By Gods Forsaken

by inwardtransience

One day, the shadows will part, and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see. (How do you do a summary for something this big? Total retelling, Mahariel!Warden, mage!Hawke, Dreamer!Trevelyan!Inquisitor, worldbuilding, too many OCs, serious plot edits, primarily F/F.)

35. Orzammar — V

9:30 Molloris 25

Aeducan Taig, Frostback Deep Roads

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When an excuse to go out into the Deep Roads came up, Lýna immediately leapt to take it.

One of the names on the list of potential allies Bélen had given her was Anvér Dés. Sidona immediately recognised this one — he was one of the more influential figures in Orzammar. The Dés were a very old noble clan, dating back to before the First Blight, powerful enough for long enough to have been Kings of Orzammar multiple times over the city's history. Sidona said the Dés were very important to the functioning of the city, the proper supplies getting where they needed to go, acting as an intermediary between miners and craftsmen, managing trade with the surface, that sort of thing. And on top of all that, they were important in the army as well — as they were involved in getting the smiths the necessary supplies they needed to make armor and weapons, they were also involved in making sure the army got the armor and weapons they needed, it was a whole complicated tangled mess.

Lýna didn't understand the explanation very well, this sort of thing still went well over her head — nowhere she'd lived before truly had anything Sidona would call an "economy", she could hardly follow the conversation at all. But Anvér Dés was a very powerful man, she understood that much.

The Dés leaned toward Harrogáng, but weren't committed to either. In fact, Sidona claimed they were probably the single most influential family who hadn't yet taken a side — so it made perfect sense that they were on Bélen's list.

Unfortunately, treating with them ended up being somewhat complicated. Getting a meeting with them took longer than a lot of the other noble families. The Dés were perhaps the Legion's greatest single source of supporter, but they didn't have many dealings with the Wardens, so Sidona didn't have any preexisting connections she could use to open up talks. Also, as important as they were, Anvér's representatives were very busy, so the Wardens had to wait their turn. But, in time, Lýna, Edolyn, Jowan, Sidona, Reynaldo, and Irina found themselves in a meeting with Düngjir Dés.

Because it turned out Anvér wasn't even in Orzammar at the moment — he'd left on an expedition to a place called Tagj-Aidúkan, and hadn't yet returned. In the meantime, he'd left his daughter Düngjir in charge of the family's affairs. Düngjir was his heir, would be the head of the family once Anvér was gone, and it seemed the two of them had already been splitting the duties of the head of the family for years now, so it wasn't actually too much of a surprise they would meet with Düngjir. However, while Düngjir seemed enthusiastic about joining the coming battle — she openly said that she hadn't thought the League had any chance of reclaiming Kal-Bónammar, but now that they had many more allies who'd pledged warriors to help she was taking it much more seriously — she didn't think she could speak for all the Dés without getting her father's opinion first. Especially since her father would almost certainly be the one to lead their warriors into any battle. He was already late getting back, though not so late there was reason to worry, and Düngjir couldn't say how long it would be.

So Lýna volunteered to go out into the Deep Roads to find him, help him deal with whatever had caused the delay if help was still needed, and escort him back to the city. Düngjir seemed amused by the offer (though she wouldn't say why), and wrote a letter for Lýna to give to Anvér when she found him. And they began their preparations for the journey the moment Lýna stepped inside the doors at Last Watch.

It turned out, the Deep Roads were quite hostile so travellers, so their preparations did take a whole day. Save for a few small outposts dotted here and there in the area around Orzammar, the underground world was completely uninhabited — not counting darkspawn, of course. While Lýna would have no trouble at all surviving in uninhabited wilderness aboveground — though the number of people she had with her would make doing so indefinitely rather more difficult — the Deep Roads were an entirely different world. There were no plants at all, for the most part — there were mushrooms, but some of them were deadly poison, and she'd never seen most of them before, so she didn't know which were edible. (Which was a position she hadn't been in for a long time, but of course her training wouldn't have included edible plants in the Deep Roads.) There was wildlife, but the environment and the animals that lived in it were entirely foreign to her, so she was skeptical of her ability to down enough game even to feed herself, much less the whole group. There wasn't even water — there were underground rivers and lakes, but many were tainted either with the Blight or lyrium (or both), which, while not as much of a problem for Wardens, drinking too much of it still wasn't wise.

In short, they would need to bring everything they might need for the length of the expedition with them. They didn't know how long they would be in the Deep Roads, precisely, and they were moving in no small numbers, so they ended up bringing quite a lot of supplies — more than they could carry and still be ready to fight at a moment's notice if they were ambushed by darkspawn, so they'd taken one of the horses, a cart dragged along behind it. Lýna had been very reluctant to agree to that plan — she had no idea what the terrain would be like, it might not be easy to get a horse and cart where they were going — but Alim told her not to worry about it. If it came down to it, they had enough mages on hand they could simply levitate all of it, horse and cart together, right over any obstruction, so it wouldn't be a problem. She wasn't sure she agreed, but fine.

Equipping their people took rather less time, as they'd already been doing that during their stay in Orzammar anyway. On top of Lýna's people — Alim, Edolyn, Jowan, Lacie, Lèlja, Justien, Sedwulf, Merrick, Dairren, Aiden, Cennith, Gailen, Natí, and Morrigan, leaving behind only Perry and Wynvir, making fifteen all together (including Lýna) — a few more experienced Wardens had been sent with: Gonçalve, one of Sidona's lieutenants, Liloia, and Léonard; and then Irina, one of Iaşneru's lieutenants (the elven mage from Tevinter), and Liviă. All had been into the Deep Roads before, and most of them even to Tagj-Aidúkan specifically, so they would be acting as guides and also to help against any darkspawn they might come across. It hadn't escaped Lýna's notice that she was going into their territory with only two Joined Wardens — and Lýna and Alim hadn't even Joined so long ago, so their ability to detect darkspawn was still developing — so she accepted the help without hesitation.

As inexperienced as many of Lýna's people still were, it did take them some time to get going — though, to be fair, any group as large as twenty people would be slow to pick up and move if they weren't accustomed to needing to do so on short notice, Lýna was trying not to be too impatient. The day they left, they didn't even make it to the Dead Gate until nearly noon, despite having an early start.

There were once several roads in and out of Orzammar, but now there were only two: the one they'd come in from the surface, and one leading further into the mountains, sealed by the Dead Gate. When she first heard the name, Lýna assumed it was called that because everyone past it was dead, but it was actually named for the Legion. There was a hold carved into the wall surrounding the Gate that served as the home of the Legion, sort of like the Last Watch. Also like the Last Watch, there were rarely very many of the Legionnaires there — it was a place weapons and supplies were sent, to be handed around the Legion as needed, and where new members stayed for a time training before moving on, but they never lingered in large numbers for very long.

As most of their hold was within the wall, there was little to see from the outside save the Dead Gate itself. It was tall and wide, nearly as large as the enormous gate up to the surface, stone and metal in gray and rusty red (Orzammar's colors), the rim all the way around carved into a twisting braid, inside the pattern now and again shapes that were mostly meaningless to Lýna, though she did notice what she suspected were words here and there. (The letters were almost identical to the Alamarri's, but the language was different, spelling out nonsense.) Lýna assumed the decoration around it would have been different once, long ago, but now it was littered with the symbol of the Legion of the Dead — on banners hanging from the wall, an enormous design on the tile before the Gate, a skull wearing a blocky dwarven-style helmet, white on black.

The Orzammar side of the Gate was guarded by a small band of warriors, though not so heavily armed as the ones on the surface — they were meant not to hold the Gate from invaders, but to convince anyone unprepared to face the dangers of the Deep Roads to turn back. They hardly even gave the Wardens a second glance as they passed. The Dead Gate was less a door and more a tunnel — if at an absurd scale, tall and wide enough to fit the Redcliffe Chantry beneath — the exit an orange blot in the near distance. There were designs carved into the surface, mosaics glittering in the magical light. By the absence of Legion of the Dead skulls, Lýna assumed these were old, from before the Blight — she didn't recognize any of it, of course, but she assumed it was meant to welcome dwarven travellers to Orzammar, depicting the history of the city and the like, the same idea as the things the way they'd come in. There were doors in the side here and there, presumably leading into the Legion's hold, heavy stone and steel, easy to seal shut should invaders take the outer Gate.

At the outer Gate — just as large and intricately-carved as the one inside, if not so well-maintained, metal in places tarnished and edges of stone beginning to crumble — Lýna met Legionnaires for the first time. There were a couple dozen of them holding the Gate, at least, heavily armed and armored (black and bronze, no silverite, as they expected to be killed by darkspawn one day and wished to not arm their enemies), gathered along spiny defensive walls toward the sides of the road, rows of ballistae looming to both sides...and overhead above the Gate, now that Lýna was looking for them. The outer wall was densely dotted with arrowslits and larger gaps showing glimpses of metal, whatever enchanted war machinery the ingenious dwarves had invented over the long centuries lying in wait. Lýna didn't doubt even a relatively small number of warriors could scoar the entire breadth of the road with all the fury of the sun at a moment's notice.

(Even at a glance, Lýna understood why the Gates of Orzammar had held against the darkspawn for over a thousand years — to attack here would be nothing more than suicide.)

There were a few nods and clanking salutes from the Legionnaires, but they didn't call them to stop either, and the Wardens continued on into the Deep Roads. While she'd known it would be necessary in time, Lýna had not looked forward to venturing out into the dwarves' old lands. She didn't even like being inside stone buildings, she'd expected having an entire mountain over her head would just make her unease all the worse. Orzammar itself had bothered her less than she'd expected, but she wasn't fully comfortable in Last Watch, and the mining tunnels had been miserable. She had been told the Deep Roads were large, yes, but she hadn't thought they would be large enough to make a difference, that she would still feel surrounded and constricted.

It turned out, she needn't have worried. The Dead Road, as it was called — also named after the Legion of the Dead, as it connected Orzammar and Bónammar — was absolutely enormous. It was a perfect square, though with some little bits intruding on the shape. On the floor to either side, huddled against the walls were the occasional little shelter, some with only room to hold perhaps a dozen people at a time but some far larger — places for travellers to rest, Jowan explained, the larger would have served food, even had beds to borrow for a night. There were twin bands of stone jutting out overhead, perhaps dividing the ceiling into thirds, every fifty paces or so a pillar extending downwards, though not nearly far enough to reach the floor — lighting, Lýna was told, though all of them had long since burned out, some even broken, the structures crumbled into piles of stone and metal and glass on the floor, leaving only an uneven stump overhead.

Though while it did look like a square it wasn't truly — Lýna couldn't see it, but she could feel that the floor underfoot wasn't perfectly flat, perhaps curving upward? When she asked, Jowan said that she wasn't imagining it, pointed out metal grates in the floor far to each side. Water could sometimes drip onto the Roads — or perhaps lyrium would be spilled, or a mining accident would open up a river or lake — so they were designed to allow things to run down to the sides and below.

