351 réponses à ce sujet

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Author's note: All props to Bioware for this fantastic game! If the game had any faults, it was assuming my Grey Warden wouldn't go after Alistair. Please allow me to remedy that, although whether Alistair is successfully found, much less willing to return, will be part of the story itself. What follows is straight after the coronation. Everything written on the fly, further installments to come, and comments welcome.

Also on FanFiction.Net if it's easier to read there.

Click here to see a piece of art drawn by Aimo for The Hunt and issue 181 of Australian mag PC Powerplay. Alternately see page 14 of this thread for the pic and a little more info . Thanks Aimo and Meghann!

Click here to see a beautiful scene with Zevran and Asleena by Zinoodle (Kornichon on BSN) from Chapter 6. Thanks Zinoodle!

Part 1 - Picking up the Trail

Denerim’s docks were crowded. This was in no small part due to the Hero of Ferelden being in the area, for many people had followed from the palace to gawk or speculate where she was going next. The Grey Warden Asleena Cousland had asked nothing of Queen Anora at the celebration earlier that day, saying only she would travel for a time. She had not elaborated on where to. Even her brother’s invitation to return home to Highever had been declined for the time being.

Zevran Arainai suspected Asleena’s plans, but had said nothing until this point. Now he crouched beside their only other companion, Asleena’s mabari warhound, pulled the leather glove from his right hand and proffered a scrap of dried meat.

“I don’t usually resort to bribing animals for information,” the elf confided as Ferrix snuffed eagerly after the treat, “but answer a few questions for me and there’s more where this came from.” To prove his point, he uncurled his fingers and allowed the dog to lick the beef strip up. Almost instantly, another morsel was being displayed in his left hand.

Ferrix sat back on his haunches and looked at Zevran attentively, ears perked.

“You, my canine companion, have known our fair Warden here longer than anyone,” he went on, slanting a glance in Asleena’s direction. She wasn’t looking at them, but he was certain she was listening. “I am curious if she’s confided to you where we’re going.” When the dog cocked his head and whined a little, Zevran raised his brows. “No? Nor I. Perhaps she intends a luxury cruise? I certainly wouldn’t object, although Denerim seems quite short of pleasure boats. Also, the smell of rotting fish and roasting darkspawn isn’t very appealing. Now, if we went to Antiva—“

“—we’d be dodging assassins in between massages,” Asleena interrupted.

“That would just keep things exciting.” He smiled as the young woman finally glanced over, then tossed the meat piece to Ferrix and stood. “But that is not what you intend.”

“No,” she agreed, turning her green eyes back to the docks. “I’m going after Alistair.” She seemed to hesitate, then said, “I will understand that this isn’t what you signed up for when you offered to travel with me.”

Zevran studied her in silence for a moment. Her disposition had changed much since the Landsmeet. Ever since she had spared Loghain and lost Alistair, she had been less inclined to talk or even smile. A warrior capable of splitting an ogre’s skull with that bloody huge sword of hers, not to mention stand her ground in a fight with a score of injuries and enemies on all sides, he had never seen her look so vulnerable. Or so hurt. Everyone else was celebrating the end of the Blight and the death of the Archdemon, or paying their respects to Loghain’s tomb, but she was not interested in such things. After speaking briefly to her brother Fergus and former companions she had made her appearance before those gathered outside the palace and then headed straight here.

“I knew you would go after him as soon as you told Anora you intended to travel,” Zevran said at last. “You know who you want by your side and intend to hold on to that. I understand. I would be the first to agree you must pursue that which you desire.”

She turned to him again, a quizzical frown on her brow. “I’m not sure how to interpret that. Does that mean you don’t resent him? Or does it mean you intend to…” she made a vague gesture, looking uneasy, “…try to move in now that he’s gone?”

“I would be a liar if I claimed I had not considered it—you are a remarkable woman, as I’ve said before. But you made it clear that you love him and I will respect that. Perhaps your feelings will change in time.” He grinned when her frown deepened and he raised both hands in a placating gesture. “But if not, I will continue to admire you from afar.”

“Just don’t try to sabotage me or turn me around,” she warned him, straightening her shoulders so that the gleaming blade strapped across her back shifted. “I intend to keep looking until I track him down.”

Zevran dropped his smile instantly and quirked a brow instead. “If you don’t trust me you can tell me to leave.”

Asleena opened her mouth as though to make a retort, then closed it. An expression of pain crossed her features for an instant before she shook her head and looked away, the dark curtain of her hair shielding her face from view. “I don’t want you to leave.” She started to walk closer to the waterfront and Ferrix trotted after her.

Zevran paused a second, considering, then sighed to himself and followed. “Do you know where he went?” he called, catching up.

“I know he boarded a Rivaini ship before the siege,” she replied, her tone even again. “I asked around a bit and got the name of the ship, the Stonereef, but I don’t know where it was bound or who to ask.” A note of frustration entered her voice. “Much is still in chaos.”

“So you were just planning to sail for Rivain and hope for the best, right?” Zevran shook his head. “That may be the Stonereef’s final destination, whatever port it docks notwithstanding, but it could pull into other harbours along the way.” He gestured to the vessels at rest in the water, mostly merchantmen. “There is good profit to be had in Denerim and most of Ferelden since the Blight. Even though it didn’t last that long, it doesn’t take much to ruin harvests and create a demand for basic staples. I wouldn’t be surprised if our ship simply docked at a port on the other side of the Waking Sea before deciding whether or not to wait for an outcome to the siege.”

“You’re saying he could have disembarked anywhere,” Asleena said, looking dismayed.

“No, I’m saying he could have disembarked closer to home that you’re imagining.” He peered from ship to ship. “And his berth could have even returned with supplies.”

A flicker of hope gleamed in her eyes and she nodded, giving him a small smile. “It’s worth looking, right?”

Zevran’s answering smile was wider. “Not for the ship itself, my Grey Warden, but for the harbourmaster.”

**

As simple as the task sounded, the crowd didn’t make things easy. No longer content with merely watching Asleena’s progress across the docks, admirers and profiteers soon began to swarm upon the small group. Asleena had declined the offer of an armed escort, and only now realised the possibility that Anora hadn’t extended it solely for security reasons. Mothers were rushing up with babies, merchants were trying to present their wares either as gifts or in the hopes of patronage, blessings were called down upon her from all sides. Zevran, noticing his companion’s expression was becoming harried, suggested he could find the harbourmaster alone and slipped away when Asleena nodded agreement.

Ferrix was growing irate at the press of people as well, and began to snap at those who came too close. Asleena brushed a finger over the mabari’s head once in a while to keep him under control, but didn’t scold him. She preferred having a circle of empty space between herself and the people. Even so, she had to try and shrug off an uncomfortable feeling between her shoulder blades. She had removed the heavy dragonscale armour Wade had fashioned for her, since an ocean voyage and metal plates didn’t mix. Usually she didn’t need any more steel than a good blade to feel secure, but she wasn’t accustomed to so many people…watching her.

She felt a sudden pang of homesickness for Highever. She’d told Fergus she would come back in a while, but of course hadn’t been able to tell him when that would be. She had no idea how long it would take to find Alistair. He had over a week’s worth of travel on her, especially if he hadn’t simply stayed in whatever port he’d landed in.

Please, Maker, let him be safe. Let him forgive me.

Someone jostled her and she started out of her half-daze. Ferrix barked angrily as she stumbled then turned around to see a couple of men sprawled on the road, apparently stunned. A second later someone shouted a warning and a sharp pain exploded in her back.

The crowd scattered, many screaming, but some produced weapons and shouted at her to get out of the way. Ferrix had already bounded from her side with a horrible snarl and Asleena had barely drawn Starfang before the warhound had borne his mistress’s attacker to the ground and clamped his jaws around the man’s throat. There was a choked scream and then silence. Asleena stood still, listening and more than listening as she slowly looked around, sword still in hand, her back afire. Everything felt frozen around her as her eyes lifted, drawn by some battle-born instinct, and she saw the bowman drawing a bead on her from a distant rooftop. Without thinking she flung herself to one side and heard the twang of a bowstring, then the sharp sound of an arrow shattering against the ground followed by a distant cry of pain and a crash. She rolled to a crouching stance and looked up again, but the archer was gone.

“Warden!” Zevran’s voice called. She found the elf with her eyes. His longbow was out and he pointed towards the spot the archer had been. “If that fall didn’t kill him, he should be alive!” He darted away.

“Ferrix, catch but don’t kill!” Asleena ordered, and the mabari charged ahead of her. Seven of the armed townspeople followed at a distance, a couple pale-faced after the warhound’s brutal retaliation but the rest with the grim expressions of soldiers. Asleena mentally noted the quality and keep of the weapons she could see, and wondered if Anora had decided to send an escort after all.

