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[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Part 37 - The Goodbye Kiss

By the time Asleena had descended the tower and emerged blinking into the afternoon sunlight, Ferrix had almost reached the gates. He skidded to a stop when he saw her, paws scoring lines in the dirt, and did not come to her for attention but yelped urgently, running back and bounding forwards again.

Maker’s breath…where’s Zev?

“Go!” she ordered the mabari, and jumped past the startled Templars to chase Ferrix south into the trees and down by the riverbank. It took a while. She wasn’t as fast as the warhound, she was wearing full armour and she’d just come down several flights of stairs, but eventually Ferrix led her to a spot away from the villages of Starkhaven and near the running water.

The grass and earth were wet, it looked like someone had been dragged up from the river, and there was a large patch of fresh blood.

Ferrix snuffled around the sullied earth and whined, looking up at his shocked mistress with head lowered and tail down as though awaiting a scolding for leaving the Antivan unprotected. It was only then that Asleena saw the bloody furrows a blade had left in her dog’s hide.

“Bastards,” she whispered, kneeling, removing her gauntlets and taking Ferrix’s head to inspect the damage. He was damp, she noticed, and his kaddis was running and smeared. “What were you doing in the river?” she murmured, fishing for the mabari crunch in her belt pouch and breaking a piece off for him. Her eyes returned to the marks in the bank and she stood, mind presenting numerous possibilities, none of which were good. Her heart had already been pounding from the run, but now it quickened for a different reason.

He was wounded. Maybe he’d gone for cover rather than sit in the open? If he’d been killed the Crows would have just left him lying in the dirt, wouldn’t they? Or would they have dumped his body…?

She looked at the river, sucked in a breath past the fist clamping around her throat and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Zevran!”

Nothing.

Ferrix whimpered uncertainly and paced a little way east, sniffing at the ground then stopping to look back at Asleena. She came over quickly and crouched, finding the bloody speckle in the dirt. There was more further on. If he hadn’t even tried to staunch his wounds, something was very wrong.

“Good boy.” She rubbed her warhound’s head, careful to avoid his injuries. “Lead the way.”

Ferrix led her swiftly through the undergrowth, his nose to the earth, and Asleena followed with her eyes alert for danger and her jaw tightly clenched. She could handle Crows. She should have done something about them back in Markham instead of recruiting their leader and expecting the rest to disappear, but noooo, she’d had to be merciful and sodding stupid. Zevran had originally signed up with her believing she would protect him from his assassin brethren, and she’d been fool enough to leave some alive at their backs—Crows who had known where they were going.

“Idiot,” she whispered angrily.

He was alive. He had to be…

Mabari and Warden broke out of the trees and back into civilisation. There were a few log cabins in this out-of-the-way area but no people about. Ferrix trotted ahead then broke into a run, barking as he barrelled towards the wooden door of a not-so-distant house. Asleena ran after him, stopping by the small front window. The curtains were almost fully drawn, but a crack allowed her to get a look inside. Sheer relief sparked when she saw Zevran, seated and shirtless, facing the door but head lowered as he dabbed at his bleeding stomach with a cloth. His hair looked damp and dishevelled.

So he’d just gone for cover? But…why run here instead of towards the Circle Tower where there were healers?

Relief faded to suspicion, confirmed when Ferrix began to growl at the door. It was a threatening, guttural rumble that brought back unpleasant memories of Highever…and blood.

Trap?

She hesitated, then tapped at the windowpane. Zevran looked up at her through the glass, smiled as though nothing was amiss, and made a signal for her to enter.

Reaching down to keep a hand on Ferrix’s head to prevent him from charging in, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open without entering. Unlocked, unbarred…

Zevran raised a brow at her hesitance from where he sat. “You are in no danger,” he said, then smiled. “Except, as usual, from me.” He glanced at the snarling Ferrix. “Leave him outside, my Grey Warden. The owners of this house could come back any minute, and he can warn us should we need to make a speedy exit.” He tilted his head a bit, indicating a large window behind him which backlit the elf with brilliant sunlight, illuminating his pale hair and shadowing his face.

“Ferrix…stay.” The warhound’s hackles were up and his ears laid back, but he slunk obediently to one side of the door and sat. His whole body was quivering with the danger he sensed, and Asleena crouched beside him to whisper: “I mean it. Stay. Warn us if anyone comes, but don’t move unless Zev or I tell you to.”

A mingled whine/growl and a paw scraping at her armoured knee was the mabari’s response. Large brown eyes stared up at her in worry, but he stayed put when she gave his head a final pat and went inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it to glance quickly about the room. It was a hunter’s cabin. There was one interior door, open, leading off into what looked like a sleeping area, but this room had a couple of simple chairs, a small table with an empty plate and pitcher upon it, some wooden frames with leather sheets stretched between the timbers…There was a stand with a heavy fur cloak near the front door and wooden pegs fixed into the wall nearby, from which hung assorted articles of clothing.

“How did the Joining go?” Zevran asked, pulling her attention to him.

“They both got through it,” Asleena said. “They’re recovering in the Circle Tower.” She suddenly wished she hadn’t mentioned that last bit. She should have said they were on their way. Something was wrong here, she knew it and Ferrix knew it. “Are you badly hurt?” she asked, coming further into the room. “What happened?”

“I was ambushed behind the Circle Tower. One of the Crows, naturally…disguised as a Templar.” Zevran pulled the cloth away so she could see his battle-scar. There was a long scrape across his ribs as well. “They will need attention…his dagger was poisoned. Nothing immediately life-threatening, but that, blood loss and almost drowning in the river has left me a bit the worse for wear.”

“You came here instead of going to the tower?”

