Um... oops.

[bamftastik]

WOW. It's been two months since I've posted an update to this. I really, really apologize to anyone who was following it. But I've finished a massive, soul-sucking project at work and RL has calmed down again. I promise updates will be coming hot on the heels of this one... and there's only three chapters left!

Since I sort of lost the thread myself, here's a summary up to this point.

Title: No More Heroes, Chapter 18
Characters: Leliana, Anders, Wynne, Zevran, Anora, Nathaniel
Rating: T
Words: 2,650
Summary: After the Joining, Leliana wonders if she made the wrong choice. Anders gets his fondest wish.

Previous Chapters



"So the griffons of legend... they were the Grey Warden mages?"

Wynne looked up from the sock that she was darning and arched a suspicious brow. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you are a mage and..." Leliana hesitated. Looking to her boots, she tucked a braid sheepishly behind one ear. "And wise."

"Old, you mean." Wynne chuckled. "Age does not necessarily grant wisdom. And I should think you know the stories better than I."

Leliana shook her head, pacing the narrow alcove that served as sleeping quarters for the women of the Denerim resistance. Funny that she should think of them that way, but word of the Joining had spread through the hidden camps, bringing with it a renewed sense of energy, whispers that sounded almost like hope. At the moment, she and Wynne were alone, but she heard a group of soldiers clattering nosily through the tunnel beyond. "I do not know many tales of the Wardens."

"And yet you seem quite taken with them." Wynne smirked but kept her eyes on her needlework. "I suspect I do not need to have the same talk with you that I had with Alistair?"

"Talk?"

"Tell me, child, do you know where babies come from?"

Leliana suppressed a chuckle, pursing her lips instead. "If you pray very, very hard the Maker leaves them on your doorstep, swaddled and wrapped in a bow."

Wynne laughed. "It is good to see you smile again. You have seemed troubled since the Joining. This Anders..."

"Oh, no. No, it is nothing like that." Her cheeks warmed, but the fluttering in her stomach had returned. This is why she had come to find the old mage, but suddenly she could not find the words. "I... when they stepped forward - Oghren and Nathaniel - why did you not stand with them?"

Wynne raised her head, studying her. Those eyes saw much, despite their sympathy, despite that soft and knowing smile. "I doubt the Wardens would have much use for an old woman." She shook her head, gesturing with her needle. The sewing looked strange against her armored knees. "I must be content to offer what I can. If not for me, Alistair would catch a chill before he ever reached the city walls."

Her tone was light, but Leliana suspected that there was resignation behind the words. The mage had changed much since their travels together; the Arcane Warrior's armor was the least of it. But always she had pretended her part was small, offering advice or comfort to those who would do great deeds. It had been that way with the Warden. Leliana watched her now, busying herself as her smile faltered, clucking her tongue to hide a sigh as she ripped out a bad stitch. Perhaps it was a habit she had tried to break, a mother's instinct that now brought only bitterness. The Warden had been as a daughter to her, but all the advice in the world had not been enough.

Leliana threw her arms around Wynne and pulled her into a fierce hug. She dropped her darning in surprise, but she chuckled once more, giving Leliana a pat on the arm. They shared a smile as she pulled away.

"You should go and see to your young man. Need I warn you of the tales of Grey Warden appetites? Particularly in those new made."

"I remember. The Warden, She ate like a half-starved wolf, no?"

Still her eyes were sad, but Wynne smirked and shook her head. "You assume I am talking about food."

With a quiet smirk, Leliana turned and made her way into the tunnel, but soon the silence and the dark pressed in around her once more. Perhaps it had been foolish to think that Wynne could ease this feeling in her chest, this strange and gnawing guilt. She had been so angry that day on the ridge when Alistair had found his new Wardens, so relieved when the Templars set Anders free. It had happened before she realized it, she told herself, but the excuse seemed hollow now. She had been a Warden - a hero - and it was for Her memory that Leliana had sworn to do better. Why then had she not stepped forward?

That night she had lain awake and, for the first time since the Warden's death, she had turned to the Maker for guidance. The vision had led Leliana to Her, but it never hinted that they would fail. And so she had prayed for dreams - new dreams, better dreams - but she had found only restless dark.

Bracing a hand against the rough dirt of the wall, Leliana swallowed a sob. A crash ahead made her jump, a shattering sound that might have been breaking pottery. Taking a slow step forward, she peered round the next bend.

"Your father would have said that he was only doing his duty as well."

"You think so? My father did nothing that did not serve his own interests, I assure you."