They found the bowman crumpled and unconscious amidst the pile of wooden crates that had broken his fall. One of Zevran’s arrows protruded from his left shoulder. Ferrix snuffed around the prone form before returning to Asleena’s side, watching the armed people behind her with wary eyes and raised hackles.

“An elf,” one of the men noted.

“The other one was a human,” a woman pointed out.

Zevran appeared, gave the fallen archer a cursory glance, then looked up at the roof and pointed. Asleena nodded and stepped closer, cupping her hands to boost him up. The assassin disappeared for a few seconds then returned, passing down an Antivan longbow.

“A Crow?” Asleena asked as her companion sprang lightly down.

“Yes.” He rifled through the elf’s clothing and fished out a pair of blades, along with some poison vials.

“What about the other one?” one of the men asked.

Zevran looked up, as though noticing them for the first time, then shook his head. “I didn’t get a close look, but I’m guessing he was either on his own or paid to be a distraction. Perhaps the crowd was getting in his way,” he added nudging the body with his foot.

Asleena reached back with one hand and winced as she probed her wound. She looked at the blood on her fingers and showed Zevran. “He may not have been a Crow, but he got a lot closer than you did.”

“Ouch,” he said, then laughed. “That wasn’t a bad shot either. I may bear the scar for years!”

She snorted, and without so much as a glance over her shoulder said: “Captain?”

“My lady?” a swordsman replied automatically, stepping forwards.

“Would you mind having this Crow locked up? I’m sure Queen Anora can sort things out.” Only Zevran heard her mutter, “It was her father who set up the contract in the first place, after all.”

As two of the plainclothes soldiers bound the would-be assassin and hauled him away, Asleena led the others back to the man Ferrix had taken out. She shook her head in disgust at the sight of a trio of peasants gathered around the corpse, all of whom fled in different directions when they noticed they were being approached. Anything the man had possessed that carried value had been scavenged, right down to the dagger he’d stuck in Asleena’s back. At her gesture, one of the guards slung the body over his shoulder and trudged away.

“You should get that bandaged,” Zevran murmured. He unfurled a cloak and held it out. Asleena swirled it around her own shoulders, hiding the twinge of pain the movement cost her, and nodded to him.

“It’ll hold for now.” She looked at the guards. “Thanks for your assistance.”

“For what good we did,” the captain said, but bowed. “We will be in the vicinity, Warden. At least the people are giving you a bit more distance now.”

“Yes,” Zevran chuckled. “Nothing like the prospect of being stabbed, shot or having your throat torn out by a warhound to disperse a crowd.”

“I suppose the Crows are still after both of us,” Asleena noted once the guards had walked away.

“Loghain’s contract against the Ferelden Grey Wardens still stands,” Zevran agreed. “The Crows may not be accepting new contracts against you, but they never cancel existing ones.”

“Loghain’s dead! How do the assassins expect to get paid if they succeed?”

Zevran smiled. “Contracts are paid in advance, of course. While the organisation keeps a cut of the payment, the man or woman who ultimately kills the mark gets a decent portion as well…along with added reputation of course.”

“Andraste’s Sword…” Asleena paced a few steps and growled to herself. “So Alistair might have them on his back as well. I should have ordered Loghain to cancel the contract. Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t you suggest it?”

“It would not have worked. The contract was signed by both Loghain Mac Tir and Rendon Howe. My former associates would only have accepted a contract termination with both their names upon it.”

“And I had already killed Howe.” She sighed and took a calming breath. “I’m sorry. And before I forget…thank you. For taking that archer out.”

The elf shook his head, looking disgusted. “He’d already let fly an arrow before I got him. But you can thank me for something else.”

Her eyes widened. “You found the ship?”

“I found the harbourmaster, and as chance has it he spoke with our wayward Templar personally. He actually suggested the Stonereef when Alistair came looking for passage out of Denerim. Apparently he wanted the first port outside of Ferelden that was still on the mainland and away from the Blight.”

Asleena thought, trying to remember her geography. She’d been an indifferent student, preferring history books to maps, except where the maps had direct relationships with whatever she was studying at the time. All she knew for sure was that if Alistair was avoiding the Blight he’d have probably headed north towards the Free Marches. “Do you know which port he might have ended up in?” she asked finally.

“Ostwick is closest, though Hereinia is a possibility. The catch is that both cities take about the same length of time to get to. Ostwick has a few islands in the way, you see, while Hereinia is a smoother sail.”

“Ostwick then,” she decided after a brief consideration. She shrugged. “If not the first, we try the second. There’s not much choice is there?”

“I agree. Now, I suggest we find a merchant who’ll be willing to take this finely crafted Antivan bow off my hands.” Zevran grinned. “Here you may be the Hero of Ferelden, surrounded by devoted admirers willing to shower you with gifts, but in the Free Marches we’ll need some coin—and you donated almost all of it to the war effort.”

She winced. “I hadn’t considered that.” The little gold she’d held on to had subsequently been divvied between her remaining companions, at her insistence, for almost all of them had been leaving Denerim to pursue their own goals now that the Blight had ended. She supposed she could have asked Anora for a monetary reward, but didn't want to waste her boon. “Perhaps the Crow’s contract isn’t all bad then,” she mused.

Zevran’s brows shot up. “How so?”

“I might as well get something out of your people trying to off me,” she said lightly. “And just think of it. An assassination attempt once or twice a week…so long as you can haggle a good price for those fine Antivan bows and such, we should be pretty well set up.”

He stared at her then threw back his head and laughed in delight. “You are joking. Do you know, I can’t remember the last time you made a joke? Unless…” his expression became imploring, “that incredibly hurtful comment about the man who stabbed you…?”

“Sorry, Zevran.” She flashed him a crooked smile and led the way to a distant merchant stall. “I was serious about that one.”

He sighed theatrically and glanced down at Ferrix. “I may have been a little off my game, but it's not like I wasn’t trying to kill her, you understand.”

The mabari gave him a hard look.

“Yes, well…thank you for not chewing my neck up back when we first met. I truly appreciate it.”

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 12 février 2011 - 07:38 .

[tevikolady]

Nice story, first one with accepting Loghain as the sacrifice. Go hunt down hunky boy now

[TanithAeyrs]

Nice start. You did a great job on Zevran and I really like your fem Cousland. I particularly liked the Zevran/dog exchanges. Keep writing.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Thanks guys

----------
Part 2 - Shields and Ships

The merchant was named Parick. He was an aging man, his brown hair grey-streaked and tied back into a tail, but his beard was kept short. His stall of arms looked to be turning quite a profit from what Asleena could see. Even though the Blight had ended, plenty of darkspawn still roamed Ferelden. Scattered and disorganised they may now be, they were still dangerous and it was an imprudent or purely stupid traveller who left the city without a weapon at his side.

Zevran haggled with the man, enjoying playing up the value of goods crafted from his homeland more than anything else, Asleena suspected. She waited to one side, idly browsing the wares on display. Seeing nothing interesting, she crouched beside Ferrix and rubbed his ears affectionately. He lifted both heavy forepaws to capture her hand and she grinned despite herself.

“I haven’t been paying you much attention lately, have I, boy? Anything here you want? A new collar, maybe?”

He licked her hand, put down his paws and trotted over behind the stall. A second passed and a standing rack of shields was suddenly collapsing.

“Ferrix!” Asleena groaned, but the merchant had already spun about as tempered metal clattered to the ground.

“Hey, HEY, what’s your mongrel doing?!” Parick thrust the bow back at Zevran and rushed over, hurriedly grabbing shields from atop a wriggling mound. “Call him out of there!”

Asleena whistled sharply and Ferrix backed out of the pile to the sound more clattering and a few teeth-grinding screeches. His jaws were clamped firmly around the straps of a heavy shield. Adroitly dodging the merchant’s grab for his prize, the dog dashed back to his mistress and deposited his find at her feet, wagging his stumpy tail so madly his hindquarters wiggled.

“Oh, so if scratching up my stock isn’t enough, now you’re robbing me! Don’t think that just because you saved Ferelden your pet can pilfer my goods!”

Asleena ignored him and slowly turned the shield over to view its face. Polished silverite gleamed brightly in the noon sunlight, and the familiar blue and white device of a rampant griffon was made visible.

“Isn’t that…?” Zevran trailed off when Asleena nodded.

“Duncan’s shield. Alistair must have sold it so he could buy passage.” She took a steadying breath. “When he said he meant to leave the Grey Wardens, I…” She traced a couple of scars in the metal with her fingers and kept her head down until the tears blurring her eyes went away. Ferrix whined and tried to thrust his muzzle into her face. She hugged him around the neck then rocked back on her heels. “This shield meant so much to him.”

“The Wardens were everything to him, no? Maybe he didn’t want to hold on to anything that reminded him of them.”

“That was the gist of it, yes,” Parick growled. “Walked away from his duty and his country like a coward. Do you intend to buy that or not?”