Zevran chuckled softly and gifted her with a wry smile. “And risk another false-Templar finishing the job while I am weakened?”

“...oh. That makes sense, I guess.” She frowned. It did make sense, but it didn’t explain Ferrix’s agitation. Was someone else in the room with them? She began to scour the shadowed, cluttered corners with her eyes, saying, “Well, you’re with me now. No one’s going to touch you when I’m around. Come on…let’s get you to a healer.”

Once again Zevran drew her gaze back to him, but this time by standing abruptly and advancing on her, a swagger in his step, a smile on his lips and a dark glint in his eyes. “I would prefer,” he said quietly, dropping the bloody cloth, “other ministrations.”

“That poison you mentioned doesn’t have any side-effects, does it?” Asleena asked, backing away, but the way he was looking at her made her mouth go dry and her heart stutter in her chest.

“None whatsoever,” Zevran said. “Coming close to death, on the other hand, can make a man rethink what he wants out of life. Who he wants…”

“We discussed this, Zev,” Asleena warned, and almost jumped when she backed right into the door, her armour grinding against the wooden planks. Heat rushed to her cheeks and confusion tangled her tongue. “This can’t…you promised…” She lifted a hand palm up towards him to stop his approach, but he walked straight into it. Deliberately. She hadn’t put her gauntlets back on, so her bare hand was flat against the clean hard muscle of his chest. She could feel tauntingly warm flesh beneath her fingers, and the fluttering of a heartbeat that seemed to leap in response to her touch.

Zevran stopped briefly. Was it her imagination or had the seductive mask slipped for a split second? He pressed closer though, and her elbow bent helplessly to allow him near, fingers curling against his bronzed skin. His smell struck her with all the force of a High Dragon’s flame: dizzying, intensely male, spices from Antiva, oils he used on his leathers to keep them supple and soundless…

She could feel her body’s rising reaction to him and was suddenly terrified that Ferrix’s warning had been about Zevran himself. But why? Why now, after everything that had been said between them?

“Don’t,” she managed to whisper, turning her face away to press her cheek into the door and free herself from the compelling combination of his eyes and scent. “Please, Zev…” She swallowed, felt tears of despair well as he bent his face to her neck and exhaled hot breath across her skin.

She couldn’t stop him. Maker forgive her…she couldn’t…

“Do not lose faith in me just yet, amore.”

The murmur against her left ear was so quiet she almost missed it.

“We are not alone. There are two. You are looking straight where one hides. Say ‘yes’ when you can see her.”

Asleena blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them and stared into the corner with its coats and clothes, breathing raggedly as Zevran began to kiss her throat and work the buckle of her shoulder belt and scabbard with his fingers. There was a dull ringing sound as her sword and Duncan’s shield came loose, hitting the floor.

“There is only so much time I can buy,” Zevran warned in a rigidly controlled whisper, his hands shifting to undo the first straps of her armour.

She searched harder. Coats, a rust-coloured tunic…she looked lower, down near the floor, made out the outline of a leather boot and followed it up, all the while struggling against the waves of arousal Zevran was provoking. She almost lost sight of the hidden Crow beneath the folds of a leather cloak, but found her again by accident and ended up staring straight at a tanned elven face almost completely camouflaged behind the carved wooden hooks of the coat stand. The woman’s leather-clad arm was outstretched in Asleena’s direction, flat against the wall and covered by the clothes hanging from the wooden pegs. Just visible, barely seen, the mouth of a thin metal pipe extended beyond the draping of garments and was aimed straight between Asleena’s eyes.

The buckles came loose and Zevran tugged a dragonbone piece from one arm, taking his time sliding it off and loosening the breastplate, brushing his lips and trailing his tongue along the now-exposed flesh of her collarbone. Asleena couldn’t bite back a low whimper of a moan and turned her head away from the Crow’s corner, lowering her mouth close to Zevran’s ear.

“Yes,” she tried to whisper, but it came out as a gasp.

“That one is mine,” Zevran murmured, speaking on the side of her face the assassin could not see. His breath was coming harder. “The other…opposite corner, near the window. Find him.”

One of his hands came up and turned her head to face the right way, an action he covered by beginning to undo the armour straps of her other arm while sucking and nibbling at her neck, giving the hidden Crow something to watch and less reason to suspect.

Without thinking, Asleena’s arms were reaching for him now, one hand sliding up the back of his neck to the base of his skull, fingers knotting in his river-dampened hair. The other hand went to his back and traced down the curving length of his spine, feeling the reflexive tightening of his muscles and the light sheen of sweat on his skin. She didn’t know if she was trying to assist his ruse or genuinely reacting to the situation by wanting to pull Zevran closer, but her movements summoned a soft noise from the back of the assassin’s throat that was half groan, half growl and he stumbled against her, trembling beneath her touch.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. If she kept on like that it would only make his display more difficult to pull off, or blow his self-control completely.

Asleena studied the far corner and wall of the room, but the glare of light shining through the window made it hard to see much and it was becoming increasingly difficult to think. She was nowhere near as experienced as Zevran; she didn’t have his training. She didn’t know how to keep her mind separate from all the sensory triggers he was flipping from one side of her body to the other.

He was pulling her other armoured sleeve and shoulder-guard off now, freeing access to her breastplate. And once he got that off her…

Her nails dug into Zevran’s hip and he thrust closer to her in a sudden visceral response, gasping against the side of her neck. He grabbed at her wrist, tearing it away to pin against the door. His head lifted, eyes staring wildly into hers, but then she saw the figure beyond him. It was little more than a vague man-shaped shadow beside the window, screened by the brightness glaring through the glass. If she tried to look directly at it, it disappeared…

She looked at Zevran instead. “Yes,” she whispered.

