The great thing about having Amayian romance Leliana (or technically, the other way around in reality) in Origins is the fact that Leliana, while absolutely endearing and adorable, has some interesting flirts that would fly over Amayian's head.

Forever will think about how Quizzy lost their castle, arm, their army, in the span of like two days.

Thedas heroes really can't have shit. (Yes I'm aware that you can become a Comte/Comtesse in Kirkwall, but that's conditional and you don't get to see it).

Andraste is disappointed, Ferelden and Orlais. She is...disappointed.

The Inquisitor once we learned we could jump in Dragon Age Inquisition.

Y'all think the Inquisitor gathers so much elfroot because of phantom pains/actual pain from the Mark, even after Solas stabilizes it?

The Inquisitor laid in their own blood, the breaths coming sharp as knives, slicing slivers of their heart into bloodied ribbons.

The Requisition officer drew near. She drew close, knelt before them, and took their hand into her own. The fingers were cold, and despite their groping felt flimsy and loose like a mishapen stone tucked into a wall, ready to crumble.

She smiled. "I have news, Ser."

The Inquisitor smiled, through the blood and the dribbles of bile. "I...I don't have time."

The tears fell, without the Requisition officer knowing. Her arm slipped beneath their neck, lifting them up, and held the Inquisitor close to her chest.

In the silence, a raven croaked; and all the Requisition could do through a clogged, choked throat was, "Yes, Ser."

The Murmur of Stories

Leliana found him sitting alone in the garden, veiled in moonlight and cloaked in darkness. A misty shroud of silver trickled along his thick wavy curls, brushed until the strands gleamed like shining obsidian, silky and soft; and the pale full moon poured watery moonlight upon his face, and all scars of worries and torment upon his dark amber-brown face was painted away, A painted mantle of soft silvery-blue wrapped about his head like a timeless crown, and the shadows and moonlight bent and twisted about him until it appeared as if he was embraced by the night. 

In the threshold of the doorway Leliana stood there, feeling the cold night winds thread through the slender branches of the trees, catching handfuls of leaves and casting them billowing into the air. The grass rustled and the trees sighed, and the moonlight held Amayian in its embrace, and all Leliana could do was watch—watch as this silent specter stepped out from the darkness, unknowable and knowable. Gray, fogged memories shivered about him, stirring like the snows of a winter storm, leaving him a murky white blur in the dark. But two glints shone bright through the frosty walls, those eyes of icy silvery-blue. Eyes that spoke of times his face did not show, of stories sealed behind thick ice, nearly lost in the frost. The eyes of the ageless, the eyes of ages. Gleaming out from the darkness, his eyes were the frozen moon, glinting with all the gathered stars, seen and unseen, that passed marching through the dark skies. A pale, ghostly gaze as frigid as winter and sealing as death. 

And yet, Leliana always thought them beautiful. Untold stories flitted and traveled with the pale blue of the stars, drifting across the silver like the breath of winter. Watchful eyes, indeed, but they did not judge, not even her. When Amayian gazed upon her, Leliana felt as if her soul was laid bare, resting upon a mound of snow beneath the night. But it did not struggle and tear, did not slice or cut. It unbinded the straps of her armor, unlaced the clothes beneath, and with every sight of flesh, of herself, its ghostly fingers traced with all the measured adoration of a lover, laying kisses upon bruised scars that even she had forgotten. And it recounted her stories, so she did not have to, and it bore her burdens when she could not.

“Come, sit down, Leliana.”

Those eyes were peering at her now, ethereal and icy and eerie. But the ice was smoothed, not fogged, the tendrilled cracks not lost at a growing white center. Entirely Amayian—the Amayian she knew—so blunt and open that it made her smile and want to shy away. Shy away because what if he saw something that was unworthy of him, saw the ugliness of her soul? Yet, he stared at her as if she was the only thing in existence, the only thing that mattered—all of it. Not just her famed beauty, or her rich mind, but the crimes she had committed, the sins she had engraved upon her skin like etched scars. They made up who she was, and Amayian…no, she cannot say love. She did not even know if he still bore affection toward her, even though they grappled through the Blight together, sung songs only the night had ever heard. But his eyes spoke of the care and measure that he held in all things he does, striving for delicacy with hands hardened with ruthless callous. 

