Chapter Text
It was like a dance. A fleeting glance here, a shy smile there. Even rarer, a look that lingered a little too long. Flirting was a game, one she had mastered so long ago. She was rusty, sure, having been out of practice for almost just as long, but it was a skill like any other. It was second nature after all these years, and Leliana would be more impressed if she forgot how to do it.
It wasn't intentional at first. She just couldn't help herself. Out of the cloister and the stuffy priests' watchful gazes, it was hard not to revert back into old habits. Gone were the days she had to fuck someone to get information for her lover. Gone were the days where sex was merely a tool.
But sometimes she just couldn't help it. He was so ridiculously, unfairly, attractive. Not in the way where she was so desperate for him it was pathetic, and not in the way where women threw themselves at his feet (though she was sure more than a few had). Their Grey Warden stood equal height to Alistair, similar build and size. He had short, once-finely trimmed dusty hair and such a dazzling set of green eyes. They reminded her of emeralds.
When they had first met in Lothering, he had looked every bit of the nobleman he had turned out to be. His hair had still been well cut and even, only somewhat shorter than Alistair's. Cheeks had been clean-shaven and not so plump as to be unhealthy, just that it was clear he wasn't a man to miss a meal. The light in his eyes was still there, burning with such an intensity she thought she might melt.
But nowadays, his hair wasn't anywhere as neatly kept. It was shaggy, long enough to cover his ears, and he had long since given up on shaving the short beard he now sported. It didn't seem to want to grow much longer though, so something he once jokingly complained about wasn't even a worry. And where they were once a healthy weight, he was gaunt. Not unhealthily so, surprisingly. He and Alistair's appetites were legendary; the two Wardens ate twice as much as the rest of the camp combined, a feat that was no laughing matter. He was just...lean.
She could see it through his clothes at camp. Tunics and trousers that had once been fitted were now loose. Much of the leftover fat from his life at Highever had burned off over the course of their many battles and skirmishes with darkspawn and bandits.
But those battles led to exhaustion, and soon, that youthful light in him began to diminish. Day in and day out, Leliana watched as Aedan slowly became more withdrawn, harder. His joking personality when they first met became soft and serious. A crease in his brow was almost a permanent fixture on his face these days. Very rarely did he crack a smile, but when he did, oh was it radiant.
He wasn't the only one she could see those changes in, though. While Alistair's hair hadn't changed much (he was very particular about it, she learned), she saw him tiring out over the months as well. Squared shoulders became sagged, tired of carrying the weight of his armor every waking second of his life, and she honestly felt bad for the Wardens.
From what little information Alistair was willing to share, she knew that the Joining itself was extremely taxing on a new Warden, and that Aedan had been thrown into the Blight without a moment to breathe. Alistair himself was only six months out of his own Joining, and he confided he still had nightmares about it. Aedan didn't speak much about such things, though, and it had taken a long time for him to admit he too had bad dreams.
It had taken a long time for him to warm up to her in general. Knowing what she did now, it made sense. She was Orlesian. She spoke Orlesian, she had an accent. He was Fereldan; proud, obnoxiously Fereldan, and he came from a powerful Fereldan family that played a key role in overthrowing their Orlesian occupiers. His own father had fought at Harper's Ford. She understood his hesitation to befriend her. She couldn't hold it against him, though it did seem to mellow him out a bit when she told him her mother, and likely her father, were Fereldans, and she was merely raised under an Orlesian lady's care. It was hard to not adopt an accent when you are born and raised in a different country.
But if it had taken a long time to get even a modicum of trust, it had taken longer to get to know him. It had taken Marjolaine attempting to kidnap her, and Leliana confiding in him about her past. It had taken her completely divulging her past and traumas for him to share his own. And oh, did she feel for him.
His family had been betrayed by one of their closest friends. His parents, his nephew, his sister-in-law, his friends, they'd all been slaughtered. He'd practically watched his father bleed out in their larder, forced to abandon his mother to cover his escape with the late Warden Commander, Duncan. He didn't even know if his brother was still alive, as he too had been at Ostagar, and none of Aedan's questions around Redcliffe or Denerim or any of the villages they passed through brought up any information on him.
They had that in common: betrayal. Her mentor and lover had framed her for treason, and left her to the mercy of lecherous guards. Her body still bore the scars of their abuses.