Asleena stood up, her eyes flashing fire. Zevran took a quick step back, for the last person to speak ill of Alistair had been Morrigan, who had remarked that Loghain’s presence was an improvement on Alistair, ‘not that that was saying much.’ Asleena had frozen mid-stride, then turned around and struck the Wilds Witch across the face, shocking everyone—Morrigan most of all. The two women had had disagreements about many things, but Asleena’s respect of Morrigan’s ways and opinions coupled with her refusal to judge had won the witch’s friendship over time. Morrigan had not apologised, but while her face had shown open anger she had not so much as cursed after being hit. As far as any of Asleena’s companions knew, Morrigan had simply been too taken aback to say anything. Asleena believed otherwise. The time to face the archdemon had been drawing near, so Morrigan had not wanted to risk Asleena’s wrath further and jeopardise her chances for an Old God child.

The shield was slammed down loudly atop a display table, rattling nearby swords and maces. Asleena leaned over, thrusting her angry face closer to the merchant, who was suddenly looking a lot less confident.

“How much did you pay for it?” she demanded.

Parick glanced between the Warden and the assassin, swallowed, then said, “Two gold pieces, my lady.”

Zevran shook his head slightly when Asleena looked to him. They didn’t even have that much.

“I would gladly accept a letter of credit,” Parick suggested with a small quaver in his voice. “I’d give it to you freely, my lady, I swear, but everyone’s trying to recover after the war!”

Zevran tsked. “Dozens of merchants who’d scramble at the chance to do the Hero of Ferelden a favour, and we get you. Asleena, if you conscript this man into the Grey Wardens does he automatically donate all his goods to your order?”

“I couldn’t do something like that to a man who’s just trying to make his way in the world,” Asleena chided with a pleasant smile, but the merchant had gone pale at the suggestion.

“Take it,” Parick said. “Just take it and go.”

“And my bow?” Zevran asked, putting it on the counter.

The merchant scowled, but counted out a pouch of coins and slapped it down. “As agreed,” he said curtly, then deliberately turned his back to set about restoring his stock of shields to order.

“You surprise me. I didn’t expect you to go along with that,” Zevran said when they had distanced themselves from the stall. “And no innocent protests of how you disputed my conscription remark, either. You know exactly what I mean.”

“He annoyed me.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

Asleena slung the shield across her back and this time failed to hide a flinch of pain.

“Let’s organise this ship. And then, unless you’ve developed some mastery for tending injuries in places you can’t see and can barely reach, I’ll patch you up. I know my way around dagger wounds.”

“So long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself…all right.”

“As much as I can, given the circumstances.”

She nodded. “Thanks.” Letting out a long breath, she scanned the harbour and pointed. “Let’s start there.”

**

It didn’t take as long as either of them thought to arrange a ship, and payment turned out to be completely unnecessary. Once Asleena and Zevran had asked around a bit, they had been approached by a young Orlesian captain, Emilien, who offered to ferry them to Ostwick without charge on the Summerset.

“My father is a Warden of Orlais,” he said by way of explanation, the words almost musical with his accent. “It would be poor of me not to open my decks to you after all you have done.”

“The Orlesian Wardens are heading to Denerim, aren’t they?” Asleena asked after clasping Emilien’s hand in thanks. “Aren’t you worried you’ll miss your father when he arrives? You can’t see him that often with your respective callings.”

“This is true,” he agreed gravely, “it has been a while. But if Ostwick is as far as we travel I am confident I can return before his arrival.”

“I won’t take any more of your time than that, then,” she told him. “And no arguments, captain.” She managed a smile. “I’ll not keep you from seeing your father again.”

“Be that as it may, my lady, should you have a change of heart when we tie up at Ostwick, I will sail at your word.”

Asleena’s smile became more genuine. “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

He inclined his head. “We can’t leave until the morning tide, so it’s up to you whether you’d prefer another night ashore or get used to sleeping on board.”

“I’ve never sailed before,” she admitted. “Perhaps I should try to get used to being on a ship before we head out to sea?”

Emilien’s face split into a wide and slightly wicked smile. “Oh, we have a pure landswoman before us! Yes, I think a night on board would be a wise start. If you turn green as soon as you set a foot on deck I’ll have some idea of what to furnish your cabin with.”

“What?”

“He means a pail,” Zevran said with a chuckle. “But you might need one anyway to clean up after your little friend here.” He nodded to Ferrix, who grunted and tried to maintain a pose of dignity.

“I have transported dogs before, though never a mabari,” Emilien said, studying the warhound with interest. “Are they as clever as Fereldens make them out to be?”

Zevran laughed at that and nodded fervently. “And then some! The two of us raided Fort Drakon together! Just the two of us. It was a masterpiece of cunning if I do say so myself.”

After a very strange look, Emilien cleared his throat and returned his attention to Asleena. “Ah…the Summerset is this way, Grey Warden.”

“I don’t think he believed me,” Zevran observed aloud, earning a smirk from Asleena before she moved to walk at the captain’s side. “Does no one appreciate the risks we took?” he added, turning an appealing gaze to Ferrix, who wagged his tail. “It’s all right for you, you just had to ‘pretend’ to look like a mabari. I had to play the part of an honest businessman! Do you know how hard that is when you’re an elf and have an Antivan accent?”

Ferrix barked happily.

“Yes, I suppose that does make us all the more awesome for succeeding…”

The mabari spun in an excited circle, barked again and bounded after Asleena. Zevran watched him go with a bemused expression.

“I really wish I knew what was going on inside that head of yours, sometimes.”

**

“Clean water and cloth, sterilised needle, silk thread, and a little something to speed the healing.” Zevran motioned to the bunk. “You can sit or lie down, whichever is more comfortable, but you will have to lose the shirt.” He grinned as blood rushed to her cheeks, then turned his back without waiting to be asked.

“What do you make of our captain?” she asked, unfastening the cloak and peeling off her tunic. She gritted her teeth as the material pulled at her wound.

“A stroke of luck?” Zevran suggested, inspecting a bulkhead as he waited.

“I hope so. He seems nice, if his story is honest.” She sat, her back to the assassin, and draped the cloak around her neck for a modicum of decency. “Ready.”

“It may shock you to hear this coming from me, but if you don’t have a little trust once in a while you will not get far.” Zevran crossed the floor and inspected the bloody hole in Asleena’s back. It had missed the muscle, was too close to the spine for his comfort, but fortunately didn’t look bad. The rest of her back was surprisingly smooth considering how often she was fighting, but he could see faint ridges here and there from past scars. “So. Do you trust me?” he asked.

“To patch me up? You said you’d behave. And I told Ferrix to keep an eye on you.”

Ferrix barked from near the door and Zevran eyed the mabari askance. “I would have expected a growl, perhaps a few more teeth showing…” the elf hesitated. “Why is he looking at me like that? And wagging his tail?”

“Why indeed?” she returned, amused.

“Huh. Well, here we go. I have to clean the blood away, so this may sting.” He plunged a cloth into the basin of water, squeezed out the excess, then started to dab carefully at the injury. “So…may I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you spare Loghain?”

She didn’t answer at once. “Both Anora and Ser Cauthrien asked me to show mercy. I promised I would. And Riordan was right…we needed more Grey Wardens.”

“But you gained one only to lose another. Why not keep the one you trusted over a man who betrayed your king and tried to have you assassinated?” Zevran rinsed the cloth out, sending crimson tendrils spiralling across the water’s surface.

“I didn’t expect it would go that far.” Her voice lowered, eyes staring at the far wall of the cabin. “We’d agreed Anora would be queen, he’d supported it all the way. He was happy with it. I never thought he’d try to take the crown just to see Loghain dead.”

“So you spared Loghain to stop Alistair from becoming king for the wrong reasons?” he asked sceptically, pressing the cloth to her back again.

She hissed softly, but nodded. “That’s part of it, yes.”

“But not all of it. Your promise to Anora and Cauthrien, then? You spared him to honour your word?”

“Still not all of it. Don’t mistake me. I didn’t like Loghain at all. I may understand him a little better now, but if Riordan hadn’t stepped in I’d have demanded a trial and let the Landsmeet decide his fate.” She shifted her shoulders as Zevran removed the cloth. “Riordan was right; we needed more Grey Wardens. I didn’t understand exactly why at the time, but I remembered something Duncan said to me back when I was recruited. He said duty to the Grey Wardens came before personal vengeance. I would have thought Duncan’s words meant something to Alistair.”

“Perhaps before Duncan and the rest of Alistair’s friends had been left to the darkspawn by Loghain, yes.” Zevran picked up the needle and deftly threaded it. “Vengeance can drive people to do foolish things. I am about to start stitching, by the way.”

Asleena nodded and braced herself against the bunk. “We were speaking of Loghain, though, not Alistair.” She paused, clenching her jaw at the strange feel of thread sliding through her skin. “He surrendered. And perhaps I thought, as a Warden, he could redeem himself. Make up for some of the evil he’d done.”