Silently, she stepped forward, passing beneath the darkness of the stone ceiling to the darkness of a ceiling older than the world. The stars were out, the skies cloudless, a smoothed sea of dark blue, speckled with white. He sat on one of the stone benches of the garden, and there is where she took her place. 

For a while, no words passed, only the sighs of the winds singing in their ears. Amayian was staring up at the two moons, with the longing she often saw in his eyes at such times. That longing he never learned to hide, not from her at least. What are you recalling? thought Leliana, to this shade of a man whom she knew from a broken shard of another life. Or is it, who?

But she did not ask, for such answers were not hers to have. Not all secrets were, though the truth was bitter to swallow. Amayian had his secrets, and she had her. But they had their stories, and the stories held scraps of secrets Leliana gathered in her arms just as eagerly. And yet, she never sought to piece them all together. She always did to others, learned things that they did not mean to whisper out, but with Amayian…it felt wrong. He did not judge her, so how can she do the same. No. The least I can do is let him keep his secrets. Even if the curious yearning bit and nipped at her so. 

But such things faded away as she studied him. Beneath her leather gloves, her palms twitched and her fingers itched, to trace one of the many scars latticing across his broad, strong face. They longed to slide so easily through the curly waves of black with their threads of silver, just as they did in ancient, scarred Ferelden, when he would let her braid his hair to pass time. 

And most importantly, she wanted his eyes, his gaze. She wanted to be frozen in time once more, to lay upon that hill of snow, kissed by falling snowflakes and streaming moonlight, and undress by the glow of the starlight, where very pain and ache was eased away by firm, kind, unseen hands. 

She wanted, but wants were a tricky, fleeing thing, always fleeing from Leliana. So she kept that desire within herself, slipped it inside the chest with all her secrets, and locked away once more. That chest of the Nightingale could carry one more secret. It was the least it could do. 

“It is late.” Amayian’s deep, smooth voice rolled about her like a beat of thunder, drawing her into a blanket of warmth despite the frozen steel that characterized his tone. “You should be sleeping.”

She smiled. Always concerned for others before himself. At least that had not changed in time. “So should you.” Shrugging, Leliana kicked out her feet, stretched her legs, fighting the giddiness that threatened to engulf her after seeing just a trickle of the old boy she knew. The amusement must have been in her voice, since Amayian glanced at her, confusion clear in his eyes. Strangely, it was oddly endearing to her. Ages passed in his eyes, but such things oft seemed to confuse him. It made teasing so terribly delicious. “In any case, I cannot sleep.” She rarely did these days. Amayian did not need to know that. Or he’ll be insistent day and night for me to find rest, likely by stealing away some of my work. He had already done so with Josephine, and Leliana did not think she could win that battle either. 

She saw him nod before glancing back up at the heavens. Again, silence came, but it was an old friend, patting her upon the shoulder, loosening the tension bundling in her. Her eyes turned toward the sky, watched as countless stars gleamed and glittered faintly, thrown in such disarray. Yet done so that the eye could catch glimpses of shapes and images within, light of the souls of the ancient past. She counted each constellation in her head, and the stories that bound them into the heart of the people. 

How long they sat there, Leliana did not know. But then, Amayian spoke. “Have I ever told you the story of the Sea who loved the Night?”

Leliana raised her head, scurried through the memories with since glances so she could not be thrown and trapped within their confines. It was a threat that she constantly had to carefully dangle herself so she did not trip. “No, I do not recall.” Without thinking, she shifted closer, until their thighs were touching. Amayian glanced down, and with warm pleasure she watched as a fine dusting of red touched his cheeks. Like all the others, she kept it hidden within herself. Such things were delights, after all. She lifted her hand, halted when his eyes flickered speedily to it, and slowly placed it over his. She felt his bone stiffen for just a moment from panic to slivering inside her. But then they loosened, and he fingers wrapped around his palm, squeezing gently. “I would like to hear it.”

“Do you recall our agreement?”

The laughter bubbled out of her without her knowing. “Yes, yes I do. A story for a story.” She halted…afraid. But then he stared at her once more, and the fear fled like a coward into the dirt. “A story for a story…”

Amayian nodded. And then, he began.

