Archive of Our Own ^beta

Leona’s weight against Diana’s front was a rare comfort, and one she was loath to give up so easily as Leona gently tried to extricate herself from her grip.

“Don’t go,” Diana slurred—sputtered briefly through an accidental mouthful of auburn hair.

Leona chuckled sheepishly, reaching up to pull her hair out of Diana’s face. Even then Diana didn’t let her withdraw entirely, arms tightening stubbornly around Leona’s broad shoulders. Diana scarcely cracked open one eye, then both. Leona smiled fondly, sadly.

“I thought you were still asleep,” she confessed, letting her weight settle back on her elbow, hovering over her. Leona reached up as if to caress her cheek. Couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. “You look exhausted, brightstar. You need the rest.” There was that damn thread of guilt in her voice again. Diana hated to hear it.

“You need to rest too,” she whispered instead, turning her head to let her jaw fall into Leona’s limp hand. “Come on. Surely you can lay with me a little longer. You never leave so early.”

Leona looked desperately tempted to agree. “I… no, no, I can’t,” she groaned, pushing herself up fully, astride Diana’s hips. Diana’s grip slipped Leona’s shoulders, and she pouted as she let her arms fall back onto the linen bedding. “There’s… suspicion, back at the temple. I pressed my luck with this delivery. There will be a considerable inquisition in the morning. Guards stripped of their ranking. I will be expected to preside, of course.”

Diana sighed. “Of course.” She reached up, frowning as she stroked a thoughtful hand over Leona’s cheek. Her cheekbone had felt more pronounced their last few scant rendezvouses. As though Leona had lost weight. Part of Diana wondered whether it was an increase in her training, or if she simply wasn’t eating enough. A greater part of her feared the answer. “We could’ve delayed this if you needed more time to arrange a more opportune time.”

Leona looked away, and Diana was struck by the sight of tears welling.

“Lionheart?” she ventured, sitting up to cup Leona’s face in her hands. “Leona. Look at me.”

She looked at her. The incandescent fury of the Sun brimmed behind her gaze, but it was the despair of Leona’s own enormous heart that won out, sorrow rimming her exhausted eyes in red.

“They called her a weapon of heresy, sent to temper the holy fire that keeps our people alive,” Leona said. Diana had seen the stolen-away prisoner only briefly when the pair arrived, clutched against Leona’s chest beneath her heavy woolen cloak to shield off the bitter cold of the winter evening. Leona’s voice broke. “A weapon!” The sorrow brimming began to fall in fat, heavy tears down her cheeks. “Diana, she was a child!”

Diana could offer no reassurance. She just held her close as the Chosen of the Sun, the Great Betrayer of the Solari, wept for the injustice of her people once again.