Seasons of Love - Late Winter

[bahstudios]

Welp, I finally did it. I wrote the final chapter for this thing. Unfortunately, since it took me so long, the drawing for it feels old and outdated. Gah, I kinda really just want to redraw the whole series.

Anyway, this was speed-proofed, so I'm almost certain some typos/other goofs slipped through the cracks. But I'm sure zandilar will find something I missed - she pretty much always does. :D

I'm gonna go ahead and say it's NSFW like part 2 was - due to some violence in the artwork.

Title: Seasons of Love - Mid Winter
Rating: T? (Some descriptions of violence, but I don't think it goes into the M rating)
PC: Male!Amell
Spoilers: I suppose it spoils some of the choices Legam made during Origins, but if you've been following this series, I'm fairly certain there's nothing mentioned you wouldn't already know.



For a man who hated conflict, Legam certainly found himself on one form of battlefield or another quite often. Darkspawn, bandits, blighted animals, abominations, demons, dwarves, werewolves, slavers, elves, blood mages, dragons, politics… If he so wished, the mage could probably write a codex several hundred pages long detailing his experience in combat, both with swords and wit. In fact, writing a book would be a nice reprieve from all the conflict.

The mage sighed, hands tightening their hold on his staff. The last thing he wished to dwell on was a calmer life than the one he led. And it wasn’t as if he experienced no joy or peace at all - for all the moments of struggle duty brought him, there were just as many others of humor and happiness with his friends and family.

Family. The thought brought a smile to his aging face. Legam was certain most considered his family rather odd, to say the least. A Rivaini mage, an Orlesian bard, an Antivan assassin, a mabari, and a dwarf were hardly the makeup of an average Ferelden household.

Legam’s smile widened when the dwarf crossed his mind. The lad was nearing adulthood, and no doubt Leliana’s training in the roguish arts would serve him well in the coming years.

Though most other humans found the notion rather strange, Legam never once hesitated to think of the dwarf as his own son in every way but blood. The mage recalled the day he and Leliana came across a dwarven babe during a Deep Roads excursion. Noting the brand of Orzammar’s casteless fresh upon his cheek - the blood barely caked around the inked symbol - the two humans understood instantly why this unfortunate baby was abandoned, left to die.

They didn’t intend to take him in, not permanently. They simply did not wish to see an innocent child suffer such a fate due to shortsighted traditions. But by the time Legam and Leliana found a surface-dwelling dwarven family willing to adopt the child, they realized they couldn’t bear to part with him.

And so the mage and bard adopted the dwarf themselves, naming him “Jowan” after Legam’s ill-fated companion, as a reminder everyone deserves a second chance. The taint in Legam made it difficult for the couple to conceive their own offspring, and so they viewed the unexpected entrance of Jowan into their lives as the Maker’s blessing.

However unusual his roots, Jowan adapted well to life amongst humans, picking up Leliana’s subtle wit and Legam’s bookish leanings. By his early teens, the young dwarf also began to develop Zevran’s ribald sense of humor, much to the humans’ mixed dismay and amusement. They were an odd family indeed, but happy as they were.

Legam stroked his beard as he continued trekking through the empty, ominous stone passages. He wondered how his family fared without him there. His departure was rather abrupt, and far more permanent than his previous ventures from home.

The nightmares had returned.

They actually came months ago, but Legam resisted the taint and its call for as long as he could. While never quite in peak physical condition, even the mage could tell that his health was rapidly deteriorating, his mind starting to lose its edge for reasons other than age. Mentally, Legam counted off the passage of time since his Joining. Thirty-four years. Longer than most Wardens, though he wondered if Avernus’ research contributed to that.

The ancient Warden made much progress in his research to alter the taint’s fatal consequences while still retaining its advantages. The old mage succeeded - before he died, he discovered an alternate formula for the darkspawn blood in the Joining. Unfortunately, this solution only helped new Wardens undergoing the ritual for the first time. If current Wardens consumed it, the best it did was to further slow the taint’s spread.

Legam sighed. Perhaps if he had allowed Avernus to continue his research in the same cold, brutal manner, the elder mage could have discovered a solution for older Wardens. However, the Rivaini did not regret his decision to force Avernus to change the nature of his experiments. The ends did not always justify the means, even if he had to pay the price for it personally.