So lost in thought was she that she had found her way to the Queen's chamber, the old cellar beneath the farmhouse. Had she kept walking, she might have continued down the main fork without notice, but a pair of familiar figures stood just beyond the doorway and there was now no way for Leliana to slip past unseen. With a vague stirring of guilt, she pressed against the wall and peeked round.

Queen Anora's back was to her but she stood as stiff and imperious as ever, perhaps even more so. Nathaniel Howe was gazing down at her, his face an unreadable mask of careful indifference. There was a broken cup at his feet, Leliana saw, a wet stain on the wall beside his head. If she did not know better, she might have guessed that the queen had thrown it at him.

"And if I command you? If I order you to remain here? Your Queen will need protecting. Let the others rush to their deaths."

Nathaniel dropped into a deep bow, his lips twisting into a mocking sneer. "The Wardens serve no realm, Your Grace. Our only concern is the darkspawn. And you need not trouble yourself with our methods."

"Oh yes, your methods. Your noble sacrifice. I suppose that is your only concern. Clearly." Anora raised her chin and sniffed, but her hands balled at her sides.

As he straightened, Nathaniel's brows drew low, studying her face. When he spoke again, his whisper was hushed and hoarse. "I hear there is another option."

"Get out. Now." The queen spun and thrust an arm toward the door. Leliana barely had time to press back against the wall. "My father was a Grey Warden. He would never allow-"

Nathaniel stepped into the corridor, so close that Leliana could have reached round the bend and touched him, but his eyes were all for Anora. "That thing is not your father." He turned, moving away down the tunnel without a backward glance. "And neither am I."

Leliana had been holding her breath, she realized. She waited until Nathaniel's steps faded, until she heard the scrape of Anora's chair, and let it all out in a whoosh.

"Tsk. Eavesdropping? For shame."

She squeaked, whirling to shove Zevran back against the wall and clamp a hand over his mouth. Even without lips, his eyes managed to grin. With a sheepish smile she released him and risked a glance toward the room.

"You should not sneak up on people like that!"

"Especially when they are quite clearly up to no good."

"Tais-toi." She swatted him lightly across the chest. "I was looking for you, actually."

"Oh? Do tell."

Leliana risked another glance down the tunnel before motioning for him to follow. As they passed the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Anora glowering down at her maps. She did not seem to notice them.

"I wanted to speak with you. About what happened... the Joining..."

"Ah." Zevran smirked and linked an arm through hers. "You are wondering why it is that you did not volunteer yourself, hm? Why you did not take the cup and play the hero?"

She hung her head. "Yes."

"And flogging yourself with guilt, too! Your Chantry sisters would be so proud."

Stopping, she turned to face him. "I am serious, Zevran. Why did you not volunteer?"

Zevran tsked, but his smile faltered, his eyes darting away. "Despite what you may have heard, I do not have a taste for blood." He sighed. "But I posed the very question to our noble Qunari." His voice deepened, mocking. "'I am of the beresaad.'"

"Wynne said that she was too old."

"Slander and lies. Never have I seen a ripened woman with such vigor." He chuckled. "And I suppose the ritual requires a flesh-and-blood victim, yes? This excuses Shale. As to the dog... we have seen him eat worse, I think. No doubt he would be eager for a little archdemon blood."

"You are saying that the dog is more brave than us?"

"Alas that they do not make a holy Grey Warden dog bowl, hm?" He laughed but, noting her expression, his tone softened. "But they make a point, our companions. We cannot be what we are not."

"And what are we?"

"Alive, for one." He waved a dismissive hand. "Let Alistair play the hero. Those chiseled arms were made for shouldering the weight of the world."

Leliana gaped. "It's killing him!"

"As it has killed others before. A dangerous profession, heroing, one for fools and madmen. Why not a drunk?"

"And which one was She?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet he flinched as if she had stuck him.

Zevran turned his face away, one hand straying to the scar on his neck. Strangely, he smiled. "A madwoman, obviously. Infectious. Completely immune to practicality." There was a chuckle beneath his sigh.

"I am sorry."

"Mm?" He shook himself, fixing her with a hard-won grin. "But you are wrong on one point, my dear."

"Oh?"

"It was I who was looking for you. I was to bring you..." Again, he took her arm, eyes searching the dark alcoves to either side of them. "...ah, here."

Leliana had been to his part of the tunnels only once before. It was darker here, the natural hollows hastily piled with those supplies that could not be of immediate use. There were broken crates and empty casks, dented cookware and children's toys - anything that was not food or arms or armor. All was well-rummaged and abandoned, the space dark save for a flickering light just visible beneath the wheels of a splintered wagon.