And while it wasn't the exact same feeling, Leliana felt it gave them a better understanding of each other. She wasn't sure how Aedan felt about it, but he did seem more...at ease around her after his confession. He had admitted the only other person he had cared to tell who he was was Alistair, and even that, he said, was only out of appreciation for his honesty. Alistair had had a secret of his own, and had divulged not only was he a bastard, but a royal bastard. He was the son of King Maric Theirin. King Cailan, who had died at Ostagar, was his brother.
Aedan didn't say why he told her. All he said was he just shared it with Alistair. No details, no telling him about his family being murdered. Only she knew that. He trusted her. He trusted her more than his brother-in-arms. He trusted her with something so deeply and depressingly personal, and she admired him for it. She felt honored to be the one person he chose to confide in.
Even if the Maker hadn't spoken to her, hadn't given her a vision, He had put her here with these Wardens for a reason. Whether that was because she had useful skills, or because she could simply help them feel better, it was enough. It was good enough and she wouldn't change a thing.
It didn't help that she felt like they had this connection, this somewhat shared experience, on top of how he looked and acted. Despite everything, he went out of his way to help people. No matter how exhausted he was or how annoyed and fed up with their current situation he was, Aedan made sure to help anyone who needed it. He was a kind man, gentle and sweet, and that made it so much harder to not look at him like she did.
He caught her looking occasionally. There was no way he didn't. In quiet moments at camp, when he was sharpening the sword he said belonged to his family, she would watch him. The reverent way his hands would glide over the steel of the blade, almost like he loved it more than he loved life itself. Something about it stirred her up, but she would never admit it to anyone except herself.
Sometimes, though, when he caught her looking, he'd smirk. He never said anything, always returned to his task to leave her a flushed, embarrassed idiot, and something about that was far more infuriating than an acknowledgement. He was playing her game too. She would feel his eyes on her back when they were walking, though part of her had the distinct feeling they trailed a little lower than her back, and if she was entirely sure that's where he was looking, she'd occasionally sway her hips just a little extra.
This was her game, her mastered skill. If he wanted to play, she would play. She would win. It was clear he liked her, though she wasn't sure if he liked her as a friend or a lover. He never said anything untoward or suggestive, and was actually quite polite—the exact opposite of Zevran, who would blatantly flirt and try to sleep with anyone who walked past his tent at the right (or wrong, depending on your viewpoint) time. Not that the elf's attention bothered her; it was quite amusing most days, and little more than a mild annoyance on the worst.
But if she was quick enough, Leliana could always catch a flash of jealousy pass over Aedan when Zevran was making his comments.
But looking and jealousy meant nothing. He could just find her attractive. Nothing wrong with that. Not every carnal impulse had to be acted on, and perhaps Aedan was content to let it be little more than a fantasy. Was she? No. She would fuck him without hesitation. She would let him do whatever he wanted to her and wouldn't bat an eyelash.
But he was a Grey Warden, and perhaps he simply didn't want to complicate an already complicated situation. And she could respect that. He knew what was important. He knew stopping the Blight was far more crucial than starting something that could end far worse than it began.
Again, yet another reason to find him so unbelievably good. Such a pure soul. It made her heart ache. He was so good to everyone, so kind, and he always thought of himself last. From the moment he gave away as much of their coin as he could to that family in Redcliffe to right now, Leliana knew he deserved so much better than this. This being everything the world was throwing at him—the Blight, his family, all of it.
It would take such a little push, though. If she walked up and asked him, he would likely follow her back to her tent at this very second.
But no. She respected him more than that. She had made it obvious she was interested. He expressed interest, but still stayed at arms distance, so Leliana wouldn't push. That did not mean she wouldn't keep playing her little game. As long as he participated, so would she.
If she was being perfectly honest with herself, she didn't think she could stop. She enjoyed their dancing around each other. For all she knew, it could be a one-sided affair anyway, and she wasn't keen to go running into things after what happened with Marjolaine anyway.
As desperately as she wanted to, as desperately as she craved him, Leliana wouldn't push. She wasn't even entirely sure if he was actually into this dance of theirs, though she suspected he was. But she wouldn't push. She couldn't. She wasn't sure if she could take a rejection right now, and was content to settle for their childish looks.
He was looking at her now, she noticed. They were on watch together, seated on opposite sides of a smoldering fire. She was presently tuning her lute, purposely distracting herself from her companion. He had been cleaning his sword earlier with that stupidly gentle touch that made her heart do little flips in her chest, and she'd had enough of it. If he was going to tease her like that, she would occupy herself elsewhere.
