Seasons of Love - Mid Spring
Part 2 of my male!Amell/Leliana series.
As the image for this work contains some violence (a certain bardess' death), I'm marking this NSFW.
Title: Seasons of Love - Mid Spring
Rating: T
PC: Male!Amell.
Spoilers: Leliana's personal quest.
Thump!
A simple sound. One that barely moved the air around them, yet shook the very core of Leliana’s soul.
Thump!
The reverb of an arrow striking its target, understated, yet nonetheless deadly.
Thump!
The noise of an object… or of a body… striking the ground after a brief fall.
Thump!
The signal to a chapter’s end in the storybook of the young bard’s life. Dumbfounded, numb, Leliana stared upon the body of her former master in unparalleled shock. She stood still, rigid and rooted to the floor. A wave of raw emotion smacked her, sending her back to her days in Orlais.
The letter… Those damn letters! They spelled out danger for Marjolaine. Panic grasped at her soul upon the realization that she held the very fate of her mentor and love within her small hands.
Ease! The letters secured, out of reach from the Orlesian authorities. Marjolaine was safe, and Leliana felt reassurance in her teacher’s promise that the days of her treasonous dealings were long past.
Betrayal! Cornered and confronted by an entire patrol of guards, the red headed woman knew instantly her beloved had framed her. Left her to the mercies of angered soldiers.
Unspeakable pain. The authorities of Orlais knew the art of torture well. Days, weeks passed in dank cells far below the surface, beyond the Maker’s warm light. Each hour filled with a new, ungodly torment. Lashings, finger breakings, dislocations and resettings, limb-stretchings; tortures Leliana knew no name for… These and far worse the bard suffered until her resolve cracked and she confessed to crimes of treason she knew another committed.
Tension. Splinters from her food bowl served as crude lockpicks, springing open the mechanisms to her cell door. It opened with a low creak, and she bit her lip, afraid a guard would hear. She waited a moment, exhausted but ready to fight if need be. No one appeared. Inhaling deeply, she slipped into the shadows, away from her captors and nightmares.
Despair. Alone on the road, trudging ahead through the downpour and winds, she hugged her cloak against her shivering body. It was a crude, simple garment - stolen back in Orlais after fleeing the dungeons to conceal her face from the patrolling guards. While glad to be free of their reach, Leliana nonetheless missed the bright Orlesian sun, the menagerie of colors in Val Royeaux. Miserable, she squinted through the driving rain, roaring winds clawing and her face and tangling her ginger locks.
Hope. The Chant of Light rang over the bellowing winds. The bard shadowed her eyes with her hand, peering further through the storm. Faintly, an outline of a town, of buildings ahead. Shelter! With newfound energy, she trudged through the muck and up to the chantry’s doors.
Peace and serenity. Two long years of it. The quiet of the chantry, except in the low hums of hymns and sermons. No more assassinations, no more seductions, no more putting on masks to deceive the unwitting. No more manipulation, from her or Marjolaine. Just tranquility, and love in the Maker’s house.
Worry. Her dream, her vision. The Blight threatened all that she held dear. After Ostegar, refugees swarmed into Lothering, and Leliana saw the despair written upon their faces. She knew that look well: one of loss and utter anguish. Pity gripped her heart, as did sorrow.
Faith. The rosebush drove her towards it as a beacon. The small miracle gleamed radiantly amongst the dead, dried brambles. Leliana hesitantly reached out, her fingers tracing the petal’s soft edges.
Determination. Confident in her duty, she left the comfort of the Chantry and headed towards Dane’s Refuge. No hunger or thirst gripped her body, but her spirit promised her duty, her destiny, began within the tavern.
Relief! The Grey Wardens brought her into their fold, with few questions asked. The Rivain mage, their leader, accepted her claims and bore no judgment against her.
Gratitude. The mage’s light, somewhat awkward flattery on her beauty amused her. It brought back memories long forgotten. For once though, they were pleasant memories.
Amusement. The mage, Legam’s, curious inquiries into her past brought out her inner minstrel once more. She gladly shared her stories and life experiences. Despite her comfort, Leliana’s shields still rose, and she misled the Grey Warden about her journey to Ferelden.
Guilt. Her lies about her past ate at her. Legam’s sincerity and easygoing acceptance of her life as a bard made him a quick and erstwhile companion to confide in. That she lied about Marjolaine ate away at her conscience.
Relaxation. Finally unveiling the truth about her past to her loyal friend eased her mind. Legam’s understanding of her misguidance and situation only further put her guilt to rest. For the first time since Lothering, she felt truly at ease.