“Everyone deserves a chance? Sounds familiar.”

She chuckled weakly. “At first. But when Alistair left, after Anora called for his death, I…I was so angry. I wanted with all my heart for the Joining to kill Loghain, Zevran. I hated him so much for yielding. I wished he’d given me no choice and fought to the death.”

“Do you regret letting him live?” he asked after a short silence. He knew she was still holding something back, that there was more to her staying her blade than she’d said, but the trip to Ostwick would leave plenty of time for more talk.

“I did at the time, yes. I regretted both letting him live and supporting his daughter.” Realising her voice was growing rougher with emotion and anger, she paused a moment. Zevran waited until the tension in her back relaxed before plying the needle again. “I think she called for Alistair’s death more out of anger at his demand for Loghain’s blood than politics.”

“And now?” he prompted, trying to return her to his question.

“Do I regret letting Loghain live? After all that has happened? I…don’t know. I want to say ‘no’. You saw what happened to Loghain when he killed the archdemon. That could have been Alistair or me instead. We might not have succeeded at all. How do you second-guess something like that?”

“It is so sure thing one of you would have died?”

“No one has ever slain an archdemon and lived.”

Zevran tied off the end of the thread, making no further comment. That she spoke the truth he had no doubt, but he also recognised an evasion when he saw one. Setting down the needle, he opened the poultice and scooped up some of the ointment to rub into her scar.

“As it is, we are both alive,” Asleena went on. “It could have been…a lot worse.”

The rest of Zevran’s ministrations were accomplished in silence. He touched her no more than necessary, then withdrew his hands. “There. Don’t stretch too much and try to sleep on your stomach for the next couple of nights.”

“Thanks Zevran. And for listening.”

“Ah. You’ve listened to me talk about myself more than enough in the past. It’s only fair.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but only nodded. “Have you…ever been in love, Zevran?”

He made himself laugh and look amused at the question. “Of course. Many times!”

“Oh.” She looked down at the cloak covering herself. “I guess I’ll clean up and get some sleep.”

“You haven’t eaten yet,” he protested.

“I…don’t feel all that hungry.”

His eyes narrowed, then he realised and shook his head. “I see. The good captain will be disappointed.” He collected the bowl of water and other items, then crossed to the door. “Sleep well then.”

“And you. Whenever you get around to it.”

The door closed. When Asleena didn’t move, Ferrix went over to her and put his great head in her lap. Dark brown eyes stared up at her like they could see straight into her soul. She scratched the mabari’s ears with one hand, and rubbed her eyes with the other. “It’s all right, boy. I’m fine. I just…really miss him. And I’m afraid, you know?” Ferrix sighed gustily at the petting and merely blinked up at her in response. They sat like that for some time before either finally lay down to sleep.

[Drax_Lyonsbane]

Well Done.

You and your pen are formidable folk indeed, good to have you along on the road.

[frostajulie]

Don't stop there this is great! I personally do not really enjoy the Cousland origin but I am liking yours and since Zev is a main character then I will definitely be along for the ride.

[Twerq]

Keep writing give us another point of view. That was a very good example of imagination coming to life I hope bioware is reading.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Thanks for the encouraging remarks! Twerq: It'd be awesome if one of them was reading I just hope I do their characters/world justice.

---

Part 3 - The Summerset

“You and the Warden…” Captain Emilien leaned next to Zevran at the rail. The elf turned his attention from the moonlit waves and examined the young Orlesian instead. He was pretty enough with his blond hair, beardless face and engaging smile. His blue eyes were almost black in the night.

“It’s not what you think,” Zevran said.

“Maybe not, but I’d wager you’d like it to be what I think.”

“Oh? Are you sure? I can think some fairly exotic things.”

Emilien laughed. “I like you.”

Zevran allowed a wolfish smile to cross his face and deliberately looked the taller man up and down. “Is that so?”

“Not in that way, though,” the captain said, laughing again. “So if you and she are not together, you wouldn’t mind if I…?” Noting the elf’s change of expression, Emilien broke off and nodded. “Ah. No need to say anything.”

“Also not what you think. Well, not entirely. Did she tell you why we’re going to Ostwick?” The captain shook his head, no. “She’s chasing after a man she wants. I doubt she’ll encourage advances, but you are welcome to try. It might be entertaining.”

“Hm. Does this man she want love her?”

“Oh.” Zevran smiled. “Yes. It was disgusting to watch at times, the way they looked at each other.”

“Why’d he leave her then?”

“Why does any man abandon a woman he loves?” Zevran countered, looking out to sea again. “Because he is a fool.”

“That’s the Maker’s own truth, my friend. I had a girl once, back in Val Chevin. Red hair down to here, eyes like the sea, and her temper! Like a storm blowing in from the Frozen Seas. Maker’s breath, but she was cold when she got angry.”

“What happened to her?” Zevran asked, curious.

“She didn’t like the idea of me being a sailor, and always away from home.”

“And always in foreign ports with strange women.”

“Heh. Possibly.” Emilien gazed at the winking lights of Denerim. “One day she confronted me and said I would have to choose between her and the sea. She said the next time I sailed, she would not be there when I returned. I didn’t believe her.” When Zevran said nothing, Emilien pushed away from the rail. “Do you drink? I suddenly feel the need for a glass.”

“A glass of what, exactly?”

“I’ve acquired a few bottles over the years. There’s a fine Orlesian vintage I’ve been saving, even an Antivan brew somewhere though that might have gone bad by now. I’ll let you choose.”

“Why not?” Zevran straightened with a nod. “I haven’t had a decent drink since leaving Antiva. Have you tried Ferelden wine?”

Emilien looked pained. “Sadly, yes.”

“I think I like you, too.”

**

The following days were filled with fair weather and good winds. Asleena mostly spent the first two inside feeling miserably seasick. The one occasion she had been convinced to come outside for fresh air she’d managed to get to the railing before throwing up. On the third day out of port she determinedly emerged from her cabin, made it to the captain’s table for breakfast, and had so far succeeded in keeping the meal below her ribs. Now she sat on the Summerset’s foredeck, looking down amidships and feeling relatively high-spirited. It was good to be on the move, to have a destination, and to not have the fate of the world pressing down on her. Until now she hadn’t really slowed down enough to appreciate the feeling of being free to go where she wanted rather than where duty or necessity demanded. She was also trying not to think of Alistair too much. Every time she did she kept trying to imagine what she’d say to him, how she’d try to explain, and she could never find words that satisfied her. Such thoughts turned her anxious, then depressed that even if she hunted him down it would only be to end up in an argument over who was right. And damn ‘who was right’, right? What did logic or honour or duty or anything matter when it involved the heart? Alistair had left believing she had betrayed him. Perhaps she had.

“You’re doing it again,” she muttered to herself, and picked up the heavy stick at her side. Ferrix, who’d been lying at the foot of the stairs, raised his head at the motion and waited expectantly. Asleena made sure none of the crew were in the way then let the stick fly and Ferrix was after it instantly, his toenails clicking on the deck.

There were footsteps behind her, then Emilien’s voice said, “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better, my lady.”

“Give it time, captain,” she replied, but threw him a smile, “it’s still early. Maybe I’ll be able to stand up without feeling dizzy by nightfall.”

“I thought you’d like to know it will be two more days to Ostwick if the weather holds.” He pointed, indicating an island off the left side of the ship. She couldn’t remember if left was port or starboard. “That’s the northeastern point of Brandel’s Reach,” he said. “Once we round that cape our destination is pretty much dead west.”

“I’ll be happy to stand on something that doesn’t move under my feet for a change,” Asleena said wryly. “Thanks, Emilien.”

“My pleasure. So can I ask how you were recruited? I’ve known a few Grey Wardens thanks to my father, and some of them have pretty interesting stories on how they joined the order.”

Asleena shrugged. “The story is interesting, but I don’t know if I’d call it pleasant.”

Emilien cocked his head. “Another rescue story, then?”

“Yes and no. I’m from Highever, you know. A Cousland.”

“Truly? I’d heard rumours Highever was attacked, my lady.”

“It was. By a man my family counted a friend. A Grey Warden named Duncan was visiting at the time, looking for recruits. When the castle was overrun he rescued me.” Realising how little she was really saying, she spread her hands in apology. “Forgive me. It’s not something I like to remember, and it wasn’t all that long ago so it’s still a bit raw.”