The breastplate came loose. The front part fell away from her, dangling to one side but prevented from hitting the floor by leather straps connecting it to the backplate, which was held fast between Asleena and the door. She wore a padded under-tunic beneath the armour to prevent it from chafing her skin, but it wasn’t anywhere near thick enough to stop the heat of Zevran’s body reaching hers or to conceal the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Golden eyes still staring, lips only a breath away, he released her wrist and reached down between them to slowly trace the upper edge of the belt circling her waist.

Once more, he leaned in to one side and murmured. “That one is yours. Move quickly.” The questing fingers paused at her belt dagger and wrapped around the hilt. Silently, he pulled the blade free. “Ready?” he breathed.

She nodded against his cheek. “Yes.”

His lips brushed the side of her face, swift as the beat of a bird’s wing, then he jerked her forwards and whirled away from her to one side, twisting a half-circle and driving the dagger into the female Crow’s wrist as it moved to follow the Warden’s path. There was a shriek of pain as the metal blade stabbed through leather, flesh and into the wooden wall, almost obliterating the tiny click of the spring-bow as it loosed its single quarrel into the water pitcher, which shattered.

Asleena didn’t see this. She stumbled forwards and grabbed the only weapon available within reach: the chair Zevran had been sitting on. Seizing it in both hands she swung it around and threw it full-force at the spot she’d seen the shadow, a roar bursting from her lungs. The light-hidden assassin lunged out of the way, took one look at his disabled companion and the angry Grey Warden bearing down on him, then turned and crashed through the window. He rolled on the ground beyond and got up running.

“Ferrix!” Asleena shouted, rushing to the glass-littered sill. “Ferrix! Catch and kill!”

Within seconds the mabari had circled to the back of the cabin and charged after the fleeing Crow. There probably wasn’t a man or woman alive who could outrun a dog of his size, and the assassin knew it. He made a beeline for another cabin and attempted to scrabble up the side, but Ferrix snatched a dangling leg in his jaws and bore the elf back to earth.

Asleena didn’t watch but turned to Zevran, who was pulling Asleena’s dar’misaan from the corpse of the female Crow. There was a steady patter of blood against the floorboards from her pinned wrist.

“Are you all right?” she asked him quietly.

“Yes. I think so.” She saw his throat work as he swallowed, and he didn’t look at her. “I am sorry, Asleena. It was the first idea that came to me which might have a hope of saving my own skin and allow me to get close enough to warn you. I had to look…convincing. Forgive me.”

Her body still tingled at the memory. She couldn’t help noticing the play of sunlight across his bare skin as he wiped her sword clean, or the silken shifting of muscle under flesh as he retrieved the scabbard from the floor to slide the blade home. He was beautiful, she realised. Not that she’d ever doubted this, it was just that she rarely allowed herself to appreciate the view. Beautiful and clever and in love with her and…and alone with her…

She took a quick breath. “Zevran—“

“I know where Alistair is,” he interrupted, holding out the sheathed dar’misaan to her.

She took the weapon wordlessly, stricken dumb, her heart almost freezing in her chest. She didn’t know what to say to that, much less think.

“I promised I would tell you when I found out,” Zevran went on, taking a grip on the dagger stuck in the wall and wrenching it free. The female assassin’s arm flopped down from beneath its covering of hanging clothes. “The Crows knew, and they told me. I can take you to him…if you wish it.” Finally, his eyes turned to hers, awaiting an answer.

It was Asleena’s turn to swallow and glance aside, more than able to feel ashamed now that her ardour was fading. Zevran was smart enough to know she hadn’t been thinking clearly…but also hopeful enough to give her an obvious opening in which to change her mind.

She thought of Alistair. She pictured him and her memories of him in her mind, seeing his dark eyes and ready grin, his broad shoulders and the reddening of his ears when she said something that made him blush…and knew she still loved him. She had come too far not to see him and talk to him.

“I do wish it,” she said to Zevran...and it was almost an apology.

He handed over her dagger and nodded, his face betraying nothing. “Then so it shall be.”

[TanithAeyrs]

I love this story but it makes me so sad. Poor Zev, I wonder if Alistair would be so understanding in his place?

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

It is very sad. I want a happy ending for Zev somehow. I wonder what Alistair is up to?

[viento2]

I agree to Tanith. Alistair behaves like a little child! He wouldn`t be so understanding.

[Arassi]

I just discovered fanfiction three days ago. This is the second story I've read.



I'm impressed! Your way with words is amazing, your characters very much alive, your descriptions tantilizing, the story's pacing... I could go on and on. Are you published yet? I would read more of your stuff.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Arassi - Thank you! Keep looking around...there are some fine fanfics out there To answer your question, no, I'm not published (commercially, of course). One day maybe, when I write something that isn't based on a game.

Long chapter this time. Enjoy...

Part 38 - Reunion

Not for the first time, Zevran found himself relieved that Asleena was wearing dragonbone armour. Had she been adorned in riding leathers he doubted his self-control would have held out as long as it had, or held out now as the Grey Warden supported him to the Circle Tower for healing. He had always had a high level of pride that he could master himself when it came to things like lust and desire, a quality one needed for seduction lest one become the seduced. Only Rinna had ever been able to break through that wall, and he had killed her rather than acknowledge the reason why this should be so.

“How do you do it?”

“…you have to figure it out yourself.”

As mages were called out to tend him and Ferrix, he wondered if he should be feeling particularly noble for stopping Asleena from speaking on before. Had she been anyone else, someone he didn’t care for, they would be wrapped around each other right now and thinking of nothing but passion.

Things had been so much easier when he’d only looked out for himself and put his own pleasures first.