Amayian siting like this gives me heavy Dark!Amayian vibes, and I’m now I’m thinking thoughts with him and Leli. 

One More Round

A/N: This is meant to take place in an Assassin’s Creed AU, but there isn’t much focus on that bit. Only a few hints here and there.

~

Thin bars of silver strolled through the diamond-cut glass planes of the rounded-arch window, the night sky a sea of purple and blue studded with stars of silver. The milky shine washed over Leliana’s skin as she wandered barefoot upon the carpet in the chambers, feeling the faint caress of night’s chill strolling over her skin, rousing goosebumps along her shoulders and arms. A candle burned on a golden-rimmed white porcelain plate, golden flame throwing a small yellow-white halo upon the red -black-lined wallpaper and on the four wooden-post bed where a rounded figure was garbed in thick blankets. It shone upon the woman that laid there, as well, casting a golden sheen across pale skin and rippling over thick dark curls like a sheer veil of dawnlight.

Leliana’s limbs still sung from the pleasure stirred from the young noble laying in her bed. But, duty still called there two, if only a small quivering shadow that could barely break through the storm that was made by Alexandra. Her father was right. She does know how to use her tongue. Though she doubted Maxwell thought her talents would have been put through what Leliana had put her through.

“Come back to bed,” called that accented voice, thicken with drowsy sleep. Through that gentle threading of light, gray and yellow mangling with the darkness of the room and the light of the stars, Leliana could see that Alexandra’s large eyes were open, alerted, and aware. The servants Leliana heard when she first arrived did murmur of the peculiar sleeping habits of the eldest daughter of Maxwell Trevelyan of Ostwick. No doubt she would either be well awake or rousing this early to work on whatever she did if it was a normal night.

Smiling softly, Leliana bent to grab the robe thrown lazily over a small-backed chair. Alexandra’s eyes had rushed swiftly down to stare at her bottom, and Leliana could not help but chuckle at that. “I must go.” She shrugged the rope on, the silky fabric lightly brushing over her skin like that of a lover’s kiss. Leliana tried not to think of the kisses Alexandra left there, as well. It would be easier for the two of them for it to simply be imagined as a single night event and nothing more.

An arm snaked around her waist as Leliana was about to tie the belt together, and lips found her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat, a moan soon escaping, and she felt Alexandra smile against her skin, her tongue tracing the mark that would no doubt be formed by the coming of the sun. “Is there any way I can convince you otherwise?”

Leliana giggled, her head tilting to the side to allow Alexandra more access. That giggled turned into a gasp when she felt Alexandra’s fingers stroke down between her legs, lazily over her silt, gathering her slickness onto her fingers. Her hips rolled forward, and Leliana drew her bottom lip into her mouth to nibble at. Damn it. Opening her eyes in half-slits, she tried to see the position of the moon. Surely there was enough  time for one more round—one more.  

She doubted it would simply be one more.

Spinning on her heel, Leliana felt her desire spur a greater fire as she watched as Alexandra drew her soaked fingers to her lips, sucking long and peering longer in her eyes—those golden-veined emerald eyes, sharp as any eagle. “Delicious,” she murmured, with that half-smile of hers.

And to be rid of it, Leliana slammed her lips against Alexandra’s, moaning at her taste on the younger woman's tongue. She moaned at the taste, pushed Alexandra gently backward, until the back of her knees hit the bed, and she was thrown back onto it. The light noise of laughter that came from Alexandra was like the peeling of bells at dawn. Her pale breasts rose and fell gently with her breaths, lightly drawn lines of muscles indicated strength in her arms and legs, but there was a hint of softness at her hips, at her arms, and her stomach. She wet her lips, that flame within her stomach flickered harshly, growing stronger, hungrier.

Her target could live a little while longer. Leliana has a far pressing task on hand. Surely Motifier would be fine if she was a little late. After all, she saw potential in Alexandra, even if Maxwell insisted she was not ready to don the hood and blade. What else was she supposed to do besides doing a…thorough examination of her techniques. All in the name of future training, of course.

After a long day of work, Leliana tends to just slip into the Inquisitor’s side, rest her head on their lap, and falls asleep with their fingers stroking her hair.