A vast understatement, she knew. She hadn’t wanted to be rescued. Duncan had had to invoke the Right of Conscription on her when she’d refused to leave her parents’ sides, then virtually drag her from the keep. She did not have fond memories of her first few days in the older Warden’s company. She’d tried to make a run for it during the night; he’d caught her then tied her up until dawn broke. She’d yelled every insult she could think of straight into his face; he’d borne it all with a patience that had infuriated her. She’d done her best to make the man’s life intolerable, hoping he’d get annoyed or disgusted enough to cut her loose and be rid of her. Ferrix had been no help during the ordeal either, as though he’d known her escape would lead them back to Highever and straight into disaster. Finally, when she’d exhausted all the reserves of her anger, she’d simply broken down and wept. And Duncan had let the grief run its course. He’d even been compassionate about it. After all the crap she’d put him through, he’d been nice. She still hadn’t wanted to be a Grey Warden, but that had been the point she’d started to warm to the man, not to mention feel ashamed of her childish display. Duncan had forgiven her, of course, and from then on she’d resolved to live up to her family name rather than act like…like a spoiled noble’s daughter.

“He saved my life,” she said into the silence that had fallen. “I blamed him for tearing me from my family. I wanted to fight our attackers to my last breath…but I’d have died with them if not for him.”

Emilien was staring at her in shock. “He forced you to abandon your family? Why didn’t he save them all?”

“My father was mortally wounded…dying. Mother would not leave his side.” Asleena chuckled suddenly, but it came out sounding like she was choking on tears. “Dragging me away might have been easy for Duncan, but me and my mother? Never would’ve worked.” She fell silent as Ferrix returned, stick in mouth, and patted the animal’s head. “Would you mind giving me a moment, Emilien?” she asked.

“Certainly.” He started for the steps on the other side of the foredeck, then a voice from the topmast yelled, “Sails! Captain, we have cutters!”

“Maker have mercy…where away?” he shouted back as Asleena pulled herself to her feet.

“Ahead, captain, two points port! Rounding Brandel!”

“Spill wind!” Emilien ordered those aloft. “Helm, turn us starboard. Into the Amaranthine!”

“Sir!”

Asleena grabbed at the railing as the ship lurched to the right. “What are cutters?”

“Pirates, Warden.” Emilien pointed towards the island again, at the same cape he’d indicated before. Three small sails had rounded the point and were heading straight for the Summerset. “If we head into the Amaranthine Ocean they might give up rather than chase us. They were probably hoping to drive us backwards, into an ambush between Brandel and Alamar.”

“How fast are they?”

“Fast enough.”

“We could sail into them, fight them off—“

“No,” he cut her off. “Warden, my crew aren’t warriors and I didn’t take on a full complement when we set sail. I’d prefer not to lose anyone.”

“Then lock yourselves up below decks until it’s over! How many people are usually on these cutters?”

“Four or five each, but why risk it? We can head for Hereinia instead then return along the coast to Ostwick.”

“Not a chance. You’re getting back to Denerim to see your father, Emilien, end of story. Now give what orders you must and get your crew to safety.”

They glared at each other for a moment, then Emilien nodded reluctantly. “All right, Warden. We’ll do this your way.” He looked up. “Reef all sails!”

“Zevran!” Asleena shouted, making it down to the deck.

“Over here.” The Antivan already had his bow out and was patiently watching the approach of the three cutters. “There’s time yet.”

“I’ll get my bow and sword.”

She was back in a few minutes, cursing her lack of sea-legs and pulling a leather vest on over her tunic. “If I throw up in the middle of combat, I apologise in advance.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

She shook her head and strung her bow with a grunt. “No. But I’ve gone through darkspawn and a bloody archdemon, and I’m not going to let a few pirates slow me down now. We’re going to Ostwick.” She slid out an arrow and tried to take a steady stance. “Besides, I’ve spent the last few days spewing my guts into a bucket. I need some exercise.”

“That’s more like it. How’s your back?”

“It itches,” she growled. “You concentrate on the first one that gets in range. I’ll try to take the one on the right.”

“Aye, aye!”

They waited, watching the cutters approach as the Summerset’s crew hit the deck and went below. And then Emilien was beside them with a shortbow in hand.

“I told you to get to safety!” Asleena exclaimed.

“To be specific, you only said to get my crew to safety.” The captain helped himself to an arrow from the quiver on the deck. “This is my ship and those men and women below are my people. Warden or no, you can’t order me to hide in the holds.”

Asleena drew a breath but whatever she’d been about to say flew from her head when Zevran drew his bowstring and loosed. She spun to face the advancing pirates without another word and took aim at a distant figure. Neither she nor Zevran were especially fond of ranged weapons, both preferring the up close and personal kind of combat, but both knew how to use a bow from their respective upbringings.

The Warden let fly and smiled grimly when her arrow found its mark, sending a pirate staggering over the edge of his smaller vessel and into the water. It proved to be a lucky shot; she missed the rest, a combination of wind, moving targets and rising motion sickness conspiring to take every following shaft off target. Zevran’s aim, and Emilien’s once the cutters were in range, were much better, but the pirates had come prepared and raised wooden shields to protect themselves from the barrage. All three boats reached the Summerset, and only three of their crew had been taken out. One of the cutters veered towards the bow.

“They’re circling to board from the other side,” Emilien guessed. “Now what?”

“This,” Zevran said, hefting a flask of green liquid, and hurled it down into the closest cutter’s deck. There was a smash of breaking glass and screams of agony as acid splashed in every direction. Three of the pirates in the vessel jumped overboard to quench the horrible burning while the fourth writhed in the bottom of the boat, howling in pain.

“I’ll take care of the other boat,” Asleena said. “Ferrix, stay here and do what Zevran tells you to do.”

Zevran didn’t reply, too busy picking off the targets thrashing in the water, but Emilien nodded to her. “Be careful.”

She skidded across to the other side of the ship and peered over the edge, ducking back quickly as an arrow buzzed past her ear. A grapple appeared over the rail further down, its metal prongs biting into wood. Asleena moved towards it and drew Starfang. Rather than cut the rope she stood still, waiting for a head to appear for convenient removal. She was not disappointed. As the first decapitated pirate stiffened and fell backwards with a splash, Asleena risked a glance over her shoulder to check on her companions. Like her they were crouched at the rail, blades ready, but then something flew over Zevran’s shoulder to shatter on the deck. A slick of oil spilled across the boards and there was a roar of flames as it ignited. Asleena ducked instinctively as another flask passed her head and broke against the mainmast. Blazing droplets flew like golden rain and the rigging was suddenly ablaze.

“Maker, no!” Emilien shouted in horror and ran for a hatch. “Take care of the boarders!” he threw to Zevran. “Leave the fire to me.”

“Surrender or we’ll burn you to the waterline!” one of the pirates yelled from Asleena’s side.

She looked back again to where Emilien and several of his crew were emerging, some with blades and others with heavy piles of canvas to smother the flaming oil, then set her jaw. “Bugger this for a joke,” she whispered, and vaulted over the railing with a roar. The cutter rocked violently when she crashed down upon it, pitching one of the pirates overboard. A woman who’d been halfway up the boarding rope jumped down, throwing herself on Asleena’s back and bearing the Warden to her knees. Another pirate regained his balance on the rocking boat then lashed out with his sword, tearing a gash across Asleena’s ribs when she tried to avoid the blow. Starfang’s pommel cracked sharply against the skull of the woman clinging to her back; she went limp and fell into the water. The pirate with the sword lunged again, trying to skewer her before she could regain her balance, but Asleena turned the blow aside.

“If I were you, I’d jump,” she advised, and swung the greatsword in a vicious horizontal arc as the man launched himself backwards into the water. Without pause, she drilled her blade down into the deck. The cutters were shallow vessels and Starfang sheared straight down through the hull. Water gushed from the breach and she holed the boat two more times before sheathing the sword and flinging herself for the rope dangling down the Summerset’s keel. Pulling herself up a few feet, she stopped short of the railing and looked down. Two of the pirates were clinging to the ruined cutter, which they’d overturned to prevent from sinking further.

There was barking above her, then a voice overhead asked, “Asleena?”

“Emilien!” she climbed up the rest of the way and he gave her a hand back on deck. “Thanks. I didn’t want to stick my head up in case someone got excited and cut it off.”

The captain pulled up the grapple rope, tugged it free and coiled it around his arm.

“Is everyone all right?” she asked carefully.

He nodded. “Yes. But if you don’t mind, next time we do it my way. We got the fire out but we had to cut away a good portion of the rigging to do it.” His expression softened. “I know you’re in a hurry to chase this friend of yours, but there’s no need to risk people’s lives just so you can find him that much sooner.”

“You left some alive?” Zevran interrupted, leaning over the rail. Asleena hadn’t noticed him arrive. “Should I clean up?”

“I…no. Let them swim to shore.”

The elf shrugged. “Your call.”

Asleena nodded to Emilien, a silent apology in her eyes, and headed for her cabin.

The captain sighed and turned to Zevran, who was still apparently absorbed in the plight of the two pirates in the water. “She is not like other Grey Wardens I’ve met.”

“She hasn’t been a Grey Warden for very long.”

“Maybe that’s it.” Emilien glanced at the pirates. “Just so you know, I have no reservations about you taking care of those scum.” Then he turned away and started bellowing orders to his crew.