It was difficult to see the curve because the incline was shallow, and the space was just so impossibly big. With the enchanted lighting long since having been destroyed, they relied on their mages to light their way, the air filled with the soft green glow of the Beyond — and even that left shadows clinging to the corners, the shelters to the sides murky shapes huddling just at the edge of sight. Lýna knew the walls were there, but they were hard to make out, a dull colorless presence barely detectable in the shadows beyond the magelight. It was difficult for her to judge how wide the road was, as she couldn't see all of it clearly, but it was much wider than the Tevinter-built Highway on the surface. Four times as wide, at least, enough for eight horse-drawn wagons to pass side by side with room to spare, and possibly even wider. And it was just as tall as it was wide, far enough off Lýna could only faintly make out the ceiling where something lighter than the dominant dark reddish stone caught the light, the old lanterns extending downward like the tallest trees poking out of the fog when seen from the cliffs over Stone River (though upside down). As invisible as it was, the ceiling might as well not be there at all, the faintest glimmer of crystal in the rock like stars in the sky.

It was too quiet, their steps and the clanking of their equipment and their voices echoing around them, warm and humid, enough Lýna had quickly become uncomfortable, pulled down her hood and pushed her cloak behind her shoulders. But at least it wasn't cramped.

The first stretch in the Deep Roads, the Gate having vanished behind them, a nervous quiet had fallen over their group, eyes scanning the shadows for threats, silence broken only with the occasional tense whisper. With some notable exceptions, anyway — the more experienced Wardens were unaffected, Jowan and Léonard discussing the design of the Deep Roads and dwarven history with enthusiasm (breaking now and then to answer Lýna's questions), Irina and Liviă cheerfully chattering on in Tevene. Slowly, as their trip continued on uneventfully, not a single monster jumping out of the darkness to assault them, her people began to relax, the air before too long filled with idle talk, split now and then with laughter as they teased and joked, the dread they'd started with quickly forgotten.

And so they walked, for an hour, and then another. And then another. And another.

In time, Irina suggested they halt (through Gonçalve, who translated her dwarvish for Lýna). It was impossible to track the sun in the Deep Roads, as far below the surface as they were, but Irina carried a time-keeping device of some kind — Tevinter-made and definitely magic, Lýna could hear the enchantments, a sharp rhythm that made her skin itch if she got too close — it was her job to keep them on something like a regular schedule, if only so their sleep wouldn't be terribly out of sync with the locals' when they got back to Orzammar. They didn't stop right away, waiting until they came upon a shelter at the side of the road that was still in decent shape — many of them had begun to crumble over the centuries, or had become nests for the creatures of the deep, but some were kept clear by the Legion for their own use. By the time they found a suitable one, some of Lýna's people (especially Lacie, Jowan, and Aiden) were beginning to tire, so this would have to do for the day.

The shelter they found was dusty, what had once been fine carvings and mosaics on the walls and ceiling eroded and rusted, but was more or less habitable. By which she meant there weren't any darkspawn or deepstalker nests, but she still wouldn't trust the beds — some of the ancient mattresses had mold growing out of them, and spiders came swarming out of another when Cennith poked it with the butt of his spear. (Lacie immediately set the whole thing on fire.) There was enough safe room to lay out their bedrolls, and a water trough for the horse, which was what really mattered.

The trough was filled from the dwarves' old pipes, drawn from a nearby stream — it was, as they'd been warned, likely contaminated with who knew what. Horses tended to be hardier than people, but they were as vulnerable to the Blight as anything else. Gonçalve said it was possible the horse would end up tainted and would need to be put down, but that was simply the way it went sometimes, Wardens tended to go through horses more quickly than most for that reason.

(Gryphons had been much more resistant, though not fully immune, but unfortunately those didn't exist anymore.)

While most settled in, magical fires conjured so they could begin preparing dinner, Léonard slipped away, searching for signs along the wall identifying where they were precisely. Every section of the Deep Roads had been named and numbered back when they'd been built, and while many of their maps had been lost when their old empire fell the area around Orzammar was fully mapped. Léonard returned once he'd found what he needed — with Jowan, who he was teaching to navigate the Deep Roads — unrolled his map, measured distances with his fingers.

They'd made good time, he said — they were over halfway to the Dead Cross, should be able to make it to Tagj-Aidúkan by tomorrow evening. Bónammar stood between Orzammar and most of the former dwarven lands beyond (which was why the Legion wanted to reclaim it so badly, to keep darkspawn from getting anywhere near Orzammar), but there were three large abandoned cities between the two. At a place called the Dead Cross, which was maybe only one quarter of the way to Bónammar, the roads leading to these cities met the Dead Road — west to Kal-Rősten, east to Tagj-Ortán and Tagj-Aidúkan. Tagj-Aidúkan was nearer to the Cross than Orzammar was, Léonard was certain they'd be able to reach the Legion post just outside the city tomorrow.

After food, they settled in to rest, the watch divided between the Joined Wardens — they would be able to feel darkspawn coming long before they could be seen or heard. Uncomfortable with the roof of the shelter over her head — also, she could smell the mold, she didn't know how the other elves could stand it — Lýna climbed up onto the roof instead. She was joined by Lèlja and Edolyn...and, trickling up over the course of the night, Alim and Lacie, Justien (with Sedwulf), and Irina (with Liviă), so apparently the other elves couldn't stand it. Morrigan slept on the roof with them as well, but that was less likely to have anything to do with the smell — the Chasind mage didn't like sleeping surrounded by stone any more than Lýna did.

During her watch, Lýna could hear things moving in the distance — the dripping of water and the clacking of claws against stone, the occasional huffing and lowing and squeaking of unidentifiable animals — but the night turned out uneventful. They were quicker to move in the morning than they had been back at Last Watch, and they were soon walking on once again.

In time, perhaps near midday, they reached the Dead Cross. The entrance was visible long before they reached it, a glimmer of blueish light in the distance, slowly growing as they walked. The Cross itself was at a much larger scale than the Road, perhaps twice again as wide and tall — only a tiny fraction of the inside of Orzammar, but still a huge open space, enough voices and footsteps and lows and grunts from brontos and the clanking of armor and equipment bounced off the walls. At the center of the open space was a huge square pillar, along the surface mosaics of dwarven figures and what she assumed were words and religious symbols (though faded and patchy from neglect), fixed along the wall every ten paces or so an iron post holding a lamp. Smaller than the huge structures on the Road, these were actually lit, glowing a pale blue, filling the enormous space with a cool but pleasant light — most brightly toward the central pillar and somewhat darker toward the outer edges, but yet bright enough for the features of the entire space to be visible for the first time since leaving Orzammar.

So Lýna could make out the designs on the walls for the first time, overlapping geometric patterns in red and black and gray and green creating an odd sort of depth along the surface, complex and interwoven such that they almost seemed to move as Lýna glanced around. A subtle motion, hardly detectable, but enough that the stone seemed just that little bit less static, less harsh and dead.

The pillar at the center had once held an outpost, keeping the peace along the Deep Roads (and also a small market and a resting place for travellers), and it was occupied now: the Legion held the Dead Cross, and here they would gather for the battle to come. There were few out in the Cross itself, as there were plenty of rooms in the pillar for them all (and then some, the thing was huge), though their brontos were kept out here, a few simple huts built with wood (curiously) to store equipment, even a forge, a steady metallic ringing piercing into Lýna's ears as multiple smiths beat metal in concert. Lýna even spotted a gathering of Avvar to the right of the pillar, unexpectedly — talking with a group of dwarves near the forge, perhaps bartering for the goods on the lurker-drawn cart the Avvar had brought with them.

The Wardens were met near the entrance to the Cross by a group of Legionnaires, though the warriors made no attempt to even slow them down — they'd heard their group's approach along the Road long before they got here, and had assumed it was their next batch of supplies coming in. Lýna hadn't heard any sign there was someone coming up behind them, but the Legionnaires said (through Gonçalve, who translated the dwarvish for Lýna) that they weren't expecting the shipment for another two or three days, if the Wardens had been their supplies they would have been early. Good, then. After only a brief conversation, the Wardens continued on, turning left around the pillar, toward the road east.

While they passed through the Cross, Léonard explained that the trip to Tagj-Aidúkan would be a little shorter if they were on foot, had no need of flat ground the cart could get over. That smaller gate in the outer wall just there led to a side-road that went straight to the city. But, while Tagj-Aidúkan was to the east, it was also below them — that side-road had stairs. The main road was a bit longer, as it had to curve downward in a long ramp, but they should still reach it by evening.

Just as Tagj-Aidúkan was below them, Kal-Rősten to the west was above — in fact, it was far enough above them that it had an exit up to the surface. The Legion and the local Avvar worked together to keep the road from the Dead Cross to the surface open, so the Avvar could trade with the Legion, which explained where that party over there had come from. Léonard said the road from Kal-Rősten to Orzammar was actually shorter than the road the Avvar used down to the Gate on the outside, but travelling on the surface was safer, so they only rarely saw Avvar traders coming down the Dead Road. But the Avvar who traded with the Legion preferred to do so directly, as they could get better deals if the merchants in Orzammar couldn't take their cut, so the way to Kal-Rősten was kept open all the same. And it wasn't the only entrance to the Deep Roads the Avvar watched over, the Legion wouldn't be able to operate as far from Orzammar as they did if the local Avvar weren't keeping them supplied.

When Lýna thought about it, she had sort of known that already — she'd met Orzammar dwarves once before only because there were Avvar who traded with the Legion in the south, far deeper into the Roads than could be travelled safely — but she hadn't put together how large of an effort it was until just now.

As huge as the Dead Cross was, it did take some minutes before they made it to their way out, continuing along the road east. The road here was somewhat narrower than the Dead Road, Lýna thought, though both structures were so dizzyingly large it was hard to tell for certain. They continued on for perhaps an hour before Lýna realised the road had begun to curve. The walls and ceiling here cast so deeply in shadow, the angle was gradual enough that Lýna hadn't been able to detect it by sight — but she could feel the floor was very slightly angled downward, shallow enough she might not have noticed the transition.

It was perhaps another hour after that when Lýna first felt the presence of darkspawn.

It had been building, slowly, for some time — slowly enough that Lýna perhaps hadn't noticed it happening at first. Tingles crawling down her spine, a ghost of a feeling brushing against her skin, not hot or cold nor wet or dry, yet seemingly all of them at once, an unpleasant sensation that vaguely reminded her of a bad fever. Slowly, so slowly, she began to feel the song of the magic, faintly at first and slowly growing — beneath a surface of meaningless sound, like wind roaring across grass, something drifting and wavering, alien voices rising and falling out of sync, haunting.

It'd been some time since she'd felt darkspawn, and apparently her connection to the Blight had developed since then. Before, she remembered having a faint sense of direction and little else, but now there were... It was a hard feeling to describe, exactly. She knew, somehow, that the song of vile magics came from multiple sources, their number and direction as easily perceptible as distant campfires in the night — though she didn't see them, truly, she couldn't explain how she knew even to herself. One, two, five...

Lýna glanced at Gonçalve walking nearby. "Nine or ten?"

The human man — tall and broad-shouldered, nearly as large as Alistair, curly blonde hair cut short, face and throat hidden by a layer of scruff — nodded back, one eyebrow ticking up a little. "Òc, it is around that. For certain, no more than a dozen." Lýna had been confused by that òc at first, supposedly it was southern Orlesian — it was Lèlja's first language, in fact, though she'd started learning the one she was teaching Lýna when she'd been a very small child. The dialects were surprisingly different, enough Lýna couldn't really follow it at all.

