Chapter 2: Leliana

Leliana had been concerned about the brooding, dark-haired noble. At first, she’d worried Aedan, enraged, would put the man out of his misery, and then she’d worried that the smelly, injured, traumatised, damaged man they’d rescued would save Aedan the trouble and get himself killed by his father’s guards. He could barely walk – several badly healing broken bones had been set and mended by Anders, not to mention the dehydration, malnourishment, scrapes, bruises, and contusions his ruined clothes barely covered, but no healing could substitute for the time and energy needed for a body to really mend – and yet he’d bullheadedly insisted on following them, on fighting, and on ending his father himself, rather than leaving it to another.

He had a strength to him, an inner drive that surprised her somehow, even after months of travelling with some of the strongest people she’d ever met. He was also broken, she could see that – and there was more here than just victimhood, or shame at being related to the monster. Something else. His eyes were hollow and sunken, something Anders’ healing hadn’t affected, and he refused to make eye contact with any of them except Kallian – the poor, terrified elf they’d found in his room. Leliana had offered support, feeling drawn to the tragic figure despite his parentage and his current unfortunate odour.

She had some experience with recovering from trauma, she thought. She might be able to help him.

Having him help fight the palace guard, then drag their unconscious, badly wounded leader across the city under cover of stealth was not what Leliana’d had in mind. Despite that, he was there, holding Aedan’s arm over his shoulder, cradling his head, hiding in the shadows as effortlessly as she did when he went ahead to scout. He moved with undeniable grace despite his injuries, helping her manage the mage’s blundering, borrowing her bow and taking an extremely difficult shot at a guard who’d been about to raise the alarm. Weeks of captivity had taken their toll on his body, but the muscles were still there, and it was clear he was well-used to drawing a bow.

He held the door for her and Kallian when they arrived back at Eamon’s, silently reassuring the elf girl with a gentle smile, careful not to touch her even when she helped him, careful to avoid stepping into Leliana’s personal space. He was always so careful – Leliana couldn’t help but wonder if he had always been so deliberate and thoughtful, or if it was a response to his ordeal.

She’d offered to help him get settled at Eamon’s once Aedan had been taken care of – he needed someone to show him around and get him what he required, she reasoned – and he’d followed her to the room she shared with Wynne, gratefully accepting a large healing potion, borrowing the bathtub and the remarkable little hot water ‘rune’ that she had retrieved from Sierra’s room down the hall, agreeing with a wry smile when she suggested he burn his current clothes if she brought him something else to wear. He thanked her over and over, to her embarrassment, and she finally left him to get ready while she made do with changing quickly in the barracks.

His story, once he’d gotten the chance to tell everyone, was worse than she’d guessed – worse than her own frightening history of imprisonment and torture, if she was honest – and explained the haunted look on his face. But he didn’t shy away from it, didn’t hide the worse details, didn’t try to paint himself in a more heroic light than he deserved. If anything, he downplayed the remarkable perseverance he’d shown in resisting for as long as he had in the face of what had been horrific injuries.

The others might not have seen what he didn’t say – how he suffered, how he was still suffering, how his physical injuries were the least of his current ailments...

But she did.