And so Legam accepted his inevitable demise. Well, strictly speaking, everyone answered Death’s call eventually - his merely came earlier than some. Still, at fifty-seven years old, the Rivaini mage enjoyed a lifespan longer than many others, and a full life at that. His main concerns at this point were twofold.

Though he formally left the order many, many years ago, Legam chose to carry out the Grey Warden tradition and venture into the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until his final breath. He hated that his death must come so violently, but it felt preferable to slowly going mad or… Worse. Legam shivered, brushing aside such musings. Besides, at least by battling the darkspawn he did something helpful in his final moments. Better than wasting away in a bed somewhere.

Legam’s lips pulled down into a contemplative frown. His other worry concerned his family. They knew all too well his Calling would come one day, but not when. Unable to cause them distress, Legam kept his ailing health secret.

Leliana knew, regardless.

His wife could always read his unspoken language - his eyes, breath, body movements - as clearly as any tome. She never said anything, but he could tell. Legam interpreted her signals just as well as she did his. Every kiss, every hug, every greeting, every pause… They all held an undercurrent of knowing trepidation, of barely concealed sorrow. She knew the Calling beckoned him. Though they understood his fate as a Grey Warden long before they even became lovers, neither could bring themselves to approach the subject now that it drew so near.

Legam paused in his stride, rubbing his chest as guilt seeped into his heart. Knowing he could no longer put off the Calling, he had made preparations back home, and like his illness, he made them in secret. The mage didn’t even concoct an excuse to leave Denerim. His family had no inkling he intended to leave the city that day, let alone travel across the country.

He treated the day prior to his departure as any other - organizing notes on magic, meeting with Shianni to discuss alienage affairs, helping Jowan with his history lessons, playing with Todd - his current Mabari and second generation of Benjamin spawn - reminiscing with Zevran, exchanging teasing wits with Leliana… Visiting Alistair’s grave at the royal palace. His old friend answered the Calling a few years prior, and so honoring the king’s memory became daily ritual for the Rivaini mage.

Truly, nothing out of the ordinary from his daily patterns. Well, almost nothing out of the ordinary. Legam smiled wistfully. He suspected Leliana recognized the subtle shifts in his demeanor during their lovemaking. His touches lingering longer, his kisses more desperate, his absolute refusal to part from her arms for even a second before succumbing to sleep… Legam held few doubts Leliana did not understand that was their final night together. Even so, she never questioned him.

That only made waking up the next day all the more difficult. Never before did Legam’s body feel so heavy as that morning, slowly withdrawing himself from his wife’s embrace, careful not to wake her. He dressed quickly and silently. It felt like such a cliché, a cop out - a departing note with his explanations and apologies his only farewell to the one woman who supported him throughout his adult life. But he knew no other way to leave. If he spoke to her, she might try to join him in battle - and as much as he wanted her company, Legam couldn’t ask her to watch him die, or risk her life when Jowan still needed her. Besides, he suspected if he talked to her, he’d lose his nerve and find himself unable to leave home at all.

Cliché or not, he left the letter, pausing only a moment to gaze upon the bard one last time. Still sleeping peacefully, Leliana curled her body against the bed’s warm sheets. Legam hesitated. Warily reaching a hand out, he brushed his fingers against her cheek. She stirred at his touch, but did not wake. Legam reluctantly withdrew, grabbing his staff and walked lead-footed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He continued walking, each step just as difficult and resigned as the last. Legam shortened his journey by traveling with various merchant and diplomatic caravans. Using his connections established during his Warden and king counseling days held certain advantages. The mage reached the Frostback Mountain in a week, departing on foot once more before the caravan reached Orzammar.

While the most obvious entrance to the Deep Roads lay in the dwarven city, he avoided the metropolis when possible, as it only reminded him of all the unpleasant affairs there during the Blight. Though most dwarves respected him as a darkspawn slayer, his support of Harrowmont all those years back led to a great stagnation of dwarven society. Few blamed him for it, but Legam felt guilty all the same.

No, Orzammar wouldn’t do. For the past several years, Legam had tracked down and studied what few copies of Deep Road maps he could procure. From his research, he learned of several lesser known entrances. Never one to want the spotlight yet often finding himself blinded by it anyway, Legam felt the humble entrances rather fitting to his tastes.