Before she could say anything else, Irina slipped up out of the shadows, spoke in what Lýna recognised now as dwarvish — her eyes jumping between Gonçalve and Lýna, clearly intending for him to translate. He nodded, and said, "Irina asks if you would like us to hold back so your recruits may face them."

"Yes. Hold," Lýna called, raising her voice a bit, turning around to face their group following behind her. They looked somewhat tense, perhaps having guessed their seniors had picked up something...or perhaps Alim had told them, come to think of it, she'd been too focused on the feeling to listen. "There are darkspawn ahead, less than a dozen. Edolyn and Sedwulf and Gailen to the front, Dairren and Jowan behind, Cennith and Natí are on wings, archers follow and watch for shots. Jowan, focus on barriers and healing. If it looks to go badly, Alim and Lacie will wait to jump in, but otherwise we will see how you do. Alim, keep the light on them. Now, go."

There was a torrent of noise as their people rearranged themselves, the air ringing with the clinking of armor and scraping of blades being drawn — from Sedwulf and Gailen alone, the clunking of spears being repositioned made rather less noise. Justien, Merrick, and Aiden paused to string their bows — visibly taking more effort for Justien, the weight of the draw just at the edge of his strength — while the others began to settle into their wedge. At first they stood with Edolyn in the middle, but after a few seconds and some muttering they moved Gailen into the middle and Edolyn on the left — it seemed so she wouldn't be in the way of Gailen's sword arm, Sedwulf short enough that avoiding him would be easier. Jowan followed them, keeping himself behind Gailen and Edolyn, probably thinking arrows could still hit him right over Sedwulf's head, and it would be easier for the spearmen to see what they were doing from behind the dwarf.

All together, it took only a minute for the recruits to put themselves together, and they started plodding forward. A little slower than they'd walked before, shoulders tense, hands tight around weapons, voices coming in nervous mutters. None of them had faced darkspawn before, after all, and some had never even been in a real fight. But they'd been trained well, and the darkspawn were few, Lýna wasn't concerned.

She did pause to string her own bow before following, just in case, Lèlja following her lead.

As they got closer, Lýna called ahead to nudge them to the left — it felt like the darkspawn were near the side wall, they didn't want to go past them and then get attacked from behind. They were about halfway there when Lýna's eyes were drawn to the right. There was a second group of darkspawn, further away, far enough off they certainly weren't on the road, must be down a side passage in that direction somewhere. This one was larger, maybe a couple dozen in total, and there was something about the song in them, feeling...sharper... "Do you feel that?"

"Òc, I do. They have un alpha."

Alim cursed.

"Watch for an ambush to that side." They were pretty far away at the moment, but they might come while the recruits attacked the first group.

Irina fist clinked against her chest. "Prin comanda dumitale, Conducătoare." That must be some kind of agreement, because Irina then talked to Liviă, Liloia, and Léonard in dwarvish, the senior Wardens shuffling over toward the right, walking more in the middle of the road. Irina cast her own light over them, expanding out from Alim's to that side, keeping both the left and right walls in sight.

The moment the darkspawn finally reacted to their approach was painfully obvious — they screamed, harsh and thick and grating, the wordless noise ringing clawing at Lýna's skull. The recruits started, but squared their shoulders and hunkered in, shields raised and weapons hefted, and kept walking. There was some more meaningless, guttural chatter, spitting and gnashing of teeth (disgusting things), and then the thumping of feet on stone and the clanking of armor as they charged. They were visible only as faint metallic glinting and shifting shadows in the darkness, Alim expanded his light forward.

Genlocks, all of them. The dwarven form misshapen and unnatural, armor lopsided and ill-fitting, gray skin streaked with black blood glimmering in the magical light, spilled from wounds opened by their own terribly-made armor or from their lips, cut ragged by their own teeth. Vile things. Shrieks were the most unnerving, but the others were hardly much better to look at.

The recruits stopped, but not all at once, the shieldbearers sinking into deeper stances and hunkering down, the rest continuing on for a step or two — Dairren even bumped into Sedwulf, bit out a curse. Justien and Aiden swept out to the side a little, to give themselves clearer shots — only Merrick was tall enough to properly aim past Dairren — they all drew and loosed at more or less the same time, Merrick only a second or two behind. One of them missed (Lýna thought it was Aiden) but the other two hit.

One (from Merrick) struck a darkspawn toward the side of the pack in the chest, rearing the thing back a little, but the hit had pinged off its armor, after staggering a few steps it just kept on coming; the other shot (probably from Justien) sprouted through the face of one's helmet, right at the front of the group, the genlock instantly falling limp to the ground. The darkspawn immediately behind it tripped on the corpse, none falling but slowing down in their charge, the pack shifting, the middle pushed back but darkspawn to the left and right charging ahead. There was time for a second volley — all three hit, two finding gaps in armor, pushing the forward-most darkspawn back a bit, levelling their line again — before the darkspawn met the recruits.

Mindless beasts they were, they ran right into the spears. One tip, Dairren's, glanced off with a shivering clank, but the other two struck home, Edolyn stabbing downward into one's shoulder, Cennith leaning around Sedwulf to catch one in the gut. Two of the spears caught in bodies, the rest of the darkspawn tried to come around, but a third volley of arrows came down — two did little damage, but one found the face of a darkspawn slipping around the one caught on Cennith's spear, dropping it — Natí dancing around Edolyn's side to cut off one trying to flank her.

Edolyn sidled forward, followed by Gailen a step behind, Gailen blocking a blow and managing to tag his attacker in the thigh, Edolyn was tipped back by a heavy hit on her shield but she'd advanced enough to get a foot on the dying darkspawn her spear was stuck in, giving her leverage to wrench it out; Sedwulf did the same for Cennith, his hip propped against the kneeling genlock's shoulder, even as his sword caught on another's shield, pushing it aside, Dairren taking the opening to slip his spear over Sedwulf's shoulder and into the staggered darkspawn's throat.

Natí had realised after the first blow that the genlock she was facing was much stronger than her, ducked under the next hit instead, while the thing was off-balance buried her dagger into its hip. While she reared back to bring her axe down on its neck another darkspawn was coming up on her side, but Edolyn saw it coming, extending herself outward to strike over Natí, the tip of her spear piercing through the darkspawn's helmet. Sedwulf stepped up to kick off the darkspawn caught on Dairren's spear, even as Gailen sidled a bit to the side to put himself and his shield between Edolyn and an approaching genlock, which put Sedwulf in the perfect position to chop in at its hip. Edolyn dropped her spear rather than try to retrieve it, the harsh ring of her sword being drawn nearly covered by the shouting of the darkspawn, another volley of arrows fell to ping off armor (hard to get a shot around the others), a flash of white light from Jowan struck down another before it could flank Cennith—

Lýna tensed — the darkspawn to the right were moving. "Alim, Lacie, watch them." Not that Lýna expected that fight to last very much longer, the recruits had already downed half of them. The senior Wardens had obviously felt what Lýna had, already moving toward the far wall. There was a passageway there, a little further along than where the recruits were fighting, a gap in the wall wide enough for a bronto to pass but without much left over. The darkspawn must be coming in from that direction, the music of their presence beginning to rise, echoes of their harsh voices already slipping out into the road.

Even as Lýna turned that way, Irina lifted off the floor in a whirl of shadow and flickers of green and blue and white — the same flying spell Lýna had seen Morrigan do, and Marian back at Ostagar — in a blink landing right in front of the door. Reaching into a pouch at her belt, the Tevinter elf scattered glittering silvery-purple powder over the floor in a few sweeps of her hand, drawing some kind of glyph, the motion clearly well-practiced. While she did that, the others were jogging after her, not moving to stand in front of the door but to the sides, pressing up against the wall, Gonçalve and Liloia on one side and Léonard and Liviă on the other...

Right, Lýna saw it. She moved right in front of the exit, several lengths away — closer than the middle of the road, but far enough away it'd take some good seconds for a charging darkspawn to reach her, plenty of time to react. She nocked an arrow, but didn't draw yet, waiting, Lèlja to her left doing the same, Morrigan standing behind them, a faint crackle of magic twittering around Lýna's ears as she readied herself.

At first they were visible only as shifting shadows, but before long they entered the very edge of Irina's light, a narrow column of the mindless beasts recklessly charging toward the door. Irina had already flown away again, waiting to the side, so Lýna picked a target at the front, drew, and loosed, Lèlja a blink after her. With the doorframe in the way, Lýna couldn't aim for the heads, so her target was hit in the hip — not dropped, but slowed, the others flowing around it as it limped along — Lèlja's arrow glancing off armor. As Lýna pulled another arrow, she sank to a knee, the silverite freshly fixed to her legs clinking against the stone — the darkspawn were closer now, and being a little lower gave her a better angle, so her second shot vanished into a helmet, the genlock instantly going limp, Lèlja dropping another a second later. They had enough time for a third shot (and two more clean kills) before the front of the column reached the threshold.

The column poured out onto the road, three six nine twelve...and then the glyph activated with a flash of light and a ringing clang of magic — a few brilliant blue-white blades of light spun around in a circle, visible just for a blink, and the creatures' legs were shredded, sliced apart as easily as the shadow-blades that abomination had used but in multiple places at once. Thick splashes of black blood were cast against the stone as torsos toppled upon the mangled remains of their legs, grating voices screaming in agony and rage. One had been past the edge when the glyph activated, Lýna downed it with an arrow in the throat (this one's helmet actually had a face-plate), the rest of the column starting to pick their way over the swiftly-dying bodies of their fellows, Lèlja caught one in the hip, it fell yelping into the gore, two more arrows fell at steeper angles, from the recruits behind them, one clanking against a shoulder and another bouncing off a shield—

There was a swirl of shadow and green light, bouncing between the darkspawn and into the road, arcing to the left — a mage! Lýna loosed, but the twisting bands of magic twitched, her arrow uselessly continuing on. There was a skin-scratching hiss of magic crawling past her, and then the flying spell abruptly ended, the genlock mage appearing in mid-air, it fell to the floor, tumbling over once and then twice before finding its feet. But it came up fighting, green and yellow sparks crackling over its fingers, and then lancing out toward them, a spinning twisting curse flying straight at Lýna, the music in her ears harsh and nauseating.

Lýna began to dart to the side, trying to dodge, but she needn't have bothered, Morrigan slipped in front of her with a swirl of shadows (sharp autumn chill biting at her nose, wind fluttering her hair), her hands raising above hand, sparks the bright green of the Beyond shivering along her fingers, and then brought them sharply down, slashing through the curse with her bare hands. The darkspawn's spell was torn apart, scattered bits of yellow and black light spinning off at random angles, twisting through the air for a blink before dissipating.

With Morrigan in the way, Lýna couldn't get a bead on the mage, but there was a familiar flash of blue light and then a boom and crackle of lightning. The genlock was taken by surprise, flung off its feet again to tumble across the floor, and as the smoke cleared it was obvious why: the attacker was Lacie, who wasn't Joined, so the darkspawn wouldn't have felt her coming — she'd cast that lightning immediately off the same zipping spell Alim used, and from very close range, it hadn't had time to react. (It seemed that, when Lacie had said she was better with elemental magics than Solana, that hadn't been empty boasting.) Morrigan threw off a curse, solid black with scattered white glinting bits (looking oddly like the night sky), flying in a band off in the direction the darkspawn had been thrown, striking with a grinding noise of stone against stone.