When the healing was completed he led Asleena and Ferrix to the northern outskirts of Starkhaven. The Crows had said Alistair was staying at The Red Oak, an inn and tavern set up specifically for those who had business with the Circle Tower but didn’t want to sleep within its ancient stone walls. Its patrons were mainly those doing tasks for the Chantry, and as such it wasn’t a frequent haunt for Starkhaven’s hunters and trappers.

Halfway to their destination, Zevran noticed the change in Asleena’s stride and expression and he knew she could sense her fellow Grey Warden. She glanced at him when she realised he was looking at her and nodded slightly, but said nothing. She did not look afraid or trepidatious. Perhaps enough time had finally passed between the Landsmeet and now that she was ready to face her lover and see this business done. Perhaps Zevran had given her less reason to dread that Alistair would reject her…

Well…it was beyond him now. Alistair and Asleena would have their confrontation, and how it ended would be up to them and the Maker. Zevran had helped her find him, as he’d promised he would.

The Red Oak itself was a two-storey establishment of wood and stone with a pleasant little balcony running around the ground level. Ferrix was left outside while Zevran and Asleena went within. The common room was deserted but for the tavern-keeper, two Templars and a mage who was in discussion with a pair of travellers. A wooden staircase led up to a railed area of open floor…Zevran judged that the common room extended that way, and while he couldn’t hear anyone up there Asleena was staring in the same direction as though she could.

“I’ll need to empty this place out,” she murmured. “Chances are we’ll be talking about Grey Warden secrets at some point, and I can’t go blabbing them in public.”

Zevran agreed and they both went to the tavern-keeper.

“So he is a Grey Warden?” the man remarked upon hearing Asleena’s request to speak with Alistair in an empty tavern. “He got drunk enough last night to claim to be one, but when he started talking about being a prince as well I just started nodding and kept the ale flowing.”

“How much has he had today?” Asleena asked quietly.

“A few, but he’s been quiet so far. He’s waiting for a mage to see him, so I wager he’s trying to keep at least marginally sober until it gets late.” He nodded at the table with the Templars, mage and travellers. “They’ll be leaving in a couple more minutes, so I’ll lock the door for you, Warden. Dead quiet today…I don’t mind doing the Grey a favour and I can run some personal errands in the meantime.”

True to his word, chairs were shortly scraping floorboards, hands were being shaken and the small party on the lower floor trooped out of the building. Asleena walked Zevran and the tavern-keeper to the door, silent until the two men were outside with Ferrix on the balcony.

“I’ll see you soon, Zev,” she said, and in those words he could just make out the tremor of her fear. When he could do nothing more than nod she turned away and started towards the wooden stairs.

“Asleena,” he called quietly when her foot fell on the first step, then he went up to her when she paused and slowly turned back to face him.

A hundred things he could have said and should have said before this moment, but had been too afraid or arrogant to admit. A hundred things…ultimately one thing. But she knew. She had figured it out before she’d prompted his pathetic excuse for a confession. ‘Affection’…how completely and laughably inadequate a word…she had not accepted it, but for some reason she had still treated it like something fragile and precious.

Maybe nothing more needed to be said. She knew he would wait. She knew he would abide by whatever choice she made and still stand by her side, be it as lover or friend.

“Good luck,” he said at last.

She inclined her head gravely. “Thank you.”

They looked at each other a moment longer, then Zevran went outside and watched the tavern-keeper shut and lock the door. The man gave Zevran a shrug and strolled off south on whatever business he had.

Zevran lasted about two seconds gazing at the sky before going to glance through one of the front windows of The Red Oak. He endured Asleena’s painfully slow ascent to the upper floor, then looked down at Ferrix and produced a scrap of dried meat—or it would have been dry had it not been in the river with Zevran earlier that day. With a careless toss, the assassin flicked the soggy treat and the mabari snatched it from the air with an eager snap of his jaws.

Another strip appeared, joined by a set of lockpicks. Zevran tilted the latter towards the door of the tavern and arched a meaningful brow at Ferrix. “Can I rely on your discretion, my friend?”

Ferrix glanced from door to assassin and whined.

“Ah, but you are perfectly capable of guarding the door by yourself, no?” Zevran flicked the meat over and set about picking the lock, which gave way easily. “And I promise not to interfere. You trust me, yes?”

The mabari glowered, having clearly not forgiven him for luring Asleena into a trap not even an hour ago, but a third meat strip convinced him to look in a different direction.

Zevran smiled to himself, slipped inside and shut the door with not a sound to mark his passage.

**

It took Asleena a while to prise her fingers from the banister once she reached the second floor, and her heart was beating loudly enough to make her believe she’d scaled a mountain. She stood there for at least a minute, head turned in the direction of the furthest of the small square tables where a lone man in battered splint mail sat.

The sound of her footsteps and the clink of her armour echoed in the empty tavern, but Alistair did not seem to notice her approach. Besides a slight hunch to his shoulders and a sleepless shadow beneath his eyes he looked much the same as she remembered. He sat with his forearms resting along the tabletop and hands clasped around a tankard, staring sightlessly into his drink. His sword hung sheathed across the back of his chair and a wooden shield, Dalish make by its looks, rested against its legs. His mother’s amulet dangled loose against his armoured chest rather than being tucked away beneath clothes…she felt a small pang at the sight of it. Despite saying he’d wanted nothing more to do with the people of Ferelden, he’d been unable to get rid of the necklace Arl Eamon had painstakingly pieced back together and Asleena had returned to him.

“I thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity…”

Asleena stopped nearby, having failed to draw his attention even though she was now fewer than five feet away. It was funny…all her agonising over what to say to him and the one thing she had never considered was how to say ‘Hello’.