Trepidation. The inept assassin was sent to kill her, not the Grey Wardens. Marjolaine. No other person in Thedas who might want her dead used such tactics. Denerim. She must go there, and put everything to rest.
Anger. Accusations against her character, misguided acts of vengeance. The sheer arrogance of Marjolaine, to think that she would care about the treasonous papers after all these years? How dare Marjolaine attempt to undermine her friend’s trust. Thankfully, Legam proved more loyal, sticking by Leliana's side and brushing aside Marjolaine’s claims.
Satisfaction. Her arrow sinking into Marjolaine’s heart, cutting off its life-giving flow. Her former bard master’s broken and bleeding body lying at her feet, dead by her hand.
Fear. Revelry over the death of another? Perhaps Marjolaine was right. Perhaps they weren’t so different. Leliana’s lip quivered. Her old life, every mistake, every sin… All lay bare before her. She was unworthy of the Maker’s love. She was unworthy of redemption. She was unworthy of Legam’s friendship and trust-
A firm, yet gentle hand clapped down on her shoulder, breaking her onslaught of memories and worries. Leliana turned her head to see her dear friend, mage and Grey Warden. Legam looked down at his feet, though she still read his expressions quite clearly: sorrow, sympathy, support. She exhaled, breathing again for the first time in several moments.
Leliana turned her gaze back to Marjolaine’s body. Again disbelief and dozens of other emotions drove at her, but in slower, more bearable waves. She searched for words, finally finding her voice.
“It’s… It’s over. She’s… Dead. Dead because of me…” Leliana shook her head, the reality of the situation still not quite settled with her. “I… Need some time to think. We…” She turned her head back towards Legam, their eyes meeting. “… Will talk later.”
He nodded silently, solemnly. His hand slid off her shoulder, gesturing towards the door.
Thump! Thump!
The sound of heavy footsteps, weighed down by their owner’s shock.
Thump! Thump!
The beating of a weary heart, burdened by the long road past, and the even longer one yet to come.
Thump! Thump!
The soft footsteps of a friend, close behind and ever ready for support.
At least, she mused, there was someone ready to hear her woes - when she finally voiced them. Leliana smiled briefly at this thought before her worries returned and ensnared her mind once more.
As the image for this work contains some violence (a certain bardess' death), I'm marking this NSFW.
Title: Seasons of Love - Mid Spring
Rating: T
PC: Male!Amell.
Spoilers: Leliana's personal quest.
Thump!
A simple sound. One that barely moved the air around them, yet shook the very core of Leliana’s soul.
Thump!
The reverb of an arrow striking its target, understated, yet nonetheless deadly.
Thump!
The noise of an object… or of a body… striking the ground after a brief fall.
Thump!
The signal to a chapter’s end in the storybook of the young bard’s life. Dumbfounded, numb, Leliana stared upon the body of her former master in unparalleled shock. She stood still, rigid and rooted to the floor. A wave of raw emotion smacked her, sending her back to her days in Orlais.
The letter… Those damn letters! They spelled out danger for Marjolaine. Panic grasped at her soul upon the realization that she held the very fate of her mentor and love within her small hands.
Ease! The letters secured, out of reach from the Orlesian authorities. Marjolaine was safe, and Leliana felt reassurance in her teacher’s promise that the days of her treasonous dealings were long past.
Betrayal! Cornered and confronted by an entire patrol of guards, the red headed woman knew instantly her beloved had framed her. Left her to the mercies of angered soldiers.
Unspeakable pain. The authorities of Orlais knew the art of torture well. Days, weeks passed in dank cells far below the surface, beyond the Maker’s warm light. Each hour filled with a new, ungodly torment. Lashings, finger breakings, dislocations and resettings, limb-stretchings; tortures Leliana knew no name for… These and far worse the bard suffered until her resolve cracked and she confessed to crimes of treason she knew another committed.
Tension. Splinters from her food bowl served as crude lockpicks, springing open the mechanisms to her cell door. It opened with a low creak, and she bit her lip, afraid a guard would hear. She waited a moment, exhausted but ready to fight if need be. No one appeared. Inhaling deeply, she slipped into the shadows, away from her captors and nightmares.
Despair. Alone on the road, trudging ahead through the downpour and winds, she hugged her cloak against her shivering body. It was a crude, simple garment - stolen back in Orlais after fleeing the dungeons to conceal her face from the patrolling guards. While glad to be free of their reach, Leliana nonetheless missed the bright Orlesian sun, the menagerie of colors in Val Royeaux. Miserable, she squinted through the driving rain, roaring winds clawing and her face and tangling her ginger locks.