But now it seemed the situation had reversed, and the bard could feel his eyes on her. Leliana refused to look. They were on watch. She shouldn't be doing this right now, but the stare he was giving was heavy, and if she looked away or broke concentration, she worried she might crack. And if she jumped him...well, if she shouldn't be tuning her lute, that definitely qualified as something they shouldn't be doing.
She gave the strings of her instrument a soft tug, and, realizing she had completed her task, gave a deep, hard swallow. It was rare that one of her targets could ever turn such situations around on her like this—for that to happen, she'd have to actually want them. The one time that happened, Leliana had been forced to kill the poor woman shortly afterwards. That...had been an eye-opening experience for the young bard. It was a tough lesson, but she had had to learn to separate her attraction and work.
A lesson she apparently hadn't actually learned. Marjolaine was the prime example. She thought she could trust her, could confide in her, thought she was loved…
Leliana swallowed again and steeled herself. If she could make it through that, she could suffer through the next few hours with Aedan.
After setting aside her lute, Leliana slid off her seat on the log, and instead leaned her back upon it. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it allowed her to crane her head bag and pretend to doze off. Legs outstretched, arms folded across her chest, it was rather cozy. Her back ached from the unforgiving surface beneath it, but the stretch felt good. It was easy to forget to stretch, and with all the running and fighting they did, there was no way it was good to do so.
Aedan never fell asleep on their watches. Neither did Leliana, but dozing was another matter entirely. She slept very lightly no matter how hard she tried otherwise. She just couldn't sleep well. It was something she lost long ago when she was imprisoned. It had been too uncomfortable to truly sleep during those days, too dangerous. Now she slept so lightly even the gentle rustling of the breeze on her skin would rouse her.
Such was the way of things.
She tried to think of...anything else. A story. She knew a lot of those. If she told it to herself in her head, she wouldn't have to think about Aedan. She wouldn't have to think about anything, but for the damned life of her, Leliana couldn't think of anything. No stories came. Not even what some were about. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't—
"You still awake over there?"
His voice snapped her back to reality. She didn't look up, but grunted. "Unfortunately."
The Warden chuckled. It was a good sound, deep and throaty and genuine. It made her chest lighter, happier. Such things were hard to come by these days. Leliana was just glad he still knew how to laugh.
"Didn't sleep too well, I take it?"
"Never," she replied, sighing.
Silence lulled between them, and Leliana found herself focusing on the sounds of the wind in the leaves. It was such a soft, melodic sound. Barely there. It wasn't like she had super senses or anything, but she doubted it was something many would notice. She was trained to notice things others couldn't, trained to know her surroundings like she knew the back of her hands.
Even when they were safe within the walls of some castle or city, Leliana would study everything. Memorize patterns, commit any faces she found lingering on them to memory, look for escape routes and hiding places. Here, on the road, would be no exception. It would be harder, sure, but she would still do her best. She listened for anything and everything. The sounds of footsteps, whether they were that of a person, darkspawn, or an animal, Leliana listened for it. She would not miss a thing. To miss something could mean life or death.
She trusted Aedan to keep an eye out for darkspawn, specifically. They could sense the things, Grey Wardens. It was the only secret Alistair felt was necessary to share. It was a good ability to have. As long as Alistair or Aedan were on watch, there would be no ambush from the darkspawn. They'd know they were coming. It would only buy them a few minutes, but those minutes were precious. Armor could be equipped instead of being surprised. Companions could be roused by word of mouth, rather than the sounds of absolute chaos.
"Do you…" Aedan stopped talking before he began, but something about the tone of his voice forced Leliana to sit up. She clasped her hands between her knees, fixing her eyes on him, but he was looking at his own hands now, nervously wringing them together. "Do you ever have bad dreams?"
Leliana arched an eyebrow. "I'm assuming you don't mean the kind where you get chased across a city in your underwear from a knife-wielding baguette?"
He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then grinned. "I've never heard something so Orlesian."
She returned the smile, but it was nowhere near as wide as his. "What kind of bad dreams?"
Aedan shrugged. "The...bad kind. That leave you feeling an impending sense of doom when you wake."