Holy Maker, Blessed Andraste…please help me say the right things…

She went to the chair opposite him and sat down, making sure she made just enough noise dragging it across the floor. Finally, his dark eyes lifted and regarded her…

…with a total lack of surprise.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I am?” she replied, nonplussed.

Alistair glanced back down at his drink, lifted it and took a swallow. “It usually takes a few more of these before you start showing up. Then a few more before you go away.”

“Alistair, I’m really here.”

“Of course it depends what I’m drinking. There was this Nevarran mead I tried in Markham City—“

Asleena pulled off a gauntlet, reached across the table and put her hand against one of his larger ones.

“—could have used it to strip paint, and I had serious thoughts about sneaking some into the Chantry’s consecrated wine just to…oh.”

“I’m not early,” Asleena said when he spoke no further. “I’m late. I should have run after you as soon as you left the Landsmeet.”

There was a long pause and then Alistair was extricating his hand from hers. Asleena stared at where her fingers now lay abandoned atop the table, swallowed and slowly pulled back.

“Why didn’t you?” Alistair invited quietly, watching her. “Too busy putting Loghain through the Joining and his daughter on the throne?”

She stiffened, took a firm grip on her temper and breathed out slowly. She shouldn’t have mentioned the Landsmeet so quickly. “Can we…please…just talk first before throwing knives at each other?” she asked. “Please, Alistair…I didn’t follow you all the way across the Free Marches to get into a fight with you. I…love you.”

Dark brown eyes glanced away from her. “I didn’t think you still would, after…” A flash of bitterness, pain and regret crossed his features. “I had such terrible dreams when I left you,” he said slowly. “I still do. It’s why…” He made a small gesture towards the tankard. “If it was just darkspawn nightmares it wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was you, Asleena. I kept dreaming of you battling the Blight and going up against the archdemon, and me not…being there to help you. Sometimes it killed you or darkspawn did. Sometimes Loghain stabbed you in the back.” His throat worked. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

The ache in her heart lessened a fraction. He didn’t hate her, at least.

“The others…?” Alistair asked.

“They survived, except for Riordan. My brother is alive too.” She hesitated. “And Loghain is dead.”

“Fell in battle, huh?”

“He died killing the archdemon.”

“Oh? Great. So he’s a war hero again instead of a traitor? Are they melting the bronze down for a statue of him yet?” Alistair’s voice had an edge of caustic jest to it, but when Asleena bit her lip he stared at her. “They are making a statue of him, aren’t they? Wow.” He sat back in his chair. “So that’s how it is? Betray your king, get a whole lot of people killed, murdered and tortured, get a monument raised in your honour.”

“It’s not like Loghain asked for a statue,” Asleena muttered.

“Yes, I’m sure the benevolent Queen Anora would have had one put up no matter if he died heroically or as he deserved.” Alistair glared at her and folded his arms. “That’s the point though, isn’t it? People will remember him as the Grey Warden who ended the Blight, not a murdering criminal.”

“He admitted he’d made mistakes,” she said, and felt a bit ill to hear herself defending Loghain. “He didn’t have to die either—Morrigan had a way out for all of us. He wanted to give his life to make up for what he’d done. He told me so.”

“Then you should have killed him at the Landsmeet!” Alistair snapped. “Or let me do it! I would have been happy to see him give his life to make up for his treachery.”

Asleena’s hands clenched and her heart pounded savagely in her ears. “He yielded,” she said in the coldest voice she could manage. “You expected me to kill him after surrendering? We’d beaten him, Alistair, politically and in personal combat! Wasn’t he defeated enough for you?”

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve spared everyone who begged for mercy. What about that Tevinter slaver in the Alienage? You didn’t see fit to let him live!”

“That was different and you know it,” she snarled. “Maker’s breath…the man tried to bargain for his life by offering to kill his prisoners and use their life energies to fuel mine! If I’d let him go he’d have just gone off and terrorised someone else. Loghain at least could be useful, like Riordan said! And he was.”

“Right, dying in battle fighting the archdemon, you said. Very useful. I could have done that without even trying,” Alistair said, not noticing or not caring about the disbelieving stare this earned. “We didn’t need him, Asleena. I don’t care how useful he was…you can’t sit there and tell me that what he’d done during the Blight wasn’t evil. He didn’t deserve to live after all the death he allowed, and he certainly didn’t deserve the honour of being a Grey Warden after he tried to wipe us all out.”

“He admitted he was wrong,” Asleena repeated, gritting her teeth.

“Turning left by mistake at a crossroads instead of right? That’s wrong. Putting peas in your soup instead of carrots like the recipe says? That’s wrong too. Getting an entire army slaughtered by darkspawn then setting us up as the culprits? ‘Wrong’ doesn’t begin to cover it! He deserved justice and instead he’ll be revered. And me—“ Alistair stopped abruptly, threw a frown to one side then muttered, “Well, look at me. I lost my mentor, my friends, my country and my love. How is that fair?”

“You can come back. I came here to try and talk you into returning.” Asleena leaned forwards but resisted the impulse to reach across the table again. “Look…I know you were angry but it’s over now—“

“It’s not, you know. Over. Loghain will be remembered as the Grey Warden who saved Ferelden, and I’ll be remembered as the man who abandoned his oaths right before the archdemon showed up. Do you think anyone in Ferelden would welcome me?”

“We don’t…” Asleena took a breath to brace herself and steeled her heart against thinking of home. “We don’t have to go back. Wherever you want to go I’ll go with you. Anywhere.”

Alistair said nothing for a moment, just watching her as though sorely tempted to accept her offer. But then he rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “No. I…I love you for coming this far and trying to talk this through, but no. You chose Loghain and Anora…not me.”