Lacie cast more light, to confirm it was dead. Whatever that spell Morrigan had used was, it had carved a furrow into the floor, the genlock mage's unmoving body rent through, nearly torn in two.

By this time, the last of the column had just passed through the threshold. Once the last darkspawn was through, the senior Wardens struck them from behind all at once, cutting down four of them in a blink, a lash of green white magic whipping across the front-right flank, the darkspawn rearing around, screaming in rage and animal confusion. But they reoriented surprisingly quickly, the remaining darkspawn turning their backs to each other to cover all sides, one exchanging heavy blows with Gonçalve, another pushing Léonard back with a kick to his shield, Liloia and Liviă skipping back from blows before they could land. Their alpha must still be alive. While scanning across the group for targets — loosing almost automatically when one presented itself, dropping another darkspawn with an arrow slipped neatly through its helmet — another spell darted in from Irina, a crackling curse from Morrigan, but they both fizzled out. And then Lýna spotted the alpha, toward the middle of the group — tall for a dwarf (putting its just a little higher than Lýna's), bristling with thick black and bronze armor, carrying a vicious-looking double-sided axe, glyphs dully gleaming along the face. Must be a weapon dropped by a dwarf at some point, as far as they knew darkspawn couldn't enchant on their own.

Lýna tried to take it out, but her first shot pinged off a faceplate (wrenching its head back, but doing no damage), more spells from the mages fizzling out before they could do anything, arrows falling into the pack surrounding it (injuring some, a shot from Lèlja killing one), the alpha squared its shoulders and started taking heavy steps directly toward Lýna, apparently having picked out who just tried to shoot it, another arrow sticking it in the seam at its shoulder but falling out a second later, must be mail in there. A couple of the pack peeled away, charging toward Irina, she spat out something that was probably a curse, skipping back, Liviă moving to hit them from behind, Gonçalve, Léonard, and Liloia still chipping away at the pack from the opposite side, awkwardly shuffling forward between blows as the alpha led them closer to Lýna and Lèlja, the both of them downing two more with another pair of clean shots to the head. But they were getting close now, even as three more arrows from the recruits slashed into the pack (one clinked off the alpha's shoulder) Lýna reached over to hang her bow on her back, dangling from the string over her quiver, her sword drawn with a ringing of metal.

Just as she started stepping forward to meet them there was a shout to her left, Edolyn, Cennith, and Dairren charging right at the group, Edolyn in the lead with shield raised, the thin line of genlocks between Lýna and the alpha evaporated, some moving to the side to flank the spearmen — digging into the pack, at least two Lýna could see from here transfixed, pushing them back against Gonçalve and Léonard's shields — others to join those fighting Irina and Liloia and Liviă.

As everyone descended into final skirmishes — the fight almost over, the darkspawn numbers greatly reduced, moments from being eliminated completely — the alpha advanced on Lýna, its axe already raised to strike.

Grimacing, Lýna skipped out of the way of the heavy swing, her hair fluttering just slightly in its wake, she darted along the alpha's shoulder and slashed in at its knee, but the darkspawn turned as she did, the blade clanking off armor, numb shivers crawling up her arm. It was squaring its shoulders to strike back the other way, Lýna dove against the direction of the swing, the metal plates fixed to her leathers screeching against stone as she slid under the swishing axe, she rolled over her shoulder back to one knee (her bow clattering to the ground), and jabbed upward — from here, she had an angle up under the alpha's chestplate, perfect. Or, maybe not perfect: the darkspawn caught the moving blade with a gloved hand, mail crunching against silverite. A harsh, low, guttural laugh echoed out from under the thing's helmet, it started to swing down at her, she yanked on her sword with both hands, not enough to free it but she wasn't trying to, she wrenched her feet up and around, finding its leg and hip, and then pushed hard, shoving herself back out of range, she landed awkwardly on her quivers (wincing at the feeling of her weight coming down on the enchanted one), pushed herself into a roll over her shoulder. One hand jumping to her father's dagger, the other feeling to make sure the cover was still on the enchanted quiver (accidentally killing herself from a magic arrow falling out while she rolled around would be quite unfortunate), Lýna looked back up to the alpha and—

There was a flash of blue-white light, frigid winter wind blasting her in a wave, a sharp spang ringing the air, eagerly dancing magic tickling at her ears, Irina had appeared between them, a blade of silvery light extending from one hand — exactly like Kenrick's, from back at the Circle, or Sidona and Fabricio's, Irina must carry a spirit-blade too. She came out with a flourish, the magical weapon striking the overlarge axe, pushing it faster the same direction it'd been travelling, staggering the alpha. There was a hissing crackle of magic — no, that was anti-magic — but it didn't do anything to the enchantments on the spirit-blade, Irina ducked, turning on her heel, and slashed across the alpha's knees. The light passed through the creature's armor as though it weren't even there, the flesh and bone beneath no greater obstacle, the alpha's legs literally cut out from under it. While it shouted in surprise and hatred, Irina hesitated for just a second, the magical blade wavering in the air as her arm turned, before slashing back the other way, neatly severing the alpha's head even as it fell.

She felt her eyes widen, staring down at the heavily-armored darkspawn corpse as it settled with a crash of metal against stone, the helmet clanking as the head rolled. The silvery light of the blade was extinguished, Irina hooking the hilt back onto its place at her waist, giving Lýna a little nod.

Lýna wanted one of those.

A short minute later, the last of the darkspawn were cut down, and the fight was over. They all took a moment to collect themselves, to breathe, a couple of the recruits even collapsing to the floor on their backs, gasping.

The fight had gone quite well, overall. The darkspawn numbers had been somewhat more than Lýna and Gonçalve had thought — though it turned out Irina, having been Joined a few years longer than Gonçalve, had known exactly how many they were facing, but the Tevinter elf didn't speak Alamarri, so she hadn't realised Lýna and Gonçalve had guessed low — but superior tactics and equipment had carried them through anyway. The senior Wardens had all gotten through unscathed, and there were only a few minor injuries among Lýna's people. Most of them suffered no worse than mild bruises from blows bouncing off armor (refitting them with silverite had been an excellent idea), though one sword-point had managed to find the seam in Gailen's shoulder, and Edolyn had taken a nasty cut across the back of her knee — she'd been stepping over a darkspawn she'd thought was dead, struck before she'd realised her mistake.

Sitting on one of the benches along the wall, the armor over her leg dismantled so Jowan could get at the wound, Edolyn seemed unaccountably embarrassed, even as she grimaced from the pain shifting in place and avoiding Lýna's eyes. She had made a beginner's mistake, but by Alim's count she'd managed to kill five darkspawn (the same count as Sedwulf and Cennith, not bad at all), which was quite respectable for the first real fight she'd been in in her entire life. She'd live, so she would learn, nothing to be embarrassed about.

Once the healing was done — though Jowan warned Edolyn the joint would be weak for some hours yet, she could walk but wouldn't be back to full strength until tomorrow morning (thankfully, she doubted there'd be more fighting) — Lýna called the recruits to her, gathering around one of the corpses that hadn't yet been moved onto the pile the senior Wardens were building. "This is a genlock," she said, nudging the nasty thing with the tip of her boot. "They're small but thick and strong, so can wear heavier armor, like dwarves. But they're still darkspawn. They're stupid, have few means to kill you but to swarm over you and hope to bury you. Cover each other, like you did today, and it is not difficult to kill them, even if they have far greater numbers than you.

"They outnumbered us, maybe four to one, they even tried to ambush us — which is about as clever as darkspawn can be." Honestly, if they'd been a supply wagon or a similarly-sized group of hunters or Avvar warriors, that trick could have been devastating, but such tactics didn't work against Joined Wardens. "Even so, they are all dead, and we all yet live. They are evil, disgusting things, poison the very land they walk upon, gather in numbers such to drown any before them. But they can be killed. If you are smart, if you plan, and you don't panic, it is easy.

"Questions?"

There was silence for a moment, the recruits either staring down at the dead darkspawn or glancing at each other. Their faces were somewhat hard to read, and mixed — shock, surprise, relief...awe? Perhaps. The learned fear most people had of darkspawn, stories passed down over generations, could be very strong, for some it could be quite a revelation just how easily they could be killed by those who had the equipment and the knowledge. Lýna remembered the first time she'd killed one blade-to-blade (a hurlock, though years ago now, she could hardly recall the details), and thinking to herself, this was the great enemy of all the world? They fell as easy as any man — easier than many, as few were warriors of any true skill.

Though they were still a threat, of course. If they'd been outnumbered five to one, or if Irina's trap hadn't taken out a dozen of them all at once, or if their recruits had been less thoroughly trained and equipped... Well. She hadn't forgotten that she and Alistair had lost a few recruits to their first encounter with darkspawn, back at Ostagar — they'd been outnumbered by a larger margin then than they had been now, but even so. That had been out in the open, so Alim and Marian had been able to bring their numbers down more effectively than the mages here had managed, but they had a larger proportion of experienced warriors with them now, and...

Lýna was glad that they'd had a month at Redcliffe to prepare, and that Last Watch had so much silverite armor on hand, that was all.

There didn't seem to be any questions, the recruits still coming down from their first encounter with the enemy. After a moment, Cennith asked, "What are they doing with the bodies?"

"Darkspawn blood is terrible poison, but there are ways to cleanse it. Their blood will lose their magic if let into running water — living darkspawn hate to cross water, but they will if they need to to reach people. For a whole corpse—" She nudged the dead genlock again. "—fire is best. If possible, you must always burn darkspawn you kill. If you don't, the Blight will soak into the land itself, killing all nearby."

"The Silent Plains," Aiden muttered.

Lýna nodded at the young dwarven archer. "Even so. You must not only burn the darkspawn, but burn the soil on which they died as well. During the First Blight, we did not yet know to cleanse the land in fire. And so the Silent Plains and much of Anderfels were cursed. In the Second, too many mages died to save the south of Orlais. But in the Third and Fourth, they were all over the...Vinãtyr? Is this the name?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to Lèlja nearby.

"Minanter."

"Yes, Minanter, this is it. The Minanter Valley, to the north, there were many darkspawn killed there in the Third and Fourth Blights, but those lands yet live. Mages, from all the world, came to burn out the Blight, step by step, across all the land, and it was saved. You make it easier if you can burn them soon after killing them — less work to do after, and less tainted animals and the like. Sometimes things are such that you can't, but if you can, it is best to always do so."

"Hey, boss." Heads turned at the voice, Alim sauntering up to them, still smiling but rather less brightly than he normally might. "You still need that?" he asked, nodding at the genlock.

"No, take it." The corpse lifted off the ground with a wave of Alim's hand, drifted along behind him to join the pile.

A few more minutes for their group to collect themselves, the mages setting the pile of darkspawn corpses alight — not natural flames, instead white and intensely bright, throwing deep shadows flickering over the walls — and they set off once again.

The rest of their journey was uneventful, they reached the gates of Tagj-Aidúkan that evening. The place was far less impressive than the Dead Gate, stone worn away over the centuries, broken and crumbled into piles on the floor, mosaics shattered, metals tarnished dull. The scale of the gate was somewhat lesser as well, enchanted lamps placed along one wall enough to paint the entire inside surface in a soft blueish light. These weren't the original lighting, but something the Legion had placed much more recently — they had a post here in Tagj-Aidúkan as well, holding the gates for people exploring the abandoned city beyond.