Leliana hesitates. She thinks back to the first night after they found Marjolaine. They had been staying in Denerim, looking both for Marjolaine and a Chantry brother, Genitivi. She was in her room at the inn, constantly tossing and turning in vain attempts to sleep, plagued by dreams of her former mentor's abandonment. She'd just...turned her back on Leliana like it was nothing, left her there to die after repeatedly telling her she loved her. She found her friend's body in that dungeon when she escaped. She saw his face in her dreams for the first time in years.
Getting out of bed the next morning hadn't come soon enough.
"Yes," she said softly. "Why?"
"I just… Can I tell you about mine?"
She nodded wordlessly, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees and fixed him with a heavy stare, intent.
There was a certain worry on his face, a deep sadness. It made her stomach twist into knots. She was sad for him. No, not pity, but sad. She could feel his pain, all the way across the firelight.
"Did I ever tell you my nephew's name?"
Leliana shook her head.
Aedan swallowed. "Oren. He...he… I keep seeing him, Leli. Everyday for weeks now, every night. I've never… I've never seen a dead child. He looked so, so…" Again, he cut himself off, and he shuddered. His shoulders shook, and after a choked sound came from his throat, Leliana realized he was crying.
Without a second thought, she got to her feet and moved to his side. He buried his face in his hands and she pulled him against her.
"Who can murder a boy?" he asked helplessly. "He was my best friend and they killed him like a cow at slaughter."
She couldn't imagine it. She didn't want to. There was a special place in the afterlife for murderers, people like her, but there had to be somewhere worse for monsters that killed children. There had to be. She couldn't believe there wasn't.
He wasn't sobbing, just crying, but Leliana let him get it out of his system. He was always so stoic, so strong in front of everyone else that she understood this was a helpless moment of vulnerability. He'd likely had no control over it. It was pent up after weeks upon weeks of being tormented by the sight of Oren's body on a floor.
"I know it's hard to imagine," he said with a sad laugh, "but I'd never seen a dead person before that night. And…" He choked on his breath, shuddered, and sat up.
Oh Maker, he looked so exhausted. Bags hung under his eyes, red and glistening from the tears now on his cheeks.
"It was a lot," Leliana said.
He nodded, sighed. "I'm sorry, I just...can't get the sight of them out of my head. It's driving me crazy."
"Them?"
"When we found them, Oren and his mother, he...she… It was like she had tried to shield him from the blow with her body. It was so…"
Leliana shook her head and shushed him. "You don't have to talk about it. It's all right."
Aedan squeezed his eyes shut and sat up straighter, inhaling deeply several times through his nostrils. After a few seconds, the Warden wiped his cheeks with the back of his hands, and let out a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry for that," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"Do not apologize for being human."
Leliana hesitated for a moment, but reached out and took one of his hands between hers. She gave him a reassuring squeeze, just briefly, and went to pull away, but he closed his fingers around hers. She swallowed deeply, suddenly very uncomfortably aware of just how close they were, and how inappropriately timed these feelings creeping through her were.
She had never touched him. Not once. His skin was warm. His hands bore no calluses, smooth and soft in a show of how green he truly was. He was an adult, somewhere in between herself and Alistair, but Leliana didn't exactly know his age. He was young, but old enough to somehow be the sole man in charge of defeating the Blight.
How was that fair?
She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose. The level of self-control she had to display was almost as legendary as the Wardens themselves.
She wanted to see him, though. Every inch. Every glorious inch. All of him. But no.
She inhaled sharply and returned her gaze to him. She almost jumped out of her skin, surprised to see him looking so intently at her.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
Leliana shook her head. Men had always been...a challenge. Women she understood. Women she knew. After all, she was a woman. It was easy to be with them, easy to tease them and work them over and read them and Maker only knows what else. Men were like an entirely different species, and she almost preferred to leave men to Marjolaine.
That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy men. She did. They could be quite pleasurable to be with, both sexually and otherwise. She just understood women better.
She eyed him suspiciously. There was a glint to his eye, dangerous, unfamiliar. It was almost like that fire he used to carry that had long since gone out. Fierce and serious and oh, so...something.
He wanted this. Them. She could see it in his eyes. At this moment, right now, she could lean in. She could kiss him. She could take him and claim him and he would thank her for it.
Again, hesitation. There was no way she was reading this situation incorrectly. It was impossible to not see it, but something made her pause, and before she could even act on an impulse, Aedan leaned in and he claimed her. There was something far more arousing and erotic about him beating her to the punch. His mouth was so soft.