"What are we-?"

Zevran slipped behind her, giving her a gentle push forward before making his quiet exit. "Speaking of madmen..."

Stepping round the wagon, Leliana gasped. An enormous barrel had been turned on its end, flanked by a pair of low crates. The makeshift table had been covered with a threadbare cloth, a dripping candle illuminating a loaf of bread, two chipped flagons and a plate of salted beef.

"I suppose it's a decent enough meal, considering the circumstances. And you're certainly a pretty girl..." Anders grinned, coming smoothly to his feet. Stepping round the array, he took her hand, guiding her to one of the crates.

"You did this... for me?"

As she sat, he again took the crate opposite. "We sort of... well, we sort of put the cart before the horse, don't you think?"

Leliana smirked, dropping her eyes coyly to the tablecloth. "You might have died."

"And a true gentleman probably would have had the decency to do just that. Instead you've got me. And the finest meal this side of Orlais."

She picked up a strip of meat and nibbled at one end. "It has to be better than Alistair's cooking."

Anders laughed, but a crash amongst the crates brought him to his feet. Something cursed in the shadows, scattering a pile of salvaged paintings.

"Who's there?" Ser Cullen stepped into the light, his sword drawn. "You... What are you doing here?"

At the sight of him, Anders snorted. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." His eyes lit on the barrel. "That looks well beyond your rations."

"What can I say? I'm a Grey Warden now. We like to eat."

"While others may starve." Cullen took a step forward, seeming surprised to find his blade already in his hand. "I will have to insist..."

"You really shouldn't." Anders held up a hand, lightning crackling between his fingers. With a smirk, he sent a tendril arcing toward the ground, exploding the earth in front of Cullen's boots.

The Templar leapt backward, crashing awkwardly against the wagon. "You can't do that!"

"Can't I?" Grinning still, Anders half-crouched, mimicking Cullen's stance but holding only his finger out before him. "Go away."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Cullen sheathed his blade and turned on his heel.

Sinking back onto his crate Anders looked to her, to the food, to the empty spot where the Templar had been. He gave a contented sigh. "See? Now I'm happy."

"Freedom feels good, no?"

"It does." He broke the bread and handed her half. "But so do other things. That's why I thought we deserved a proper date. Not that the traveling and the sleeping in the dirt and that time we tried those berries and I spent the night listening to you retch in the bushes... not that that wasn't lovely."

Leliana reached across the table to bat at him, but he caught her hand and held it.

"Really, though, it was. All of it. I-I've never..."

Something in his expression troubled her. Leaning cross the table, Leliana brushed her lips against his nose, holding his gaze. "You are not going to die. Not when we take the city. Not for a long time after."

"Confidence. Sexy. But I'm a Grey Warden now. That's sort of how the whole thing works."

"No. You are not going to die because I will not let you."

He chuckled at that, sitting back without releasing her hand. He seemed to study it for a long moment, tracing his thumb lightly across the back of her knuckles. "Morrigan's back."

Leliana blinked at the sudden change of topic.

"Apparently your friend Alistair apologized." He raised his eyes to hers, arcing a curious brow. "And... she wants to see me tonight."

"What?!" Leliana snatched her hand away.

"Not about that. And not just me either. Wynne, too. That poor fool Jowan. A few others."

"She is going to teach you the shapeshifting spell."

He shrugged, the easy grin returning. "But I thought it best to ask before you assumed. Things like that... well, that's how a man gets himself stabbed."

She followed his gaze, surprised to find her hand resting on the blade at her belt. With a sheepish smirk, she flexed her fingers and instead drummed them on the table. "So you are asking me to let you spend the night with Morrigan... learning how to be a griffon?"

"Or a cat. Do you think she could teach me to be a cat?"

Leliana groaned. "Fine. Yes. Go."

Anders came slowly to his feet, grin spreading wide. "Now, that would be the life. Sleep all day, a nice saucer of milk..." He paused, bending to kiss her on the forehead. "But I'll be back. Really, I will."

She watched him go, sitting alone again in the encroaching dark. The candle flickered as she watched, the last of the wax pooling between their cups. He would be back; she did not doubt it. Maker, he had asked her permission.

But it was the Warden's words that came back to her, then, and the offer that Morrigan had made. I cannot ask this thing... It was the choice that had sent Her to Her death.

Leliana watched as the wick sank into the wax, the feeble light sputtering its last.

Had she not vowed to do better?