They were met near the city-side of the gate by a few Legionnaires in the same black and bronze. Their "Sergeant" (Orlesian term?) even spoke Alamarri, switching for Lýna's benefit after only a couple exchanges. The man was very helpful, explaining that he had seen Anvér Dés, as recently as two days ago — he and his men had left for a place called the Upper Galleries, deep within Tagj-Aidúkan. Which was peculiar, since his daughter had expected him home days ago already, but the Sergeant had an explanation for that too. Anvér and his people had been hit by a group of darkspawn on the road between here and the Cross, and a second, larger one not far inside the city. They'd had wounded from that second fight, so they'd backtracked to the gates and stayed with the Legionnaires for a few days, to give the injured time to heal and rest. As far as the Sergeant knew, Anvér Dés was alive and well, he was likely camping in the Upper Galleries even now.

Léonard pointed out that they'd been hit by darkspawn on the way from the Cross as well, probably not far from the same place. Apparently, the Legionnaires suspected there was a darkspawn nest nearby, in an old workshop and storehouse off the road there — the Sergeant gave the numbers for the section of the road, and Léonard said it was the same hallway the ambushing darkspawn had charged out from. Their superiors at the Cross already knew about it, they would gather together a force of warriors to take care of it at some point in the next few weeks.

But their recruits could use the practice, they might as well take care of it themselves on the way back. This workshop and storage space the Sergeant described couldn't be that big, between Lýna's people and Anvér's earlier they must have already killed most of the broodmother's protectors. There would still be some, but in a small space and with as many mages as they had, Lýna didn't doubt they could burn out the nest without any trouble. Especially if they linked up with Anvér's men, from the sound of it that would double their numbers, yes, they could certainly do that.

The Legionnaires smiled at the offer, preemptively thanking them. It seemed they'd been being attacked in small numbers now and then for a couple weeks now — a familiar pattern to Lýna and to the Legion, they'd adjusted their watch rotation to make sure the handful of women in their group were never alone, just in case — but they simply didn't have the numbers here to take care of it themselves. They would be very grateful for the help, would make things a whole lot less tense around here.

But, the Wardens shouldn't continue on into Tagj-Aidúkan just now. It was late, they likely wouldn't be able to go much further before they'd be forced to rest for the night. And Tagj-Aidúkan was large, a sprawling web of caverns both natural and artificial, the Upper Galleries toward the far side — as difficult as it could be to pick through the ruined city, it might well take them an entire day just to reach Anvér. They should stay here for the night, take advantage of the Legion's beds, food, and drink. It was the least they could do in exchange for the Wardens clearing out the nest on their way back.

If it truly would take so long to reach Anvér, that was likely best. Besides, Lýna could hardly refuse hospitality once it'd been offered — at least where she came from, doing so would be extremely rude, especially so between allies, as the Wardens and Legion were.

The Wardens were shown to rooms, split up such to get everyone a bed. Lýna was a little surprised enough of the chambers inside the gate were prepared to hold them all, but apparently they were for groups passing through, they were used relatively often. Most of the rooms had multiple beds, but Lýna was again offered a special room for officers, with a single bed — she was still slightly exasperated with the way the Alamarri and Orzammar dwarves handled such things, but she might as well continue to play along.

She honestly still didn't like sleeping alone, but such was the way of things. She could invite someone to sleep with her — Morrigan, maybe Edolyn, Lèlja might be awkward at the moment...Alim or Lacie or both? — but she would want to be careful how she went about it, to not give the wrong impression. She hadn't forgotten what Alim had told her, back at the Circle, the assumptions Alamarri would make. But it was the way they did things here, perhaps she should simply try to grow more accustomed to it...

Dropping her things in the room, she changed into Alamarri clothes quick (she didn't want to ruin any of the furnishings), but kept her sword belted at her waist. She didn't expect to be attacked here, but to the dwarves it was inappropriate for a warrior to walk about without one — besides, she was simply more comfortable with it.

Not long after they arrived, it was time to eat. There weren't servants here, so the warriors cooked for themselves (which was the way Lýna preferred it), but there were kitchens and supplies, so they ate rather better than they had on the way here — in particular there was nug, salted and fried, which was quite good (though Lèlja made a funny face and didn't touch it). There was also ale, but dwarven ale, which Lýna still couldn't stomach. It was stronger than the mead she preferred, and those who could tolerate it — Sedwulf, Aiden, Merrick, Dairren, Edolyn — began to be affected by it rather quickly.

Lýna frowned, but after a bit of thought decided to allow it. The Legionnaires had their own watch set, they wouldn't be taken by surprise. And if there was an attack, they could bar the doors and chip away at any number of darkspawn at their leisure — they didn't need Lýna's people at all, half of them being incapacitated wouldn't make any difference. Those getting a bit drunk weren't putting them in any greater danger, and they had just been through their first fight, it was fine.

In fact, after a moment of further thought, Lýna asked the Sergeant if they had mead stored away here. They did, in fact — once Lýna explained about her recruits just having faced darkspawn for the first time, the Sergeant had a couple of his people bring up a cask of the stuff. He even gave a little speech, having his people salute the new Wardens for a successful first battle, made a whole thing out of it (reminded her very much of the prayers and such Avvar would do after a fight sometimes). Which was unnecessary, but friendly of him.

Lýna didn't drink much herself, though — for all that they were safe here, for the most part, she wasn't comfortable getting even a little tipsy while on enemy territory. But she didn't begrudge her people loosening up a little, especially given the events of the day, so she left them to it, quietly watched them eating and chatting and laughing. Pleased, that they were all alive and well.

(She would certainly lose some of her recruits before the Blight was over, quite likely most of them. But for today, at least, they all yet lived.)

As the evening went on, Lýna's eyes were drawn to Lèlja again and again. Seemingly of their own accord, she didn't think about it, only realising it'd happened again when she found herself watching Lèlja with no clear memory of when she'd started. She was sitting nearby, with Edolyn, Gailen, and Merrick — Lýna had noticed that Gailen had been rather quiet and withdrawn since the fight, but over the course of the meal Lèlja had managed to pull him out of his thoughts, now talking with the others, visibly more at ease. (As was only appropriate for their gyðja, Lýna wasn't surprised.) Lèlja had changed out of her armor as well, the same pale linen shirt and trousers she'd gotten at the Circle, her poitraile — a bronze pendant, a small compartment inside, every Sister and Mother wore one — dislodged in the process and not replaced, bouncing against her chest as she moved, the lovingly polished metal catching the light. There was a sizeable smudge on her neck, tinted reddish from the dust in the Deep Roads, but she'd washed her hands and face, cheeks pink and freckled in the light.

Lýna didn't know if this was a good time. She had come to a decision — the only remaining problem had been to work through her nerves...and also to find the right time to bring it up. And she didn't know if this was it. It would likely be better to wait until they returned to Orzammar, becoming distracted with these things while out in enemy territory was...not ideal. She'd witnessed hunters being lectured before, for getting wrapped up with each other while out ranging. It wasn't wise, but, at the same time...

Lèlja laughed at something someone said, leaned in to respond, as though sharing a secret, smiling warm and sweet, a corner of her lips curling just a little with a smirk.

Thinking about kissing her was already getting terribly distracting, so Lýna didn't think it would make any difference at this point.

In time, the meal had finished and the group began to break up, splitting off to occupy themselves with something or other. Alim and Lacie had already snuck off some time ago — those two were lucky Alim was Joined, this was hardly the time to be having a child — some of the recruits were to go join a card game with the Legionnaires, others huddling up with the senior Wardens to drink and trade stories. Before Lèlja could start in any particular direction, Lýna slipped up behind her. "Come."

Lèlja and Merrick both sucked in short breaths of surprise, not having seen her approach. But when she walked off, she could hear Lèlja following her. And only Lèlja — good, she realized she hadn't been clear, and having to stop and explain her intent would have been uncomfortable.

Finding a place they would be alone took a few minutes. Lýna wasn't comfortable going out into the lost city without her armor, most of the nearby rooms were occupied. She went up a flight of stairs, and then another, past the rooms the Wardens were being put up in. There were Legionnaires up here, manning the ballistae and the like, watching for approaching darkspawn, but it was rather emptier than the lower levels, dust accumulating on the lamps or in corners. After a bit of looking around, Lýna found an open archway leading into...

A balcony, that's what they were called — obviously her People hadn't had such things, the word had slipped her mind at first. A room open to the air, one wall and much of the ceiling cut away, facing out into the city, a stone railing between the floor and the fall. There were crossbows set up along one wall, for the defenders to fire down on attackers below, but there was nobody here at the moment.

On the inside of the gate was a large cavern, though much smaller than Orzammar. Smaller than Lýna had expected, truly — she suspected this had been a market once upon a time, an open courtyard surrounded by shops and the like. The floor in the middle still had hints of color, glimmering in the faint light, but had been damaged badly enough Lýna couldn't make out the design, the buildings along the walls in every direction half-ruined, roofs caved in and columns crumbling, wreathed in shadows that grew darker the further they stood from the gate before ultimately fading into darkness, even to Lýna's eyes reduced only to a murky, colorless presence. Deep on the other side, a few lamps glowed in the black, outlining a tunnel leading deeper in — the span of darkness between here and there made it impossible to guess how far off it was or how large, the tunnel a ring of light against the shadows disconnected from anything else.

It was a little eerie, honestly, but there were a lot of things down here that were a little eerie, Lýna didn't let it bother her.

"Such a dreadful thing, isn't it." Lèlja was standing nearby, looking out over the railing into the courtyard. "This had been a great city, once, home to so many people over centuries, and now..."

And now it was home to only darkspawn. "Yes. Though it isn't... It is not a new thought, to me. The ruins the Ancients left might not be so large, but the feeling is the same."

"Yes, I suppose it is. And what a horrible thing to become accustomed to — sometimes I do so feel for your People and the dwarves, to be so struck with proof of all you have lost..." Lèlja sighed, and turned away from the view, moving to sit on a bench nearby. It was slightly awkward for her, the bench at a height meant for dwarves, she folded her legs so her knees wouldn't stick up...and opened her copy of the Chant — Lýna hadn't realized she had it on her. "Now, it has been a while," she said, gently turning through the pages, the paper crackling unusually loud in the dead quiet of Tagj-Aidúkan, "but I believe we left off around..."

"No, not that." Lèlja twitched, turning up to give Lýna a wide-eyed look. "I mean, yes, I still must learn these things, but I— This is not what I wish to speak of, now."

Lèlja blinked. "Oh?"

"Yes. I wanted to..." Grimacing a little, Lýna turned away, looking back out over the railing — blankly, not truly seeing the ruined city before her. This was annoyingly uncomfortable. She didn't even know how to go about what she wanted to say, her talk with Lacie hadn't helped her figure out the exact words to use. To start off, maybe... "Remember, on the road to Orzammar, we... I said I needed time. To think."

"Oh!" There was a rustling from that direction, Lýna glanced that way to see Lèlja was folding her book closed, setting it aside on the bench. "You have decided, then?" she asked, smiling — an anticipatory, almost teasing edge on her voice, as though she'd guessed already exactly what Lýna had decided.