Hope. The Chant of Light rang over the bellowing winds. The bard shadowed her eyes with her hand, peering further through the storm. Faintly, an outline of a town, of buildings ahead. Shelter! With newfound energy, she trudged through the muck and up to the chantry’s doors.
Peace and serenity. Two long years of it. The quiet of the chantry, except in the low hums of hymns and sermons. No more assassinations, no more seductions, no more putting on masks to deceive the unwitting. No more manipulation, from her or Marjolaine. Just tranquility, and love in the Maker’s house.
Worry. Her dream, her vision. The Blight threatened all that she held dear. After Ostegar, refugees swarmed into Lothering, and Leliana saw the despair written upon their faces. She knew that look well: one of loss and utter anguish. Pity gripped her heart, as did sorrow.
Faith. The rosebush drove her towards it as a beacon. The small miracle gleamed radiantly amongst the dead, dried brambles. Leliana hesitantly reached out, her fingers tracing the petal’s soft edges.
Determination. Confident in her duty, she left the comfort of the Chantry and headed towards Dane’s Refuge. No hunger or thirst gripped her body, but her spirit promised her duty, her destiny, began within the tavern.
Relief! The Grey Wardens brought her into their fold, with few questions asked. The Rivain mage, their leader, accepted her claims and bore no judgment against her.
Gratitude. The mage’s light, somewhat awkward flattery on her beauty amused her. It brought back memories long forgotten. For once though, they were pleasant memories.
Amusement. The mage, Legam’s, curious inquiries into her past brought out her inner minstrel once more. She gladly shared her stories and life experiences. Despite her comfort, Leliana’s shields still rose, and she misled the Grey Warden about her journey to Ferelden.
Guilt. Her lies about her past ate at her. Legam’s sincerity and easygoing acceptance of her life as a bard made him a quick and erstwhile companion to confide in. That she lied about Marjolaine ate away at her conscience.
Relaxation. Finally unveiling the truth about her past to her loyal friend eased her mind. Legam’s understanding of her misguidance and situation only further put her guilt to rest. For the first time since Lothering, she felt truly at ease.
Trepidation. The inept assassin was sent to kill her, not the Grey Wardens. Marjolaine. No other person in Thedas who might want her dead used such tactics. Denerim. She must go there, and put everything to rest.
Anger. Accusations against her character, misguided acts of vengeance. The sheer arrogance of Marjolaine, to think that she would care about the treasonous papers after all these years? How dare Marjolaine attempt to undermine her friend’s trust. Thankfully, Legam proved more loyal, sticking by Leliana's side and brushing aside Marjolaine’s claims.
Satisfaction. Her arrow sinking into Marjolaine’s heart, cutting off its life-giving flow. Her former bard master’s broken and bleeding body lying at her feet, dead by her hand.
Fear. Revelry over the death of another? Perhaps Marjolaine was right. Perhaps they weren’t so different. Leliana’s lip quivered. Her old life, every mistake, every sin… All lay bare before her. She was unworthy of the Maker’s love. She was unworthy of redemption. She was unworthy of Legam’s friendship and trust-
A firm, yet gentle hand clapped down on her shoulder, breaking her onslaught of memories and worries. Leliana turned her head to see her dear friend, mage and Grey Warden. Legam looked down at his feet, though she still read his expressions quite clearly: sorrow, sympathy, support. She exhaled, breathing again for the first time in several moments.
Leliana turned her gaze back to Marjolaine’s body. Again disbelief and dozens of other emotions drove at her, but in slower, more bearable waves. She searched for words, finally finding her voice.
“It’s… It’s over. She’s… Dead. Dead because of me…” Leliana shook her head, the reality of the situation still not quite settled with her. “I… Need some time to think. We…” She turned her head back towards Legam, their eyes meeting. “… Will talk later.”
He nodded silently, solemnly. His hand slid off her shoulder, gesturing towards the door.
Thump! Thump!
The sound of heavy footsteps, weighed down by their owner’s shock.
Thump! Thump!
The beating of a weary heart, burdened by the long road past, and the even longer one yet to come.
Thump! Thump!
The soft footsteps of a friend, close behind and ever ready for support.
At least, she mused, there was someone ready to hear her woes - when she finally voiced them. Leliana smiled briefly at this thought before her worries returned and ensnared her mind once more.