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.

Leliana being tiny wife to her lorge husbando. No doubt in her mind she is thinking of climbing that seven-foot-eight idiot. He probably just came back with some Andraste’s Graces, shoes, and chocolates. Amayian can spoil her, as a treat. (He will, even if I told him not to.)

Amayian Trevelyan.

If you didn’t think Leliana sang “Inquisitor…” to Inquisitor after the Exalted Council, and the Inquisitor didn’t cry, then you be wrong.

Long was the way that fate them bore, O'er stony mountains cold and grey, Through halls of ireon and darkling door, And woods of nightshade morrowless. The Sundering Seas between them lay, And yet at last they met once more, And long ago they passed away In the forest singing sorrowless.

-

This verse in particular gives me heavy Inquisitor/Leliana vibes, and you can tear it from my cold, dead hands.

The Inquisitor helps Cole sneak some honey into Leliana’s wine.

Josephine, when the Inquisitor when they call Gaspard Mr. Clean, and Leliana praying before she grabs her bow and arrow to shoot at Gaspard’s supporters on her day off.

Amayian/Alexandra, looking at the stables: I wish we had more horses.

Leliana, throwing on sunglasses: Get these bitches horses. Bitches love horses.

*sends Leliana off to get all the horses DAI gives you for free*