Lýna looked away again, quashed the urge to fidget as best she could. "Yes. I thought... I want to try. To do...whatever it is you call this."

"I'm glad, I had hoped you would. You haven't asked me yet, but the answer is yes."

A little laugh was shook out of Lýna's throat, exasperated and a little nervous, even to her own ears. "That isn't all. I am... There are things. Ah..." She hesitated, staring blindly out into the distance, her finger idly tapping against the hilt of her sword. "I don't know how...these things go. I don't know what may be too much, for me, or... I don't know."

Her voice soft and warm, Lèlja said, "So you wish to take things one day at a time — it's all right, I understand."

"Yes, good. Ah..." Lýna reached up, scratched idly along her neck, before realizing what she was doing and forcing herself to stop. "Mivhe, what else — I know there were other things I wanted to say, but... None— If we are to do this, it is to be us two, no– no one else." Had that made any sense at all, Lýna couldn't remember exactly how Lacie had put it...

"Of course." It could be her imagination, but she thought Lèlja sounded a little amused with her.

Oh, well. If it seemed so obvious to Lèlja, it was probably safe to assume she knew what Lýna meant, even if it hadn't been said very clearly. "Oh, ah, there was— It is okay if– if people know, but, ah, when we are with the others I..."

"It would embarrass you if you were to be too openly affectionate when we aren't alone, I understand. That sort of thing doesn't trouble me, but I'll take care to be discreet, if that's what you want."

"Yes, this, thank you." It didn't trouble Lýna either, not on principle — it wasn't as though there'd been much privacy to be had back with her clan, and the Avvar weren't shy about it either. She didn't know why she was so painfully awkward about this, but she expected Lacie was probably right. "Ah, I– I think that is all. Or, I can't think of anything else I needed to..."

"All right. I have a question." Lèlja was still sitting on the same place on the bench, legs crossed and hands folded on her knee, softly smiling up at Lýna.

"Ah, yes?"

"May I kiss you?"

Oh good, nothing they needed to— Right, okay. Biting out a relieved sigh, Lýna said, "Yes, please. That is— Good, kissing is good."

Lèlja let out a low giggle, sounding deeper than usual, the sound lingering longer in the empty air of the courtyard, a faint echo. "You're adorable, you know."

Her eyes flicking away, Lýna forced out a huff. But she didn't keep looking away, glancing back at Lèlja once and again. She'd stood up, her book left on the bench, started closing the few steps between them, tingles crawling along Lýna's neck. "So I hear. Lacie says this too. I was asking about this, how this goes, and she said she didn't know I could be adorable. So surprised she laughed." Quite suddenly too, Lýna remembered feeling annoyed about it.

"Oh? Well, now I'm curious. What did you say that surprised her so?"

Lýna opened her mouth to answer, and had her breath stolen away with a sudden flare of guilt. Because, she wasn't supposed to be doing this, the elders would not approve, but that didn't matter anymore, they must be in the far north by now, far away, she would never see any of them again. She'd already decided what she was to do, regardless of their theoretical disapproval. It didn't matter. She wasn't truly part of the clan anymore.

(Which was an unpleasant thought, honestly, but how she felt about it was irrelevant. She was Commander of the Grey in Ferelden — this was her place now, and these her people.)

Lèlja was standing very close to her now, looming over her — in human terms, Lèlja wasn't particularly tall, but that still put her well over Lýna's head — one hand coming up, accidentally brushing against Lýna's sleeve on the way, to gently push a bit of her hair to the side. Lýna's stomach fluttering, Lèlja's hand settled lightly on her shoulder, her finger cool against the side of Lýna's neck, Lèlja looked down at her, softly smiling, eyes glinting in the lamplight — a deep grayish-blue, like the sea in winter far to the south...

"I said I wanted you to kiss me again." Her throat annoying dry, Lýna swallowed. "Ah. She said it was the way I said it, which was odd, I don't know what she meant."

Lýna realized she was maybe babbling, a little. (If nothing else, not being great with Alamarri had stopped her from doing that, if only for a time.) But it didn't seem to matter, Lèlja just smiled all the wider — her thumb touching against the bottom of Lýna's chin, gently pushing up, Lèlja leaned closer. The scent of leather and Alamarri wood polish surrounded her, spices from dinner and a hint of mead on Lèlja's breath... "You need only ask."

For a second, Lýna thought Lèlja was going to wait for her to ask, which was rather unnecessary — she thought she already had, if indirectly. But she needn't worry, before she could wonder for longer than a couple breaths she already got her answer.

Lèlja lightly touched her lips to Lýna's, soft and slow, pleasant tingles crawling down Lýna's neck and across her shoulders, only holding for a moment before pulling away again. Not very far away, her face — from this close the seams in her lips and the darker freckles dotted in a band high across her cheeks and the hints of lines radiating from the corners of her eyes clearly visible — and bright orange hair dominating Lýna's sight, breath playing across her chin and throat as Lèlja exhaled. Lýna never noticed the lines around her eyes before, they were subtle, the few other times she'd been this close it must have been too dark to make them out.

She belatedly noticed Lèlja was examining her too — her eyes flicked down and away with no conscious input from her, she fought the urge to duck away, her stomach squirming. "No no," Lèlja moaned. A light press of lips to Lýna's cheek, soft and warm, hair tickling Lýna's ear, another on her brow, her thumb moved and began to gently push, trying to turn Lýna's head back toward Lèlja. Lýna considered resisting for a second, but then relaxed, letting herself be lead. A couple more kisses across her brow, skipping over her eye to get the other cheek, curving around to reach her lips again, one kiss and another, slow and warm and lingering.

Lèlja retreated a little again, her hand slipping a bit further back, fingers settling along the join of her neck and shoulder — some over her clothes, almost undetectable through the thick Alamarri fabric, but one settling along the top, cool against the nape of her neck. Her thumb was slowly brushing against Lýna's neck, which was honestly a little distracting. (The memory of Lèlja kissing her neck suddenly flashed behind her eyes, Lýna fought to focus, biting her lip.) Lýna felt like she should probably say something, but she didn't know what, in the end just stared up at Lèlja, unblinking, her ears burning.

"There's no cause to be embarrassed," Lèlja whispered, her breath tickling Lýna's lips. "We are alone here, and you needn't feel self-conscious of anything. You are lovely, you know." Her thumb came up, slipping over Lýna's chin, softly over her cheek, from the corner of her lips under her eye back — Lèlja's hand shifting her hair tickled her ear a little. "I can't believe no one would have told you before."

"...A few people have." Tallẽ, most often, some of the Avvar warriors she'd known — mostly teasing, taunting the pretty elf over something, but they called most of the hunters that at one point or another (not in cruelty, just playing, as warriors do), she didn't think that counted. And also one of the men who'd tried to rape her, she guessed. She hadn't known what she was supposed to do with that sentiment any of the other times either. (Except that Chasind man, she'd killed him, obviously.)

"Did you think they were being dishonest?"

"I never gave it much thought, truly." Though she supposed she had assumed so, maybe...except Tallẽ, he never lied to her. "Beauty won't keep you from starving, or kill darkspawn before they kill you."

"No, true enough." It might be her imagination, it was sometimes harder to read human voices, but she thought there was a subtle note of sadness there. Shifting into humour, "Though it does for some, but I don't imagine you had much prostitution in the far south."

Lýna blinked. "I don't know this word."

A little wiggle of laughter, breath puffing against Lýna's face, her hair shifting, tickling her neck and ears. "Having sex with strangers for money."

"...People do this?"

"Yes, of course. The Chantry disapproves, but it's quite common all the same. Peasants without land or trade must feed themselves somehow."

"I see. No, this is... We don't have money in the south." Lýna had heard stories of people (mostly Chasind) making trades that might involve sex somehow, but it was quite rare, certainly not common enough of a thing they needed a word for it. It simply wasn't necessary, clans and kindreds and so forth took care of their own people in the south. The way people in the north managed the resources available to them continued to baffle Lýna — she couldn't understand why everyone seemed to tolerate the way of things here.

"Mm. But we have gotten distracted — I believe we were in the middle of something," Lèlja said, her lips curling, a drawl on her voice.

Lýna was confused for a blink, before Lèlja kissed her again, soft and slow and— Right, yes. Kissing. That's what they were in the middle of. Yes.

To be honest, Lýna didn't really know how to... This wasn't something she had much experience with. Certainly little pleasant experience — only that once when Ásta surprised her with it, she thought. She didn't know what to do, how... She mostly just tried to follow along. Lèlja started with light touches, slowly, pausing between — looking for a sign Lýna was growing uncomfortable, but she wasn't going to get one, her ears burning and her skin tingling — but she slowly increased the pressure, settling longer, lips parting just a little, Lýna matching her, breath hardening in her chest, Lèlja's thumb trailing along her jaw and down her neck making her shiver a little, fingers hanging twitching at her hips.

She didn't know if she was doing this right, or if there even was a right way to do it. She tried not to worry too much and just enjoy it.

Pulling back a little, her breath puffing against Lýna's skin, Lèlja whispered, "You are allowed to touch me."

"...I don't know what is right to do."

Lèlja let out a little chuckle, dipped in for another quick kiss. "The right thing to do is whatever feels right. If you do something I'm not comfortable with, I'll say so — just as you will if I do, yes?"

"Yes." She guessed that made sense. Once again, Lýna must simply be thinking about it too hard...

While Lèlja started kissing her again, Lýna moved one hand — cautiously, with a couple stops and starts — to Lèlja's side. The cloth was thin enough that Lýna could feel the warmth of her body through it, her hand had landed below her ribs, her hip curving out. Unsure what else to do (an odd lurching tightness in her chest and her neck growing noticeably warm, tingling as Lèlja's thumb kept lightly drifting), Lýna let her fingers wander, following along the curve of the bone back and forward, up to—

Lèlja twitched, a little giggle at the back of her throat carrying through Lýna's lips. She pulled back to speak, but not very far, her lips fluttering against Lýna's. "That tickles."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I don't mind, I'm only saying so because I didn't want you to think I was laughing at you." And then Lèlja was kissing her again, sidling closer — with a hand on her hip Lýna could feel her take a tiny step, weight shifting one way and then the other — through the pounding in her ears there was a faint rasp of cloth against cloth, close enough Lýna could feel the warmth of her body on the air.

Still gently, Lèlja's lips against hers slow and warm and soft, her other hand began to move. Though she didn't notice at first, Lýna twitched when she felt Lèlja's hand slipping between her side and her elbow, the gap too narrow to fit through without bumping anything. Having Lèlja's hand under her arm was kind of awkward, so Lýna lifted it out of the way, setting her hand on Lèlja's shoulder out of a lack of any better ideas what to do with it. Her other hand had slipped around a bit, trailing over Lèlja's back — she'd said she didn't mind the tickling, but Lýna took it as a sign that what she'd been doing wasn't ideal anyway — Lèlja's fingers pressing down so she could feel out her lower ribs through her clothes. Which was a little ticklish, yes, but also, hmm, tingles running through her scalp and down her spine, the blush on her neck and chest growing warmer sharply enough she could feel it.

