Chapter 22: Leliana

Leliana yawned, fighting the urge to stretch. Unlike Zevran, she’d never trained for stealth or ambush; her strengths ran to seduction and manipulation. She’d never practiced lying in wait, motionless, for a target.

But there was no one else she’d trust to do this, no one with her aim – or her motivation to do the job well. So she stifled a sigh and remained still, watching over the darkened camp like a hawk. She was grateful for Anders; he’d known a spell to temporarily sharpen her vision, so it seemed as though it was mid-day, instead of the dark, moonless night it actually was.

She had watched her friends all evening, tracking the movements of the soldiers around them diligently. She had waited, unnoticed, while Aedan had poured Nathaniel into his tent. And now she watched as a dark shape detached itself from the shadows of another tent and slipped silently towards her sleeping ... whatever he was. Lover wasn’t the word – yet, if she had anything to say about it – but she didn’t have another to describe what Nathaniel meant to her.

But all of that would be moot if she allowed her attention to wander at the critical moment. She rolled her eyes at herself – Sierra was going to bust a gut laughing at her when she found out, Leliana knew – and sighted down the length of her nocked arrow. The soldier from before, the one Aedan had recruited to help him, paused outside of Nate’s tent, glancing surreptitiously around to see if anyone was nearby. Leliana had been watching long enough to know that no simple soldier had any reason to be in this part of the camp so late at night. He moved gracefully – too gracefully. Leliana drew her arm back, holding the bow steady, arrow poised to fire. This is it. The soldier slipped silently inside the tent. At first nothing happened, but then there was a muffled shout. Nathaniel’s tent lit up with the blue glow of an arcane lamp, and Leliana could see the silhouette of three male bodies grappling in the confined space. With an oath that echoed across the camp, a narrow blade emerged from the side of the tent and slid down quickly, tearing a rent in the fabric. Leliana waited, breathlessly, finally loosing the arrow she held as an arm and then an entire, unfamiliar upper body emerged from the hole. Her aim was perfect, piercing through the leather gauntlet the soldier wore and pinning his forearm to the ground with an audible thunk. The soldier let out a pained grunt as he tried to yank his arm off the arrow.

A compact, blonde-haired body came flying through the wall of the tent next, landing crouched on top of the immobilized soldier; dagger in hand and pressed to the vulnerable neck of the man underneath him, Zevran looked every inch the assassin he’d been trained to be, and the soldier started stuttering out pleas and apologies almost instantly.

Zevran ignored him. “Help the Arl!” he cried.

Leliana’s stomach churned, suddenly feeling like she’d swallowed a lead weight. Had something happened to Nathaniel? She’d never forgive herself if he’d been injured, especially so soon after recovering from a major head injury. She slid out of the tree where she’d been perched for hours, and almost dropped to her knees as her stiff legs refused to hold her.

Using her bow as an improvised walking stick, she limped across the camp as fast as she could manage; Aedan beat her into the tent, and she relaxed as she heard the nobleman curse at the Warden through the thin walls.

“Let me up! I’m fine.”

“Nate...”

“It’s not my blood, Aedan. I managed to give the bastard a bloody nose. I’m fine!”

Leliana glanced at Zevran, who nodded at her and winked cheekily; he remained perched on top of the would-be assassin and looked to have made himself comfortable. He lazily slapped the man when he tried to speak again, and the soldier lapsed into a sullen silence. Satisfied that the elf had it under control, Leliana crouched and crawled into Nathaniel’s tent just in time to see Aedan help him up. The false tent wall behind which Zevran had been hiding was torn and hanging awkwardly, and the legs of Zevran’s captive protruded through the hole in the tent, his feet twitching periodically. The dark-haired noble had a dramatic bruise forming under one eye, but he grinned at her impishly anyway, and she chuckled.