Zevran drew his bow calmly, took aim and waited until the two men below noticed. For a drawn-out moment they simply stared, colour draining from their faces, and then both ducked underwater. “Took you long enough,” the elf muttered, and sent the arrow speeding towards the cutter’s exposed hull. It thunked into the wood. He loosed a second shaft for appearance’s sake, aiming for a safely distant patch of water, then shouldered his bow and wandered back amidships.

He would be the last person to kill someone she wished spared.

[Dennis Carpenter]

Oh god not another one!!!!!!!!!! I just wanted to take a quick peek that turned into a paragraph then the post now I am hooked AAARRRGGHH I will never be able to get off this computer now.



BTW you truly have a talent..............

[MarcusDeVarro]

wow great story

you have real talent

[Emma-Lath]

I don't usually read fan fiction but your writing is so good, and the story is so interesting (I can't wait to see what will happen with the zevran-asleena-alistair love triangle).

anyways I love the story and I'm compleltely addicted

[Kohaku]

Another story that has me hooked. You all are killing me.

[bawpie]

Another excellent chapter, I was a touch worried you'd cut off before the pirate attack so I was glad you didn't! Nice to see others appreciate this as well!

[Kulkodar]

Wow, you have truly caught Zev's personality. Nicely written and I look forward to the continued saga!

[PetrosS]

I really enjoyed reading this and can't wait to read more!



I have to confess that I'm very intrigued to see how you will handle this love triangle, which reminds me of another one I read last year. I'm talking of Stephanie Meyer's Twilight saga here and if you know it then you know what I mean.



Subscribed!

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Gah, damn real life demanding I earn an income. >.< Anyway, Many thanks, people, w00tage at the subscrption and Bawpie! Good to see you

---

Part 4 - Ostwick

The city of Ostwick stood on a high promontory that overlooked the Waking Sea on the west coast and the Amaranthine Ocean on the east. The white stone walls were washed with a golden-rose colour as the sun dropped into the west, standing in stark contrast to the deeply forested Vimmark Mountains which were their backdrop.

Asleena looked back and up at the sky, peering past the Summerset’s sails. Black clouds were chasing them from the east, a storm blowing in from the Amaranthine. If she watched long enough she could catch the random flickers of lightning between thunderheads. Emilien had said they would beat the storm to Ostwick, but it was looking like it might be a near thing. The wind had picked up significantly.

The upside was that said wind was blowing in the right direction, and they were running before it with swift ease. Repairs to the rigging after the battle two days ago had only taken a couple of hours to complete; ropes aside, only one of the lower sails had been significantly damaged and the ship carried spare canvas. Asleena had tried to talk Emilien into accepting something, anything, to cover his costs, but he wouldn’t have any of it.

“If I really come down with a shortage of coin, my lady, I’ll put it down as a Grey Warden expense and let my father know,” the captain had told her with a grin.

She was just relieved he didn’t seem to hold anything serious against her for endangering his ship and crew.

At present, Zevran was further down the deck with Ferrix, surrounded by a small clutch of admirers. He’d become a favourite amongst the female members of Emilien’s crew early on, much to the dismay of the other sailors, and they took every opportunity they could when he wasn’t at Asleena’s side. She smiled to herself as a couple of the women laughed at some remark the elf had made. He was a rogue, a charmer and a shameless flirt, everything she had not grown up with in Highever as daughter of a Teyrn. Her noble blood, fondness for large weapons and proficiency as a warrior had tended to, if not scare men off completely, make them treat her with a cautious, distant respect.

As for Zevran…it was hard for her to define where she stood with him sometimes. She enjoyed his outrageous flatteries and had initially played along with his many suggestive comments only because she never thought him serious—he spoke to every woman that way after all, not to mention a number of men. A couple of times she had suspected he saw her as more than just someone else to bed, but could never be certain that wasn’t just her own vanity talking. Things had come to a head between them some time ago in Ferelden when he had offered her a massage and more. Knowing where it might lead and not wanting to hurt Alistair, she had declined.

Noticing she was watching him, Zevran said something to his attentive audience and sauntered up to the foredeck with a wide smile on his face. “Thinking of me?” he asked, and when she completely failed to respond he added, “I see. With clothes or without?”

“With!” she blurted, blushing furiously, and indicated the pouting women he’d left behind with a small jerk of her chin. “Which is more than I can say for them, I think.”

“I was just regaling them with the tale of our epic infiltration of Fort Drakon,” Zevran said, reaching down to rub Ferrix’s ears. “They loved it.”

“You added embellishments in all the right places, I suppose.”

“My dear, you wound me! Am I a bard who needs to twist the truth for a good story? My exploits and talents require no such exaggerations.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

A sly glint entered his eyes. “Completely the opposite, actually.”

“Maker’s Breath…” Asleena groaned, and turned her burning face back out to sea. Ferrix came up beside her and put his paws on the rail, demanding attention by pushing her hand with his nose. “Bet you’ll be as happy as me to be on solid ground again,” she said to the dog, determined to change the subject. “Birds to chase. Dirt to dig up. Trees to p—“ she caught herself and cleared her throat. “Well. Lots and lots of trees.”

“Lots of elves, too,” Zevran said. “Maybe not so many here in the south, I’m not entirely sure, but further inland? Elves aplenty.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Not to Ostwick, but the Free Marches border Antiva, and the Green Dales lie somewhere along that boundary.”

“I forgot there were Dalish up here,” Asleena said thoughtfully. “Are they anything like the ones back in Ferelden?”

Zevran chuckled and lounged back against the railing. “How should I know? Because I am an elf? Suffice to say, we move in different circles. And mine don’t involve dancing around trees singing to nature spirits.”

“They’re not all that bad. The Dalish helped us against the darkspawn, didn’t they?”

“In Ferelden, perhaps.” The assassin made a dismissive gesture. “But that is of no moment. Have you decided what we’ll do when we get to Ostwick?”

“Besides get some rooms for the night? Ask around and pray that someone can give us some useful information.”

“Ah! A tavern crawl! It’s been a while.”

“This isn’t a holiday,” Asleena replied sternly, but couldn’t repress a smile.

“More’s the pity. You could do with one.”

She gestured towards the city. “If we’re getting closer to Antiva, do you think we’ll run into any more trouble?”

He shrugged a nod. “It’s possible. We weren’t exactly taking any pains in hiding where we wanted to sail back in Denerim. Information is a commodity too, you know, and it has ways of travelling ahead.”

Asleena brooded on this for a moment, watching the sunlit walls of Ostwick gradually darken as the sun slipped below the mountains. “Are you worried?” she asked.

“Me? No. Bring them on, I say!”

The Summerset coasted in towards port, while behind them the first distant rumblings of thunder could finally be heard on the wind.

**

The rain hit just after the ship tied up to the docks, and not as a wispy drizzle that slowly built up over time, either. Great sheets of it sluiced down from the angry clouds, drenching any who failed to scramble for cover. The waves had increased in size and frequency, and Asleena was glad to get off the Summerset’s deck before its rocking could become any more intense. Captain Emilien had invited them to remain until the storm blew over or at least abated a little, but the Warden had politely declined.

“Good luck finding your friend then,” Emilien had said, giving her a bow and a smile. “If you find him quickly or change your mind about heading for Hereinia, the Summerset will still be here tomorrow and dawn the next day. Otherwise, farewell.”

And with that, Asleena, Zevran and Ferrix were ashore again. Human and elf were wrapped head to foot in great cloaks in an attempt to stay as dry as possible, but the way to Ostwick was a winding path up the eastern face of the bluff so shelter from the storm was practically non-existent. A wooden rail had been set into the rock as an aid against fatal falls, but the driving wind and rain made for poor footing. Even Ferrix slipped once or twice on the treacherous ascent. When they finally reached the top and made it to the torch-lit southern gates of the city, it was to find the portcullis closed.

“You’re kidding,” Zevran muttered, turning his back to the wind and rubbing his chilled hands. “No welcome party?”

Asleena peered through the bars. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone?”

An armoured guard appeared on the other side, his approach barely audible above the storm. “What?” he demanded, eyeing all three of them with undisguised suspicion.

Asleena and Zevran exchanged a glance. “We just arrived in port,” Asleena began.

“Then you’d best return to your ship until sunup,” the guard interrupted. “Gates stay closed until then.”

“Go back down in this?” Asleena objected, waving a hand at the deluge.

“You were the fool who came up in this.”

“I’m in a hurry! You seriously can’t just let us in?”

“No, I seriously can’t,” the guard replied. “It’s not worth my life or the lives of anyone in Ostwick to let in strangers after dark. Get back to your ship and return in the morning.”

“That sounded ominous,” Zevran remarked.

“What’s so terrible around here that you have to shut up tighter than a Circle Tower?” Asleena asked.