“I don’t care about Loghain and Anora! I didn’t side with her because I didn’t love you, I did it because we’d made a deal—a deal you were party to! You didn’t want to be king and she did everything we asked to help us against he own damn father. She denounced him at the Landsmeet to his face and all she asked was that we support her as queen and be merciful to him.”

“Making him a Grey Warden was a reward, not mercy!” Alistair retorted, his anger returning.

“So you would have betrayed our agreement with Anora just to see Loghain executed?” Asleena snapped back. “And when you were king, then what? Would you have killed Anora as well? Would you have expected me to stick around court after that or…or have me replace her as queen?”

“What? No! You couldn’t be queen anyway. Grey Wardens can’t have children with each other so I’d have had to marry someone—“ Alistair froze when he realised what he was saying then stared at Asleena in horror. “Oh, Maker. Wait, I didn’t mean—“

“You would have dumped me?” she whispered accusingly.

“No! I mean, if I’d become…Damn!” He paled and held up both hands as she began to swell with fury. “I wasn’t thinking, all right? I didn’t consider that until afterwards!”

“But you would have,” she hissed angrily. “You would have taken the throne and sent me away so you could have your revenge on Loghain!”

“If you’d have killed him in the first place I never would have suggested being king! You know I didn’t want to be and yes, it would have been a mistake. I’m sorry, is that what you want to hear?”

“What I want to hear is that you understand and accept my reasons for doing what I did,” Asleena said, calming a bit. “It wasn’t my idea to make Loghain a Grey Warden. I wanted him to face a fair trial and get his chance for mercy that way—“

“What kind of fair trial do you think he would have received with her as queen?” Alistair interrupted.

“Will you shut up and let me finish?” she snapped. He subsided with a frown. “Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten a fair trial,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t about to kill him after he surrendered, and I wasn’t going to let you do it either. Not in front of Anora.”

He let out an impatient growl. “Why by Andraste’s name not?”

“Because she’s his daughter, you idiot!” Asleena shouted, her chair falling backwards as she jumped up and braced her fists on the table, trembling with rage. “You wanted to kill him in front of his own daughter, and no one deserves to see the father they love die before their eyes!”

Alistair went completely white, his mouth opening and shutting. He knew how Duncan had conscripted her into the Grey, and for a moment he looked utterly taken aback, ashamed and on the verge of saying he understood…but the words that popped out of his mouth were: “Forgive me for not having a lot of sympathy for the woman who ordered my head be chopped off.”

She stared at him as the echoes died then straightened, withdrawing her hands, and looked away from him. Fury and hurt seethed in her heart and made her stomach ache. “I guess I wasted my time coming here after all,” she said in a voice that shook in spite of her efforts to sound calm. “I had all these things I wanted to say about what could have happened if you’d got your way…but what’s the point? You wanted revenge, not justice. You wanted him destroyed, not dead…why would you care if any good came of sparing him?

“I had more reason than you to want to make Loghain pay, Alistair. Howe might have been the one to send his soldiers through Highever, but Loghain sanctioned it. You lost people you’d known for six months…well guess what? I lost people I’d known my entire life. Riordan had been tortured and he still had the grace to give Loghain a chance.

“I love you. Maker help me, I probably always will. But if you’d rather wallow in your hatred of Loghain and Anora than accept you might have overreacted…” She shook her head and gave him the last words she’d received from his lips. “Take care of yourself.”

“Asleena, wait,” Alistair said in a strained voice. He shot to his feet as she began to walk away and grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t leave.”

“Let me go,” she told him tonelessly.

“Look, I’ve had a few to drink and some of the things I’ve said—“

“If you don’t let me go I swear I will run you through.”

Alistair let his hand drop to his side. At the same time there was a soft noise from the ground floor, like wood creaking. Both Wardens glanced over the railing at the door, saw it was shut and thought nothing more of it.

“You have Duncan’s shield with you,” Alistair noted irrelevantly.

“Ferrix found it in a Denerim market.”

“Oh.” Alistair hesitated. “He came with you, of course. Did anyone else? I…wouldn’t mind saying hello to people. If that’s all right. I’ve missed…everyone,” he finished lamely, and even after all the words that had been spat across the table a moment ago the way he looked at her still ached. She hated that she could be so angry with him yet still be a slave to that gaze. She despised she could hurt so much at his leaving her, but somehow feel pain for his loneliness.

It made no sense. Love made no sense.

“Zevran came,” she said finally.

His face clouded. “Zevran? Just Zevran?”

“Yes, just Zevran.” Asleena frowned at him and folded her arms. “Go on,” she challenged when he stared at her in open dismay. “Ask.”

“I only thought…Wynne or Leliana might have cared,” he said quietly, looking wounded.

It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear, and it made her ache even more with shared pain. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Tell me about it. I didn’t…I didn’t tell them I was going after you, though. Maybe they would have...” She sighed. “I can call Zev up if you seriously wanted to say something to him. He fought the archdemon by my side, you know.”

Alistair flinched visibly at that. “I’m sorry, Asleena,” he said, and he actually sounded reasonable this time. “Listen…I came to Starkhaven for a reason and I…I really want to see this through considering I bailed on the Blight and…on you. There’s a demon possession down near the city of Ostwick and I need a mage to fix it, like with Connor. Once I organise that and stop drinking so damn much maybe we can try this talk again?”

He was looking at her hopefully and sincerely, and she could only return it with a rising sense of despair.

“The demon possession you’re talking about…isn’t there any more, Alistair.”

“What do you…mean? Somebody else fixed it? Wait…how do you even know about it?”