He was so gentle. The hand that had held hers moments ago had shifted. Painfully slow, moving up her arm to cup her cheek.
She couldn't stand it. His kiss was so chaste, so painfully sweet, but she couldn't. He had pulled away for barely a second and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him right back in. When their lips met again, there was a ferocity to the kiss. She couldn't let him go, but his hands had fallen from her face to her waist, and he was pulling her in. She couldn't escape, didn't want to. She needed him like she needed air. There was something so incredibly fucking hot about the difference he was displaying now. Such a soft and kind man, pulling at her and gripping her shoulders roughly with just as much need and desire as she had for him.
His hands dropped to her thighs, and without warning, he lifted her and deposited her on his lap. Their kiss broke for a brief second as she settled on him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and she sighed deeply. He smelled faintly of sweat, like he couldn't quite get clean enough in the river earlier, and heavily of the metal plate armor he wore daily.
He placed a light, airy little kiss behind her ear, and whispered, "Ride me."
Shivers shot down her spine and she pulled back to look him in the eye. His bright, brilliant eyes were dark now, pupils dilated so far it was as if they never had any color at all.
She couldn't argue. How could she? There was a tension building in her stomach; she could feel her own excitement between her legs, and when she put her weight on him, she could feel him straining through his breeches. Why did he have to have the leather garment on today of all days?
She groaned in frustration and pulled him back into her, kissing him with such force one of his hands shot back to the ground to steady himself, and in turn, her. The other settled on her hip, gripping so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Her hips twitched when he slid his tongue into her mouth. His groan was swallowed in between sloppy, hungry kisses, and his own hips bucked in response to hers, pressing the bulge of his cock right against her.
"Fuck," he hissed. "Leli, we...we can't."
She didn't really hear him. He was still kissing her, moving his mouth lower and lower along her jaw until he was at her pulse point.
"Not here."
Again, she shivered. For some reason, she was surprised to hear it. Not that he didn't want to fuck out in the open, when they were on the last watch shift of the night, but that he wanted to at all. He wanted her. With all her games and coy smiles, and whatever kindness she could muster, he wanted her. Aedan. Their Warden.
Her Warden.
She pulled away, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and swallowed. "Where?" Her voice was hoarse. It cracked and he smirked at her.
"You'll see."
She didn't know what happened to get them here, bodies pressed against each other so tightly it was as if they wished they were one. One moment, she had held him through his mourning, and the next, he was kissing her. He was kissing her.
Her biggest fear, that while he wanted her, he wouldn't act on it, wasn't true. Aedan wanted her too.
She made a face at him, rubbed on him again. His face contorted; his eyes closed and he bit the inside of his cheek, but he shook his head forcefully.
"Then kiss me," she said softly, lifting one hand to trace down his jaw and chin. The short hairs there were surprisingly soft. She hadn't even felt them until now.
"I don't think I'll be able to stop if I do."
But he did anyway. Another chaste, simple, easy kiss. One that reminded her so deeply of this man, this so wonderfully kind-hearted and damaged man. She didn't know what the morning would bring, but if it brought her closer to Aedan, she would take it. She wasn't going to let go. Not unless he demanded it of her, but the way he was looking at her now as they settled into a comfortable cuddle, Leliana was sure he never would. He had the sweetest smile, like he'd never been so blessed in his life, and it was all she could do to smile back.
They spent the rest of the night like this, wrapped up in each other for warmth rather than their scattered cloaks and blankets. She listened to Aedan as he told stories of his home. Happy ones. He spoke of his father and his training, and his mother and her gentle chiding. He spoke of Fergus and the mischief they got into growing up, and then the wonderful team they turned into as men. He spoke of their training, of how good it felt the first time he bested Fergus in a sparring match. He even spoke of Fergus' wife and Oren's mother, Oriana. He spoke very highly of her, said he'd never seen his brother so happy as when they wed, aside from perhaps Oren's birth.
He paused whenever the boy came up, but eventually persisted through the lump forming in his throat to tell her his favorite story. He told her of the time he and his hound, Wolf, raided the larder with Oren riding the mabari's back like a knight rode a horse into battle. He smiled at the memory, and she could see a single tear fall down his cheek.
She wiped it away and put the sweetest, most loving kiss she could muster in place of it. The smile she got as a reward was more than enough. She knew. He was hers.