Finding one of these entrances several hours prior, Legam inhaled deeply and stepped downward into the dark. Now he trekked the winding passages alone, his feet echoing against the unfeeling cavern walls. Even lost in his self-reflections, the mage kept a wary eye and ear open for any approaching darkspawn, deep stalkers, thaig crawlers, or any other deadly creature that called the caverns its home. Nothing ambushed him yet, but the fact consoled Legam very little. In some ways, the calm wracked his nerves further, to where the mage almost wished -

A grunting, inhuman cackle taunted the mage from the road ahead. Readying his staff, Legam froze in place, scanning the area. Before long, he spotted the charging hurlock - and its dozens of genlock allies rushing behind it. The mage smiled grimly. Finally, some darkspawn. Magic coursed through his body, past his hands and channeled into his staff as Legam prepared his mind and body for combat one more time.

~*~*~
Legam grunted, swinging his staff diagonally to deflect the hurlock’s blade. How many darkspawn did he slaughter already? A dozen? A few hundred? How long had he been fighting? A few minutes? A few hours? Mind hazy from exhaustion, the mage knew none of the details anymore. He barely retained enough energy to cast the simplest spells.

The hurlock’s arm flew aside, successfully repelled by Legam’s staff. Quickly compensating, the darkspawn clenched its free hand into a fist and threw a punch. Its knuckles connected with Legam’s jaw, temporarily blinding the man from the impact. The mage stumbled back, dazed. Seizing the opportunity, the hurlock swung its sword downward.

The Rivaini heard the all-too familiar sword swish and hopped back several paces. Not quite far or fast enough. He yelled in pain as he felt the sword’s edge bite into his flesh, opening up a long, bloody line across his stomach. Another step or two and the blow would have eviscerated him. Panting, Legam thrust a hand forward, flames erupting from his palm. Unprepared, the hurlock shrieked as the fire engulfed it.

Legam’s vision finally began coming back into focus, watching the doomed darkspawn retreat, the scent of burning flesh assailing the mage’s nostrils. He grunted in pain, leaning against his staff for support and clutching his abdominal wound. One more down, but how many more remained? He suspected the gash across his stomach was deep enough to kill him, but shallow enough to let him press forward a little while longer before he bled out.

Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, Legam scanned the caverns. Further away, another hurlock began charging. He might be able to freeze it before it got too close, but… The mage squinted, peering beyond the rushing darkspawn. Was that a genlock? Yes, he believed it was. But was it an emissary, an alpha, or perhaps a -

An arrow thudded into his chest, too low for his heart and too shallow to pierce his lungs - but deep and painful all the same.

Sod it. An archer. Legam stumbled again, barely keeping his feet steady. His eyesight wavering once more, he clenched his teeth and focused on the genlock. Gathering the final vestiges of willpower, the mage fired one last spell. A glowing green, ethereal fist manifested from his fingertips, flying past the oncoming hurlock and slamming into the genlock. The magical stone fist knocked the darkspawn on to its back.

Grasping his wounded belly once again, Legam fell to one knee, his staff’s support the only thing preventing him from collapsing completely. The Rivaini felt blood fill his mouth and he coughed, pain shooting through his body when the action disturbed his injuries. Warm, coppery liquid seeped past his lips. Slowly raising his head, Legam saw the hurlock closing the last few yards between them, axe at the ready.

This was it, the end of it all. He had no energy to block the oncoming blow, let alone the power to conjure another spell. Still, he refused to die indignantly. Legam met the darkspawn’s eyes, glowering defiantly even as the hurlock raised its axe to strike.

An arrow slammed into the hurlock’s chest, halting its charge. Before the creature could find the source of attack, two more missiles struck it - one into its throat, the other embedding itself deeply into its left eye. The hurlock gurgled and slumped to the stone ground, dead. Surprised, Legam turned his head, spotting a familiar set of studded leather armor and a head of graying red hair.

“Leli…?” the mage coughed. Instead of replying, the bard raised her bow again. Legam’s eyes rolled to his peripherals, spotting the genlock archer in the distance. It slowly rose to its feet, recovering from Legam’s stone fist.