They went on like that for some time, slow and warm and soft, one moment smearing into another in a pleasant haze. Through her hand on her back, Lýna could feel the slight pressure of Lèlja's breath, faint hints of tense lines of tendons as she shifted, with her other fingering along the collar of her shirt, the skin beneath warm and smooth. Lèlja's hand had moved toward her back as well, but Lýna could hardly feel it, through too many layers of cloth. The hand on Lýna's neck slipped away toward the front, fingers running along the collar of the... Lýna forgot the Alamarri word, it was pourpoint in Orlesian, a few layers of thick linen in Warden black and blue.

Her breath hissing against Lýna's lips, Lèlja whispered, "I would like to take this off, if that's all right."

If Lýna was being honest, she wasn't perfectly comfortable wearing it in the first place. Out in front of the Gates, duelling that idiot Alamarri man, Lýna hadn't missed the looks people had been giving her — since then she'd made a point of wearing the pourpoint along with the chemise whenever she was in Alamarri clothing, as Alamarri sensibilities evidently demanded. The thick layers of cloth were rather tight, which Lýna didn't mind, but unlike her leathers it resisted bending with her spine. It was fitted properly, Lýna couldn't imagine how much worse it might be if it weren't, and Solana had said it was even supposed to hold its shape like that, but it did make Lýna faintly uncomfortable. She had no expectation she'd be getting in a fight just now, so her range of motion being a little restricted didn't really matter, but even so.

And besides, she could hardly feel Lèlja's hand through it. She did hesitate for a second, but only for a second. "Yes." Lýna started to move to do that, but Lèlja got there first, both hands at her throat — the pressure circling her body, light enough she didn't really notice unless she tried to bend in a way the pourpoint didn't like, pulled tighter for a moment, but then loosened as Lèlja undid the first hook. And then again with the next, and the next, Lèlja's lips finding hers again, soft and warm, pausing now and again as Lèlja focused on the hooks, close enough her lips were the faintest hint of tickling touch against Lýna's, mead and spices on her breath.

Before long Lèlja got to the last hook, the pourpoint fully loosened, but she didn't bother actually pulling it all the way off, fingers worming between pourpoint and chemise to find Lýna's waist. Lýna jumped — it was warm under the pourpoint, Lèlja's hands noticeably cool by comparison — her heart thumping and her stomach lurching. (Not in an about to be sick way, more an excited, climbing a tree too quickly way.) Lýna pulled the hand at Lèlja's back away and slipped her arm out from between them, which was a little hard to do with Lèlja standing so close. Shrugging her shoulders out from under the pourpoint, Lýna moved her hands behind her back (grimacing slightly at the uncomfortable strain), tugged at one sleeve then the other, trying to pull them down over her wrists...not made easier by Lèlja distracting her, still peppering her face with kisses — Lýna was forced to bow her head a little to get her hands to meet behind her, making it harder for Lèlja, taller than her, to reach her lips — Lèlja's palms settled on her hips and thumbs lightly caressing her waist through the chemise. After a few breaths she managed it, sleeves lowered enough she could grip the inside of one to hold the damn thing still, slip out one arm and then the other. She tossed the pourpoint in the direction of the bench, toward Lèlja's abandoned book, but she couldn't see it at the moment, no idea how close she got.

She heard it fall against the stone, though, so at least she hadn't thrown it over the edge into the courtyard, that would have been a pain...

Once the pourpoint was out of the way, Lèlja's hands moved toward her back, arms tightening around her waist, pulling Lýna against her, the pressure around her middle and Lèlja's breasts pressing against her upper chest forcing her back to arch. She didn't do it that quickly, but still Lýna drew in a little gasp — which was then immediately muffled by Lèlja's mouth over hers. A little heavier than before, still slow and lingering but yet more forceful, insistent, Lýna's jaw needing to move more to match her, lips parting just a little to let wisps of breath of pass through, the angle they were at was straining Lýna's neck almost immediately, her arms around Lèlja's shoulders — she hadn't even noticed that happening, they were just already there — Lýna shifted up so her elbows were braced on Lèlja's upper arms, hands buried in her hair, scratching against her fingers, leaning some of her weight on them, pulling herself up onto her toes. There, that was much more comfortable — Lýna's face was still lower than Lèlja's like this, but not by as much, the angle easier on her neck.

Lèlja let out a little hum, the vibration carrying through her lips into Lýna. The next kiss, Lèlja's lips slightly parted against Lýna's — over Lýna's, really, Lèlja's human mouth was noticeably wider than hers — before closing again there was a light flick along Lýna's bottom lip of something smooth and hot and wet. Lýna shivered, her heart pounding in her throat, let her mouth open a little further, and mm...

One arm wrapped around Lèlja's shoulders for leverage, only one hand left in her hair, and tension building in her limbs, Lýna was maybe gripping a little harder than she should, her nails digging into the back of Lèlja's head, but she didn't seem to mind. She needed it to pull herself up into the kiss — slow and hot and wet, an occasional shiver working down her spine at the flick of a tongue or a nip of teeth on her lip — and Lèlja was probably holding much of her weight by now, her toes light on the stone, her balance was off, a foot teetering here or there, and—

Lèlja's hands moved down to the back of her thighs — Lýna sucked in a shuddering breath as they passed over her rear, the touch light and barely there — and then suddenly pulled up and in. Lýna let out a startled little squeak (oops), muffled by Lèlja's mouth against hers, but she wasn't so surprised she didn't realize what Lèlja was doing, dropped her other arm around Lèlja's shoulders to help pull herself up, maybe accidentally pulling Lèlja's hair along the way and definitely clicking their teeth together (oops). Lýna's feet left the ground entirely, Lèlja pulling her thighs up to settle on her hips, the curve of her body enough for Lýna to get a grip on if she was careful. She squirmed a little, finding a better place to settle, her feet hooking behind Lèlja's knees, there, that should probably do.

For her, anyway, she had no idea how comfortable this was for Lèlja. "Ah. Is this okay?" she muttered against Lèlja's cheek, having shifted a little pulling herself up.

"Mm, yes, this is good." She must be clinging on well enough to hold most of her own weight, because Lèlja's hands moved to her back again, hugging her close, face turning to find her lips. One kiss and then another, her hands shifting against Lýna's back...tugging her chemise out from under her belt, hah... "You're so little, I could carry you all day. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I've travelled with a pack heavier than you before, when I was...in Orlais."

Deciding to pass over that last comment — Lèlja had many regrets over what she'd done as a bard, she sometimes didn't like to think about that time in her life — Lýna forced out a huff. "Yes, I am very tiny, this I've heard only always. I'm small for an elf, even."

"Oh, I know. I had elven lovers, long ago, I can feel it holding you."

...Did Lýna know that before? She thought she might have assumed, from what Lèlja had implied about her life back in Orlais, but Lýna wasn't sure whether she'd ever come out and said so.

Lèlja let out a low, slow chuckle, the motion shaking Lýna a little. Another slow kiss, whispered against her lips, "No need to be jealous, la miá rola."

She wasn't, just wondering, but it didn't seem worth it to explain. "Ah, rola?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, that was Délois." The human language spoke in Delzã, she meant, Lèlja's first language. "I said ma colombe."

Ah. My dove. Yes. That was making Lýna feel kind of...odd, for some reason, she had to resist the urge to shift in place — given she was clinging on to Lèlja, she wasn't in the best position for that at the moment.

"Have I told you how much I love your hair? I think I have. And there's also..." Lèlja's fingers finally slipping under the hem of her chemise, only slightly cool against her lower back (having lost most of their chill already), Lýna twitched, shivering a little, her arms tightening around Lèlja's shoulders — and Lèlja's head ducked to the side, hair rubbing against Lýna's cheek, pushing Lýna's hair out of the way to tickle at her ear, making her shiver again...and Lèlja's lips found her neck.

Lýna gasped as noticeably wet lips were pressed to her skin, soft and gentle and slow, once and again, drawing yet another shiver from her, clinging at Lèlja. She let out a hum, carrying through into Lýna, she squeezed her eyes shut as her skin crawled, hot and sharp.

"No, that wasn't it..."

Fingernails lightly dragging along her back, Lýna's neck curling away without thinking, gritting her teeth against the clenching in her chest and the lurching of her stomach and the burning heat on her skin, her hands fisting in Lèlja's clothes, Lèlja's breath softly brushing over the wetness left on her neck making her shiver. Then she jumped a little at a hard line drawn slowly across her skin, and then the next slow, hot kiss came with a sharp nip of teeth in the middle, a hard thrum dropped through Lýna's middle, almost like falling, she reflexively clamped her thighs around Lèlja's waist even though she was pretty sure Lèlja hadn't actually dropped her, and another nip, and another, lower, close to the curve down to her shoulder, sparks dancing over her, a fluttering noise was drawn out of her throat—

"Ah! There it is!" Her lips brushing against Lýna's neck with every syllable, her breath making her shiver, Lèlja drawled, "You sound like a dove, too."

...Now Lýna was embarrassed.

But she didn't have time to dwell on that for very long, Lèlja distracting her with more nipping kisses slowly drifting up and down her neck, the fingernails of one hand lightly tracing her spine, the other arm wrapped low under her waist, hugging Lýna to her, fingers idly following the curve of her hip through the cloth. Lýna's breath came thin and harsh now, she could barely think, the world narrowed down to Lèlja's hands and her mouth, Lýna's face and ears and chest burning. There was more cooing, definitely, Lýna couldn't help it, tried to muffle them in Lèlja's shoulder but it didn't work very well, and Lýna was growing tense enough she couldn't hold still, pulling herself into Lèlja, her back arching, the sword still hanging at her waist threatening to get in the way but Lèlja pushed it aside with an elbow, and Lýna—

The scabbard clinked against something, and then Lýna twitched at something cold and hard pressing against her back — the wall. Lèlja leaned further forward, pinning Lýna against the stone, which made it a little hard to reach her neck so Lèlja returned to her mouth instead, lips and tongue and teeth hot and pressing, which was making it a little hard to breathe, trying to sneak little gasps here and there, starting to get a little dizzy, her back pushed against the wall Lèlja's hands migrated forward, pulling Lýna's chemise out from under her belt along the way, Lýna shivering and her toes curling at the fingers running along her sides and the thumbs gently pressing into her hips. Sharp heat sparking low in her body, demanding, the thought of reaching for her belt flashed through Lýna's head, but she wouldn't be able to reach, Lèlja's arms were in the way, she couldn't—

Lýna froze, fear striking harsh and sudden, like being dropped unexpectedly into a frigid lake. She pulled away from the kiss, her head clunking against the wall, hissed. "Stop." Lèlja twitched, paused in place, Lýna released her arms to put both hands on Lèlja's shoulders, pushing out — not hard, just a little, to get the point across. "Let me go, now." Slowly, Lýna could almost feel the reluctance in the motion, but Lèlja obeyed, her weight easing away, arms loosening. Gradually, so Lýna's feet could find the floor (a little unsteadily, her limbs weak and shivering), and she backed a step off.

Though not away — Lýna leaned against her, her forehead pressed against Lèlja's chest under her chin, one arm loosely draped around her neck, the other hand settled on the grip of her father's knife. For a long moment, Lýna gasped for breath, the heat that had been built up still clinging but overwhelmed by the unpleasant churning of her stomach, panic clawing at her chest and the back of her neck, she tried to fight it off, eyes screwed shut tightly enough she saw sparks.