“We followed your trail past Ostwick and ran into the same problem,” Asleena said quietly. She wanted to shut up or lie, but couldn’t. She was hanging over the earthwound again and waiting for the inevitable fall…

“You had a mage with you?”

“No…”

He stared at her like she’d suddenly turned into a darkspawn and took a step back. “You killed her. You killed that girl. How could you do that? Loghain’s worth ‘giving a chance’ but not some poor woman who’s done no wrong?”

“You don’t understand. You weren’t there.”

“You know what?” Alistair said, sitting down and picking up his tankard. “I don’t want to hear any more. I’m sure you had your reasons. You always do,” he finished snidely.

“If you’d just hear me out this time—“

“How many of the villagers did it throw at you before you got to the host?” he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing while hers widened in shock. “How many more did you kill?”

“It’s not that simple,” she exclaimed, and something inside her finally broke and bled. “You always think it is, like the solution is one plain and easy answer, but it’s not! It must be so wonderful for you sitting back while others lead and make the hard choices, all so you don’t have to live with the consequences of any mistakes!”

“What consequences do you have to live with?” he growled. “You united Ferelden, you have a home to return to…you’re a hero, for Andraste’s sake.”

“I lost you!” Asleena flung at him bitterly. “I lost you…”

The hands wrapped around his tankard trembled and his jaw tightened, but he did not look at her. Asleena waited until the silence filled her soul…then turned away and stumbled down the stairs alone.

When she got outside only Ferrix was there to greet her. She rubbed the tears from her face and figured in a numb, empty sort of way that it was just as well. Had Zevran been there…Maker. He was probably giving her space so she didn’t have the chance do anything she’d regret. By the feel of things she’d need at least a week.

“We’re going home,” she told Ferrix softly.

He wagged his tail a bit, but then looked at the door and whined.

Asleena shook her head and stepped from the balcony, heading away. “He’s not coming with us.”

**

Zevran waited until she had moved off from the window before standing. He frowned after her, considered the upper floor a moment, then made his way behind the bar and managed, with a minimum of noise, to pour himself a glass of fine wine. Checking to see that his weapons were in order (the fortuitous demise of fellow assassins had given him opportunity to claim a replacement sword), he crept across the floor, up the stairs and towards Alistair’s table as stealthily as only he could be.

The ex-Templar was seated with his face buried in his hands, shoulders shaking, and it was obvious the man-child wept. This suited Zevran perfectly. He had seen the tears on Asleena’s cheeks as she’d fled the building and it was only justice that Alistair share that pain. In Zevran’s mind, however, Alistair wasn’t hurting anywhere near enough.

Silently, he righted the chair Asleena had toppled earlier in her anger. He eased himself into the seat, readied himself for maximum effect, then lifted both legs and brought his booted feet slamming down atop the table.

Thus it was that when Alistair’s head jerked up to stare, he was faced with Zevran Arainai, chair tilted back ever-so-slightly, a pristine glass of expensive red held in one hand, and gold-glinted eyes relishing the surprise at his appearance.

“I heard something about you wanting to say ‘hello’, my friend,” the assassin said, and smiled pleasantly. “Miss me?”

***



(Larger image here)

This was drawn as an article header for Australia's gaming magazine "PC Powerplay", so any Aussies out there can get it in issue 181 complete with an article by Meghann that touches on fan fiction and art, and how we get attached to the games we love. It also has a couple of quotes from myself as a fanfic writer, so I'am all "squee" about being interviewed.

So thank you very much Aimo for the art, and Meghann for having us both in PC Powerplay!

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 02 août 2010 - 08:51 .

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

OMG!!!!

[Arassi]

it just keeps getting better and better...

[Gilgamesh1138]

OMG I am speechless. and I am in pain. Chewing nails here shadow please put me out of my misery!

[Tasmen]

So I cheated a little and like reading the end of a book before you are actually there in reading, I skipped to this post and read the last bit.  *whistle*  

I have to say that bit with Zevran?  Wooooonderful.  I have always loved the idea of Zevran toying with Alistair.  Friends but not friends..that sort of thing.   

Now I just need to find time to catch up to chapter 37 so I can see all that lead to that moment.

[Wicked_Loki]

I'm really impressed. The fight between Alistair and Asleena was everything I wanted it to be. There is still obviously love there, but there's also so much hurt on both sides... very mature writing, great job. I think Zevran made me fall in love with him at the end there, his loyalty and maturity (and immaturity ) when it comes to Asleena is perfect.



There are some times that you use modern slang, like "...would have dumped me..." and "bailed on the blight", that pulled me out of the story, but that's really just being nitpicky. Thought I should give you some sort of helpful critique though, instead of just gushing. (Although this chapter really deserved it.)



Looking forward to more.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Naughty thing, Tas

Loki - You're right about those two words. I actually remember taking a hard look at 'dumped' and thinking to myself it was too modern, but for the life of me couldn't think of a good substitute that carried the same amount of weight. Maybe 'left' would have been just as good?

Thanks for following/commenting, guys.

Part 39 - Reprisal

For a long time there was no noise. Zevran sat in his contrived pose while Alistair simply stared at him from a grief-ravaged face, neither moving nor speaking.

Zevran did not have a great deal of respect for the ex-Templar, and suspected the feeling was probably mutual. Alistair saw Zevran as Zevran intended himself to be seen: killer, lover and thief. Born of a ****, raised as an assassin…a man who thrived on bloodshed and sex and who cared for little more out of life. This, of course, was a great deal of Zevran’s makeup, but not all of it. The rest was hidden or buried, forgotten, masked as he had been trained or drilled out of him while still young under the gentle hands of the Crows.