“Cannibals,” the guard said darkly. “Blood drinkers and flesh eaters. Now if you have any sense, get back to your ship! You get attacked and I won’t be coming out to help.”

One of Asleena’s hands shot out to grab a bar when the guard made to leave. “What’s to stop them going down to the docks?” she demanded.

He only shrugged. “Maybe it’s too far or too difficult to travel. We’ve not heard of any ships being troubled during the night, though.” He touched a hand to his helmet and walked out of sight.

“Isn’t there another way in?” Asleena shouted, unwilling to give up.

“No! You’re welcome to try the north gate, but that’s locked even tighter.”

She turned away with a growl, drawing her cloak tighter.

“Next time tell them you’re a Grey Warden,” Zevran suggested.

“That doesn’t always work. I tried it on a Templar once outside Kinloch Hold and he made some snide response about being the Queen of Antiva.”

He grinned, but said, “It can’t hurt to try again.”

“North gate, then?”

“Indeed. This is all your fault, by the way,” he added conversationally, falling in beside her. “Ever since meeting up with you it has become impossible to walk into a locale without encountering some sort of horrible plot, monster, or quest hook.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

It took almost an hour to circle the city, and while the rain let up somewhat in that time it was still heavy. There was no road or path circling the wall either, so both Asleena and Zevran were muddy to the knees after the trek. Ferrix was particularly sodden and dirty and didn’t look at all happy by the time they reached the northern gate. Approaching the torch-flanked portcullis, Asleena called out again for any guards.

Two appeared this time, and neither looked pleased to see the travellers.

“I’m sorry, but the city is barred until dawn.”

“Maybe I can help?” Asleena tried. “I’m a Grey Warden.”

“I thought all the Grey Wardens were heading to Ferelden.”

“The Orlesian ones, yes. We’re from Ferelden. Just pulled in to the docks today.”

“You’re both Grey Wardens?”

“No, just me!”

“So what’s he then?” the guard asked, pointing at Zevran.

The second guard finally elbowed his comrade. “That don’t matter. Lady, if you arrived on a ship you’d best get back to it. Southern post should have told you that.”

“They did,” Asleena said. “We were hoping you’d be more reasonable.”

“Reason is why we keep the gates shut in the first place. Only these and the walls keeping the flesh eaters out. They could be out there in the dark right now waiting for us to open this thing for you.”

Asleena sighed wearily and shook some of the rain off her cloak. “I suppose I can’t fault you wanting to protect your city. Tell me about this cannibal problem of yours.”

“’Tis your life, woman. You want to go looking for trouble, take the road behind you into the mountains. We tried contacting the Circle Tower at Starkhaven to sort it out, thought it might be Blood Magic trouble, but it wouldn’t have reached them yet.”

“Where’s the north road go?”

“Through the Vimmark Mountains and up to Markham, eventually, but we think the problem’s source is a mining village along the way.” The guard seemed to consider. “You might make it there in two hours, maybe three in this weather.”

“I’m all for a dark and rainy journey,” Zevran announced, grinning beneath his cowl. “After darkspawn and dragons, cannibals just don’t have the same intimidation factor.”

“I wouldn’t take it so lightly. A Templar came through here just when the trouble had started, said he might give it a look.” The guard shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Two weeks, I think, yes?” the guard looked at his companion, who nodded. “He might’ve been lying about being a Templar, though. Didn’t have that shield of theirs, nor the armour.”

Asleena regarded him sharply. “What did he look like? Fair hair, about this tall, muscular build?”

“That sounds about right, yeah. Enchanted sword, too. Had a fire playing about his blade. Friend of yours?”

“You could say that, yes.”

The guard looked between Asleena and Zevran, sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “I won’t be telling you what to do, but don’t get your hopes up. Watch yourselves out there.” He tapped the other guard on the shoulder and the two withdrew from the entrance.

Asleena turned from the gate and stared off into the rainy night. “He was here,” she said suddenly, needing to speak the words out loud.

“I take it we’re not going back to sleep on the Summerset then?” Zevran guessed wryly. Then he grinned. “Dark and rainy journey with cannibals?”

Asleena’s answering smile flashed in the firelight. “Let’s go.”

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 13 janvier 2010 - 12:10 .

[MarcusDeVarro]

another great addition to your story!

keep em coming

[AdorableAnarchist]

*taps foot* Waiting for more!! I am loving this!

[Emma-Lath]

it's so good , I can't wait for another chapter!!

[TanithAeyrs]

Well written. Good plot and pacing, I am hooked. Keep writing.

[Tarante11a]

Enjoying this tale very much, bouncing good pace, entertaining characters and well written - looking forward to reading more too!

[frostajulie]

Awesome!!! I love the interactions the way the characters still feel like themselves and the story is really picking up I am intrigued and am pistitively on pins and needles waiting for the next installment. Yay! This is soooo goood!

[Hecthorn]

Just discoverd this story of yours.



Really great to read! More, please.

[TheMadCat]

Good read, keep it up.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Thank you! Hope you enjoy the dark and rainy journey...


----------
Part 5 - The Smell of Blood

Her elation at finding Alistair’s trail refused to abate. After all they had endured in Ferelden, she could not for one moment believe that he might have fallen prey to the monsters in the mountains. There would be another reason why he hadn’t returned to Ostwick, and an explanation as to why the cannibal problem had not abated after he’d said he’d look into it. He would be fine and they would find him. What happened after that she did not have to think about at the moment; right now there was only the hunt.

The thunder and lightning passed overhead, giving a brief but dazzling display before continuing west. The rain slackened, falling now only in intermittent patches, but the wind did not die down. It was only when they reached the thick forest growing on the slopes of the Vimmark that they were shielded from the worst of the storm.

Asleena and Zevran had not spoken since setting out. With the poor visibility and the racket of whipping leaves and branches overhead, they kept their full attention on the path and surrounds. Ferrix trotted a short distance ahead of them, and when he stopped in the middle of the path and laid his ears back the other two halted just behind him.

“I mark three,” Zevran said, peering ahead as he drew his blades, “Two on the road, a third over there off the track.”

“I see the first two but…no, got them all now.” Asleena pulled Starfang free from the scabbard across her back. “Try for a silent flank. I’ll get their attention.” Zevran nodded and darted into the trees. Asleena pushed the hood of her cloak back and strode ahead with Ferrix keeping close to her side.

Two rain-drenched humans were crouching on the road, dressed in ordinary clothes. When they saw Asleena they stood, turning away from whatever they’d been examining—the corpse of some kind of animal, it seemed. Then she saw the dark smear of blood on their faces, the drip of it from their hands.

Not ‘examining’. Eating.

They made no move towards her, and then the third figure Zevran had first spotted came out of the trees to stand with them. All three were women. One of them was still a child.

There was a sound then, a noise that should have gone completely unnoticed beneath the wind. It was like someone sniffing the air, and it hadn’t come from Ferrix.

“Dog,” one of the elder women said, her pale eyes turned towards the mabari. She inhaled again, looking at Asleena this time. Her nose wrinkled. “Another tainted one.” She closed her eyes and once more she scented the air. “Elf. Antivan.” Blood-stained lips curved into a predatory smile. “Oh, I love Antivan flesh. And this one smells fascinating…like murder. Can I have it?”

“No,” Asleena said. “Nor the dog, nor me.”

“You?” she scoffed. The other woman and the girl looked on expressionlessly. “I will drink tainted blood if nothing else is available, but I prefer not to. My host’s stomach would not approve if I consumed a darkspawn.” she laid a red-streaked hand to her abdomen.

A demon, Asleena thought, and her fingers tightened fractionally around Starfang’s hilt. “You’re mistaken. I’m no darkspawn but a Grey Warden.”

“What difference? Tainted blood is tainted blood, and it smells rancid. Your own flesh knows it’s been infected with rot…surely you can feel it shrivelling away as the disease spreads through your being.”

“I didn’t come out here to discuss my mortality, but yours.”

“Your predecessor said similar,” the demon said with a laugh. “I suppose, then, you plan to slay me as he did? You do know this would mean death for the fleshy mortal I inhabit?” She reached out casually and wrapped both hands about the throats of her passive companions. “Not to mention death to these? No? Changed your mind? Disappointing. You Grey Wardens have grown weak over the years, haven’t you? You used to have a taste for blood.” She smiled. “You could order your elf to take me on. Would that salve your conscience?”

“There are other ways to deal with possessions,” Asleena said, remembering Connor. “I don’t have to kill you to get rid of you.”

“The conclusion he came to also. I believe he said he’d fetch some magi to take care of me, but I don’t intend him to find me should he ever return. Worthy game is becoming scarce,” she sniffed at the neck of the young girl, “and I’m almost out of villagers.”

Asleena hesitated. “Some sort of bargain then?” she asked cautiously.