Finally, when she thought she had control of herself enough to speak, she muttered, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Hesitantly, as though uncertain whether Lýna would allow it, Lèlja's hand came up, started gently stroking her hair, in a line from the top of her head down toward the back of her neck. It was a little distracting, hair shifting tickling her ear, even bumped by Lèlja's wrist (Lýna turned her head to keep it from bending too much), but that was fine, felt nice anyway. "Talk to me," Lèlja whispered. "What's wrong?"

"I was... I couldn't move."

"...Oh. Oh!" Lèlja gasped, her voice rising a little. "Oh, I should have thought of that, of course. I'm so sorry, Lýna, that was careless of me."

"No, you didn't—" It belatedly clicked that Lèlja was saying she should have guessed Lýna... Well, Lýna had told her that men had tried to rape her before — Lèlja meant that she should have guessed that being pinned might have reminded Lýna of those incidents. Which was maybe a reasonable precaution to take for some people, when Lýna thought about it, but that wasn't it...or at least not consciously? Her hand did seem to be lingering on her father's knife, but that could just be a comfort thing, might not have anything to do with that. "It's not— I wasn't thinking of those men. I don't like not being able to move if I have to. I know you won't hurt me, but even so."

Lèlja let out a low hum, Lýna could feel it through her forehead against her chest. "You know it here..." She dropped a light kiss on the top of Lýna's head. "...but sometimes the body lingers over things the mind has long grown past. And besides, you've had to fight to survive so often for so long, it's no surprise that you react badly to feeling trapped. You have nothing to apologize for, I should have thought of that."

"It's okay." Lýna leaned back, eyes flicking up to Lèlja's. She noticed Lèlja's face was noticeably more pink than normal, most intensely along the top of her cheeks — at least that was more or less the same with elves, though the underlying bones were shaped differently. "In any case, it is not bad that we are stopped now."

Lips curling in a little smirk, Lèlja drawled, "Don't want to get carried away out here en le balcon?"

...Well, that too. "It is getting late, and we have a long walk tomorrow. We should rest."

"Ah, yes, of course." It could be Lýna's imagination, but she thought Lèlja sounded a little surprised, as though she'd forgotten they were doing something out here. "I suppose you're right, we shouldn't delay too much longer." Her eyes flicked away, a divot pulled into her lips as Lèlja bit the inside, just for a second. "Ah, I want to ask something, but you can say no if you like."

Lýna frowned — that was unusually cautious for Lèlja. "What is it?"

"May I sleep with you? I only mean sharing a bed, it need not be anything more than that." Her shoulders under Lýna's arm shrugging a little, "I did enjoy our nights together, and it has been a little while now, but I understand if you won't be comfortable with that just now." Lèlja tactfully didn't say that they had been sleeping together until Lèlja had kissed her on the road here and Lýna had abruptly moved her things to Morrigan's tent.

But that wasn't going to be a problem now. Lýna had been uncertain what to do about Lèlja, but now that she'd figured it out, there wasn't any reason they couldn't start doing that again. Huffing a little, Lýna said, "Yes, that's okay." Held back by a flutter of nerves for a second, Lýna brushed them off as well as she could, tipped up onto her toes to reach Lèlja's lips, giving her a last light, soft kiss before removing her arm and stepping away. "Truly, I don't like sleeping alone. This is good." Looking around, Lýna realized Lèlja had pinned her against one of the pillars, not the wall, but it hardly mattered. Ah, yes, her pourpoint hadn't quite reached the bench but it was right here. It probably wasn't worth putting it back on — she'd be taking it back off in a couple minutes anyway, and she'd have to get her chemise back under her belt, which would be kind of awkward...

"Did you not with your people? Though I imagine there's not much privacy to be had with the wandering clans..."

"Very rarely, yes, but not most times." Holding her pourpoint against her side with one arm, she waited for Lèlja to pick up her book before turning and starting off. "When I was young, I was with my parents, and then Ashaᶅ, and then Muthallã. After he died, I would sleep with Mẽrhiᶅ or some of the hunters."

"That's your cousin Mẽrriᶅ, yes, the mage?" Lèlja didn't quite get her name right, but close enough to be recognizable.

"Yes, Mẽrhiᶅ." The hallway inside was empty, Lýna turned straight for the stairs. Lèlja hesitated for a second before following, probably not sure which direction they were supposed to go but trusting that Lýna did — most Alamarri hadn't gotten anything like the training Lýna had, their sense of direction tended to not be very good. She remembered that Lèlja hadn't even known the way back to camp that night, had needed Lýna to lead her back. (The only reason she'd found Lýna in the first place was because her god had led her straight to her, which was a little annoying.) "Even out from the clan, we wouldn't sleep on our own. With the other hunters, or even with human warriors, if we were travelling with Avvar. Not normally with Chasind, though, they have different traditions."

"Oh, you've slept with humans before?"

"Warriors I was working with, yes, most from Stone River Hold." She wasn't certain how to say "ranging" in Alamarri, oh well. Lýna didn't see anyone out until they were down the stairs, a pair of dwarven warriors near a lookout into the courtyard, lowly chatting. While Lýna and Lèlja walked by, she noticed one of the dwarves was watching her, his eyes rather lower than eye-level — Lýna stared flatly back at him, and he gave her a rueful kind of smirk, head bobbing in a tiny little bow. "It is good for warmth, and for the watch, if something comes we can all be woken quickly. And, humans can smell funny, but Avvar are very clean, it was no problem most times."

"Ah. Are you suggesting I should go have a bath before bed?" There was a bouncing edge to Lèlja's voice, teasing.

"No, you're fine." She paused for a moment, her hand settled on the latch of the door to the room she'd been put in. "Maybe if there's another fight tomorrow..."

She'd been a little worried Lèlja would be offended, but she just chuckled, shaking her head a little. "I need to go get my things. I'll be back in a minute."

Lýna was pretty sure she wasn't going to need her Alamarri clothes tomorrow, so she put those straight back into her bag. After washing up quick — there was a basin in the corner, enchanted to heat the water inside, which was convenient — Lýna pulled back the blanket...and there was a little bit of a smell to the linens. Didn't know what that was, but she would guess the Legionnaires hadn't washed everything after Anvér's men had stayed here. (Given this was where they'd thought it appropriate to put a Warden-Commander, Lýna was guessing Anvér had slept in this very bed only a few days ago.) Oh well, nothing to do for it now but lay her cloak out over top, outside down — the smell wasn't so bad that it would distract her and keep her from sleeping, but she also didn't want it clinging on her in the morning. It was warm enough in here that she shouldn't need the cloak to cover herself, especially with Lèlja here with her, and if they decided it was too cold there was Lèlja's cloak too, it'd be fine.

Someone stepped inside, boots hitching when they spotted Lýna. "Oh my," Lèlja said, sounding a little amused. "You should close the door before you undress." The words were quickly followed by creaking from the hinges, the latch clacking closed.

Lýna shrugged. "It doesn't bother me if people see. We had this talk already."

"I remember." Lèlja walked further into the room, dropped her bag next to Lýna's, her sword and bow and quiver clattering against the rack, then sat in one of the chairs to start unlacing her boots. "But you are Warden-Commander now — there is a certain dignity that must be held to if people here are to respect that as they should."

...Lýna didn't see what was so undignified about her body existing uncovered, but she guessed Alamarri could be peculiar about things sometimes.

She was a little surprised when Lèlja removed both her top layers along with her trousers, leaving her only in a pair of linen shorts (not quite the same as Lýna's, but clearly the same idea). The previous times they'd slept together, Lèlja had kept her chemise on, at least. It didn't make any difference to Lýna, really, it was just a surprise. She did end up staring a little, but mostly for what she would claim to be perfectly innocent reasons — it was hardly the first time she'd seen an uncovered human woman (though mostly only Avvar), but their bodies were built differently, it still struck her as a little odd. Not terribly unappealing, no, just different.

Leaving her cloak on the floor nearby — she hadn't asked, seemingly having guessed Lýna's intent — Lèlja got onto the bed, shuffling aside to make room, careful not to displace the cloak already there. Lýna shuttered the lamps, cutting out most of the light to reduce the room to a dim, reddish glow, then made to follow her. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, hesitating, fighting a sudden surge of nervousness. But she was being silly — this wasn't to be that different from anything they'd already done before. Besides, there wasn't much room on the cloak, there was really only one way they'd fit. Lýna laid down, Lèlja shifted her arm out of the way, Lýna sidled in against her side, Lèlja's skin warm and soft against hers, her hand along Lèlja's ribs and her head resting on her breast.

Honestly, Lýna still thought how large humans' breasts could get made them kind of funny-looking — they weren't so bad on all of them, but Lèlja's would be comically huge for an elf. They did make good pillows, though.

After a couple breaths, Lèlja's hand found her shoulder, fingers lightly tracing along the curve of the bone. Lýna tensed at first, but then relaxed, curling closer around Lèlja with a sigh. Lèlja whispered, her breath dancing through Lýna's hair. "Sleep well, la miá rola."

Lýna huffed at the nickname. "Goodnight, Lèlja." Lèlja's Deluvẽ still wasn't particularly good, but Lýna was sure she'd understand that much.

With the distraction of Lèlja's hand wandering her back, her breath tickling her ears, her thigh between Lýna's, it took longer than it normally might for Lýna to fall asleep. Which was fine — this wasn't unpleasant, not at all, and as long as she got some rest she could go on for quite a while. (In the worst seasons of the Blight in the south, there had been weeks in a row when she never got more than a couple hours of sleep a night, sleeping only a little would slow her but not debilitatingly so.) It was as she was teetering on the edge of sleep, limbs gone numb and thoughts fuzzy and wavering, that it finally clicked, the realization nearly startling her all the way back into proper wakefulness.

She knew why Lèlja calling her my dove was making her feel weird: her father used to call her my little sparrow. She hadn't realized she knew that, he'd died so long ago now...

Hmm, glad she remembered now. She brushed the thought off, settled back in to sleep.

It might have taken her quite a while to drift off, but once she managed it she slept deeply and peacefully, warm and comfortable. The Archdemon did intrude on her dreams a little bit, but she was mostly able to ignore it — perhaps not the calmest night since her Joining, but good all the same. Lèlja was nice and soft and warm, and she did so dislike sleeping alone...

Clearly, Lèlja would have to sleep with her every night from now on. Lýna had the feeling she wasn't likely to object.

---

Bluuuhhh, not happy with this chapter. Writing was delayed for a time. First I was temporarily obsessed with Long Way Around, then The Good War was on a long and complicated chapter. And then I was ill, for maybe a week counting the wind up and down, and there were two days in the middle I was reduced to lying on the couch, because sitting up made my headache worse, and listening to YouTube videos, because wearing my glasses was making me nauseous. Might have been coronavirus, actually — heard mild omicron often presents with only headache and fatigue — but whatever it was it sucked. Still not 100% better...and now the gf is miserable with something, and I suspect it's not the same thing, so I might be coming down with that soon too.

They stopped requiring masks at her place of work, and she was nagged into a family gathering, and we both fell ill a week later. Funny how that works.

Anyway, point is, took much longer than it should have for me to even start on this one, and then I was ill while writing significant parts of it, I'm blaming any jank on that. Also squishy scenes are hard, that too...

Should be only one more chapter in the Deep Roads. After that, I might have a whole chapter's worth of stuff to do with drama in the other faction before moving on to the Carta, we'll see.

~Lysandra