An arrow plunged into its skull, sending the darkspawn back to the ground. This time, it did not rise again.

His breathing shallow, Legam weakly craned his neck to face his wife. “What are you… I’m… supposed…”

Leliana knelt down in front of him, quickly rummaging through a pouch strapped to her belt. “Oh, hush,” she chided with a tone of mixed amusement and forcefulness, “I am an adult and can make my own choices.”

“But you can’t… It’s…” He coughed, feeling more blood rise in his throat, “… Dangerous, Leli…”

“I don’t intend to die here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She snipped as she continued to rummage. “Aha!” The bard pulled out a small glass vial filled with bright red liquid - a healing poultice. The Orlesian uncorked the top and presented it to her husband, “Here, drink this.”

Legam’s fingers brushed against the container before feebly pushing it aside. “Leli, I can’t. If I don’t…” Another short coughing fit struck him, “… die now, the taint will… Just…” He hacked again, blood gurgling at the back of his throat.

Leliana practically shoved the poultice into his blood-splattered face, “Drink it,” she commanded, though her features quickly softened and she lowered her tone, “It won’t… It’s not enough to heal you. It’s just to give you enough strength to walk a little while longer.”

He arched an eyebrow, but before he could voice another query, Leliana pushed the lip of the vial against his mouth, “Please, just do it.”

Too tired to argue further, Legam took the vial, Leliana helping him lean his head back to drink it. He coughed again as it settled in his stomach. Soon, he felt some of his wounds slow their bleeding and weave slightly closed. Leliana spoke true, however - while the potion revived some of his endurance, it did far too little to make his injuries any less fatal.

The bard eyed the arrow protruding from his chest. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around the missile and gave a small, testing tug. It barely budged, but Legam hissed in pain. Leliana frowned.

“I think it’s lodged between your ribs. I can’t remove it.”

“Leave it, then.” Legam grunted. Leliana bit her lip.

“Do you think you can still walk?”

Legam slowly rose, balancing back onto his feet unsteadily. He leaned against his staff, barely able to stand. “Not… far… And slowly, perhaps, but… Yes, with your help I… Think I can.”

Leliana carefully wrapped an arm around his waist, and gently slung one of his arms around her own midsection. He took a few testing steps, putting most of his weight on his wife and staff. With effort and her support, the mage slowly moved forward.

As they walked, Leliana guided their steps down a narrow passageway. Legam leaned his head against her shoulder, exhausted. She carried most of their weight, but the Orlesian never complained.

They walked in silence for several moments, before Legam found breath to speak again. He opened his mouth, but Leliana interrupted him before the first syllables formed on his tongue.

“Don’t waste the last ounces of your strength asking questions,” she chided. “I know what you must be thinking, so just let me speak.”

He managed a low, weak chuckle in concession.

“First, I’m here because I want to be,” she began, her tone daring him to protest. “I have no intentions of dying alongside you, but I refuse to let you leave this world alone.”

An appreciative smile tugged at the corners of Legam’s lips as he let the bard continue.

“And really…” Leliana allowed herself a smile smirk of her own, “Did you honestly not expect me to find you if I wished? My tracking skills are still quite good. The difficult part was convincing Zevran to stay in Denerim to look after Jowan.” She chuckled softly, “Besides, you’re not the only one who studied the Deep Road maps.”

His eyebrow quirked. Those papers were kept in his study, sealed away for only his eyes. How did she…?

Knowing his source of befuddlement, Leliana’s smirk briefly spread into a full on grin, “Really, my dear… You should install better locks on your private document chests. I may be a bit rusty in my lock picking skills, but I’m not that out of practice.”

He chuckled again. Damn sneaky rogues.

“As for why we’re walking,” Leliana turned them around a corner, her tone serious again, “There is an exit to the surface nearby.”

“But… Wardens kill darkspawn in the Dee -” He began to protest, his voice raspy. She didn’t let him continue.

“- And you slew more than your share already, judging from the bodies I came across.” Her eyes narrowed, spotting a few faint rays of sunlight in the distance. “And you suffer mortal wounds. The darkspawn may take your life, but I refuse…”

Her voice cracked and the bard paused, regaining her composure. “I… refuse to let them take your body to desecrate like Cailain’s, or worse…” Leliana looked down at her feet, her eyes squeezing shut. She inhaled deeply, then released a calmed breath, “You deserve better. You should see the Maker’s light here on Thedas one last time, before you…” She steadied her voice again, “… Before you join His side.”

