in his wintery blue eyes that shifted his face into grim lines.
"Sorry," she mumbled and lowered her eyes, forcing her limbs to move, pushing herself forward and past the panic.
Varel met them at the gates, his expression grave. He spoke to Loghain and Leonie moved forward, coming to stand by them. She caught only two words and she was running, her pack dropped in her haste as her feet carried her beyond them, and she boke into a cold sweat, panic and anger and grief catching her painfully in the stomach like a physical blow.
A warning, she knew, an attempt to hurt her and frighten her and it was working as she heard herself crying out, dropping into the hay where Vixen should be.
Another harbinger, this time of death. Vixen was gone, one more thing taken from her, and her grief was a high keening against the sudden silence of her companions.