The woman smiled, exposing her teeth. “What would you offer that I hunger for? The Antivan? You have already lost him, tainted one.”

Asleena stiffened. “Zevran,” she called. “Come out!”

The wind tore loudly through the leaves and branches, scattering rain across the road. There was no other sound.

“Zevran!” she shouted louder.

The demon-possessed woman pushed her two captives lightly, shoving them towards Asleena. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you leave empty handed. Two human girls should make up for one elf, mmm? Two lives for the price of one?” She turned and vanished up the path.

“Don’t you—“ Asleena started to give chase, but the other woman and the girl latched onto her like eels. One of them tried to bite the Warden’s arm, sinking her teeth into a leather bracer before Asleena could shake her off. Ferrix knocked the older woman down by throwing his heavy body at her legs, and Asleena was forced to drop her sword to seize the smaller girl around the waist. Both struggled, fingers clawing and mouths trying to bite anything within reach.

“Maker forgive me,” Asleena whispered at last, and struck the girl’s head hard with her first. The child crumpled. Laying her down quickly, Asleena repeated this treatment with the other woman, whom Ferrix had pinned to the muddy road but, sensing his mistress’s will, not harmed. Asleena dragged both to the side of the path beneath a tree and sat them against the trunk, swearing repeatedly under her breath. With any luck, when—if they regained consciousness they would be in their right minds again, like Bann Teagan had been.

“Ferrix, stay with them.”

The mabari gave a low, keening whine.

“It’s all right.” She scratched the mabari’s wet ears and neck then quickly retrieved Starfang. “I’ll be back.”

And I pray I don’t return alone.

**

Asleena ran. Her great cloak lay abandoned somewhere behind her; the heavy material had caught at the wind, slowing her down, so she’d stripped it off and let it fall where it would. She’d found the path branching from the main road and taken it, hoping the footprints in the mud indicated this was the way her quarry had taken. When undead appeared to block her way she took this as a sign that she’d been correct, for surely the demon had called them up to stall any pursuit. Corpses shambled or crawled towards her, almost all missing one or more limbs in the manner of something having been chewed off rather than cut cleanly. Skeletons with protruding fangs appeared out of the night also, humanoid and animal both, and they swarmed her like a pack of dogs fighting for the last scrap of meat on a bone.

She plunged into their ranks with a roar and called on the Templar training Alistair had given her. Brilliant blue and white fire rippled down Starfang’s blade, illuminating the night-darkened trees and making the raindrops shine like diamonds. The skeleton directly in front of her faltered at the holy glow and she plunged her weapon through its ribcage, unleashing the flames to swirl outwards into an expanding circle that tore through the ranks of the undead, throwing them away from her. Without waiting to be sure they were properly destroyed, she continued up the path at speed.

The run was uphill almost all the way, the path uneven and rocky in places, and her lungs were burning when she finally reached the outskirts of the village. She stopped briefly to catch her breath and bearings. There was a small scattering of houses, mostly wood, but a few of stone. From the largest of these, a manor by its looks, lights shone through the windows.

Rain began to fall again as she crossed to the manor’s double doors. They were locked. Asleena took a step back and drove her foot against the barrier, which split around the latch. She forced her way inside.

“Tainted one, you try my patience.”

Asleena staggered over the threshold and shook her head. An odd cramp twisted her gut, and she realised she felt hungry, ravenous, in fact. A wave of vertigo passed through her and she braced herself against the broken door, blinking to regain focus. Her vision and mind cleared, but her stomach continued to ache as though she were starving.

When she recovered enough to look around she almost jumped out of her skin to realise she was not alone. There were two men advancing on her with the same vacant expressions she’d seen on the women in the woods. Unlike the women, they were armed, but fortunately whatever controlled them had not made them master swordsmen. Asleena fended off their swings, waited for an opening and managed to knock both down and out in turn without running them through, although one got a glancing blow across her left arm, drawing blood. Asleena rubbed at the wound absently as she glanced about the room, trying to guess which way the demon had gone, then she smelled something that made her stomach cramp painfully and her mouth water. It was like scenting a seasoned roast after days of trail rations…

She inhaled deeply through her nose, unable to resist, and her eyes were drawn to the trickle of blood running from the temple of one of the men she’d felled. Without thinking she knelt beside him and brought her face closer, sniffing after that glorious aroma. She put her gloved fingers to the wound and wiped some of the blood up.

“Delectable, isn’t it? When hunger runs rampant, the meanest meal smells like a banquet such as would be laid out before kings. It can be like this always, if you wish. Nothing but the kill, the feeding, the feast…”

Asleena lifted her hand to her lips, paused short of tasting, drew another heady breath—then gagged. Her blood was on the hand too, wiped from her left arm, and the stench was overpowering, worse than rotting meat. She staggered upright, retching, and heard a hiss of anger and frustration echo through the room.

“Zevran,” she said, trying to regain her senses.

“You wish to join us? Ah, but Antivan blood, elven blood at that, is so much sweeter than that of a common dirt-grubbing human. You will see…you will hunger…”

Asleena groaned as another scent wafted past her from a far door, a tantalising odour… hot, spicy, smooth…

“No,” she growled, lifting her bloodied arm to her face. The putrid scent made her gag again, but it drove away the maddening need to eat. She sheathed Starfang, picked up one of the lighter swords dropped by the prone men on the floor, then went to the door the spicy smell had come from. Opening it revealed a stone stair leading down beneath the manor. Light flickered far below.

Asleena kept her arm raised to her face and descended.

**

It was a wine cellar. Massive wooden barrels and racks of bottles filled the room wall to wall. At the far end hung Zevran, stripped to the waist and suspended from the roof with his hands chained above his head. His head lifted when she burst in. His face was paler than usual, his eyes dazed, and there was a ragged wound in his neck that seeped blood.

Before him was set two chairs facing a small table, upon which stood a branch of candles.

The demon-woman stepped out from behind a cask, black hair swirling around her shoulders. She put one languid hand on Zevran’s side and smiled at Asleena. “There you are. Drink?” She flourished the two wine glasses in her other hand.

“Let him go.”

“Why would I do that?” She held one of the glasses up to the elf’s neck and pressed so that the blood flowed. “Why would you want him, anyway? I was right when I said I smelled murder on him. This one has taken more lives than I have. Would you kill the one I possess to save the likes of him?” She pushed the second glass to Zevran’s neck. “I watched you, tainted one. You don’t like killing people you think can be saved, do you?”

“Sometimes there’s no choice.”

“There’s always a choice, even if it’s not the one you’d like to make.” She left Zevran’s side and drew nearer, a half-filled glass in either hand. “You could leave him here with me, tainted one. I could promise not to kill him. You mortal creatures regenerate swiftly…this Antivan alone could sustain me for a long time and never be aware of what was happening if I wished it so.” She extended a glass suddenly towards Asleena. “Or we could share.”

The smell sliced through the stink of her own blood, striking her like a shaft of sunlight in a dark room. She was dazzled, disoriented, and barely conscious of the hand upon her left arm forcing it away from her face. The sword dropped from her hand, a distant clang of metal on stone, and the glass of blood was suddenly in her hands, pushing against her lips, filling her nostrils with a heavenly aroma and making her stomach lurch with renewed hunger.

“Asleena,” Zevran croaked.

The woman glanced back in annoyance and the spell suddenly broke. Asleena sent her staggering with a punch to the jaw, threw the glass aside and picked up the sword.

“You think you can overcome me as easily as you did the humans?” the demon hissed, crouching low and backing towards Zevran. “You think you can tie me up until your magi come? There are only two ways this can end, Warden: You let me go or you take an innocent life. And you won’t take me without losing your Antivan f—“ her voice choked off into a strangled cry as Zevran’s legs locked around her throat from behind. She howled, twisted her head and sank her teeth into his thigh. Zevran jerked against his chains and cried out in pain.

“Warden, kill her! I—can’t—hold—on!”

Asleena wrapped both shaking hands around the hilt, leaped forwards and lunged with a single stabbing thrust to the heart. The possessed woman stiffened, gasped once and went limp.

Zevran let her collapse to the flagstones and sagged in his chains.

“She’s dead,” Asleena said after a moment, feeling for a pulse that no longer existed. “I suppose…that’s that…” Trying not to think too much, she got up and dragged one of the chairs over so she could reach Zevran’s chains and set him free. He dropped to his knees as soon as he was released, tried to stand and groaned.

“Easy, you’ve lost a bit of blood.” Asleena jumped down and helped him into a comfortable sitting position. He looked like he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, on the edge of passing out. “Just be still for a while.”

The assassin sighed, relaxing. His eyes flickered open and he gazed at her for a moment before taking in his own shirtless state then the chains hanging from the ceiling. Smiling vaguely, he said, “You know, I’ve had dreams that started a little like this.”

“Only you could make a joke like that at a time like this,” Asleena rebuked gently, but he had already lapsed into unconsciousness.