Andraste’s sacred ashes, he adored this woman. “I… love you, Leli.” Her hand holding his arm in place around her shoulders gave his fingers an affectionate squeeze.

The light ahead spread wider and glowed brighter, revealing the promised exit. The two emerged from the caverns and onto the grassy surface. Both squinted, their eyes adjusting to the sunlight.

Legam forced his feet forward along a nearby path, walking some hundred more paces before his knees buckled. Feeling his balance waver, Leliana let go of his arm and grasped his other side, carefully lowering the wounded mage to the ground. She seated herself on the grass, bringing her husband’s head and shoulders into her lap.

The mage rested his left hand upon his chest, near the arrow. He gazed up at her, a small apologetic smile on his bloodied lips, “I’m sorry… Guess that’s as… far as I’m going.”

Leliana returned his sad smile, placing one hand atop of his, the other stroking his graying hair. “That’s all right. It’s plenty far.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Leliana stroking his hair and Legam staring up into the sky. He enjoyed the view and the warm rays of sunlight on his skin. As far as death by darkspawn-induced injuries went, he supposed this was one of the more pleasant ones. Though pain still wracked his body and he felt his life force slowly ebbing away, the mage also felt a sense of tranquility and contentment. Another small smile spread across his lips. Leave it to Leliana to bring him peace, even now.

His thumb weakly ran across her fingertips. “You know,” he rasped, “A certain… song… comes to mind.” Leliana looked down at him inquisitively. “In Uthenera.” He clarified.

She smiled sadly, and Legam thought he caught a glint of water in her eye, “That is… rather appropriate, I suppose…”

He turned his head to the side, resting his cheek against her stomach. “Well…” He sighed. “Not just… for this, but…” He paused, trying to find a brief explanation. “Do you… remember the first time you… sang it to me?”

“After resolving the conflict with the werewolves and Dalish?” She asked. He nodded, barely. “Of course. What of it?”

“It was then…” He grimaced as pain shot through his torso. It passed, and he continued, “when I realized… that I was… in love with you.” Legam leaned his head further into her stomach, growing more tired by the moment.

She stared down at him, momentarily at a loss for words - stuck between amusement and flattery at his typical sappiness. Finally, the bard wiped a tear from her eye, chuckling, “Silly boy…”

He merely muttered in reply, and Leliana noticed how much his breathing had slowed. She bit her lower lip, thinking. Inhaling to refocus her composure once more, she asked, “Would you… wish to hear it one last time?”

“’Be nice,” he muttered against her abdomen.

“Very well. I’m afraid there’s no music to accompany it this time though,” she joked, attempting to keep her tone light. The bard began humming the familiar tune, recalling the elven lyrics.

Legam focused the last reserves of his energy listening to his wife sing the elven lament. He closed his eyes, relaxing to their mournful, yet beautiful melody.

“In uthenera na revas.” His pain subsided, forgotten.

“Vir sulahn'nehn… Vir dirthera.” A fog drifted over his mind, much like the sensation from consuming enough lyrium to enter the Fade. All that remained was her voice, her singing.

“Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin…” Even her voice drifted away, a wave of serenity flowing through his mind. Then, nothing.

Leliana finished singing, her voice trailing off with the last few notes. She sighed, looking down at her quiet husband. “Legam…?” No response. The bard moved a hand to his jaw, gently turning his head away from her stomach to face the sky. She saw and felt no pulse, no breath.

Despite all her preparations for this moment, profound sorrow gnawed at her heart. Warm, wet tears flowed down her cheeks. Leliana rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear her vision. She looked upon his face once more, and even through her sadness, she felt a twinge of relief.

For all the pain he undoubtedly suffered through, Legam’s face bore only contentment - his eyes relaxed shut, a small, tranquil smile drawn across his lips. Leliana felt her mouth form its own sad smile. She leaned down, softly pressing her lips against his forehead in a parting kiss. Somehow, she found her voice.

“Be at peace at last, my Grey Warden.”

In her heart, she believed he was.