…for assassins were undesirable if they possessed certain qualities. Compassion, for instance, bred hesitance and mercy, and there was no use for a hired killer who might spare his prey. Crow training weeded these emotions out, stripping the spirit bare before breaking and reforging it.

On the other side of the table, there was Alistair. His childhood protected by an arl and his upbringing within the stifling confines of the Chantry teaching him everything about morality and how to be a gentleman, but not how to be a man or how the outside world worked.

Where Zevran had been trained to keep his emotions in check to survive, Alistair wore his heart on his sleeve. Anger, sadness, joy, gratitude, pity, wrath…he hid none of them. He had even kissed her that one time, completely out of the blue, no careful questioning beforehand of whether she would welcome it or not. He was as impulsive as Zevran was calculated. He could speak his heart while Zevran had been taught never to trust it.

But their lives did have certain similarities. Neither had known their parents. Both had ended up being trained by organisations while still young. And they had both been rescued from those less-than-happy lives by a Grey Warden.

They watched each other.

Alistair eventually wiped his face and leaned back in his chair.

“I suppose I chased her straight into your arms,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“I assure you, my friend,” Zevran replied, “had the fair Asleena run out that door and into my arms, my mouth would be far too busy to take the time to exchange pleasantries with you.”

“…you were already inside. I heard you. We both did.”

“Did you now?” Zevran twirled the glass idly, thinking. “Ah. This was when she threatened to kill you if you didn’t let her go, yes?”

“You listened to the whole thing?” Alistair asked in a harder voice.

“Let us just say that it was an excellent decision to release her when you did, my friend.”

Brown eyes, almost the colour of chocolate, narrowed further. “You think I would have hurt her?”

Zevran chuckled sardonically. “Ah, I see. I must have mistaken her teary-faced exit as some kind of Ferelden dance of joy. How foolish of me to think you could possibly do anything to cause her pain.”

Silence reigned again. Alistair’s face still bore the tell-tale signs of anger, but now it was tempered with guilt and regret. He averted his eyes from Zevran’s.

“Why are you here?” he asked in a defeated voice. “I don’t have enough daggers in me to suit your tastes?”

Zevran had to smile at that, and took the first sip of his wine. “And what, precisely, would you know of my tastes?”

“Why are you bothering with me when she’s out there? You’ve never made a secret of your interest in her.”

“There is no rush. We assassin types are patient, and hunger, as they say, is the best sauce.” Zevran smiled, eyes half-closing. “I have no idea how long it has been for you, my friend, but Asleena…ah, she has been waiting a long time. For the wrong man, it would seem.”

The brief glimpse of protective fury at Zevran’s implications he intended to make his move, and at his complete leisure, was chased away by a flinch of pain.

“But if you prefer,” Zevran began, swinging his feet down to the floor and making to rise, but Alistair looked at him sharply.

“No! I—Stay.”

“Such an invitation. How could I refuse?” He relaxed back into the chair, but kept his feet on the floor this time. “What shall we discuss then? The weather, perhaps? It is much warmer here than in Ferelden, don’t you agree?”

Alistair stared at him, swallowed, then said, “She said you fought with her against the archdemon.”

“Indeed I did. Shall I describe the battle for you?”

“And…and you were the only one who came with her to the Free Marches,” Alistair went on, ignoring the invitation to detail what he’d missed. “Besides Ferrix.”

“Again you are correct! Astonishing.”

“You didn’t…you weren’t…” Alistair was looking worried as he searched for a way to say…whatever he was trying to say. “That mining village near Ostwick. You weren’t the one who killed—?”

“—the girl with the demon possession and the villagers who got in the way?” Zevran finished, and laughed aloud. “Because I am an assassin, yes?”

“Wellll…yes.” Alistair paused. “Did you?”

“Sadly, you were right the first time. Asleena killed the host—and one other. A little girl, if I recall.” Zevran allowed himself another sip of wine, observing Alistair’s sagging expression. Not anger, as he’d displayed to Asleena, but a sad weariness… “The child was a complete accident, of course,” Zevran went on in a conversational tone. “Asleena tried to knock her out, to protect her you see, but such a thing is not easy with the young.” He tsked. “Poor thing died the next morning. Simply tragic. I’m sure you can imagine how upset Asleena was at the way that turned out.”

Alistair looked satisfyingly like a man who’d eaten something his stomach wasn’t agreeing with. “And the demon?” he asked slowly. “That was…you’re not going to tell me that was an accident too?”

“Oh no, my friend. No accident. Sword straight through the heart!”

“Oh…”

“She did it to save me,” Zevran pressed on mercilessly, making a show of admiring the ruby colour of his drink. He chuckled then. “Hah, yes. The demon had me chained from the roof in a wine cellar, and was draining my blood into glasses much like these. It would have killed me…long before anyone arranged a mage to stop by.” Golden-brown eyes slanted towards Alistair. “But this is not important, surely? I distinctly remember you not wanting to hear the reasons behind Asleena’s appalling behaviour.”

“But—“ Alistair’s face was a picture of agony.

“Now, now…you were correct! She killed that girl and at least one innocent villager. A helpless child! Completely unforgivable, yes?” He cocked his head. “This may be inappropriate, my friend, but the Chantry didn’t happen to be offering a reward for dealing with that mess, did it?”

“How could you even ask that?”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have claimed it? Something has to pay for the alcohol, am I right?”

Alistair glared dully at his tankard, which sat forgotten to one side of the table, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Zevran had no doubt given him plenty to consider—namely how asinine he’d been.

The assassin took another sip of his wine, absently staring at the crack-sewn silver amulet Alistair wore. He knew its history, of course. Alistair himself had spoken of it, saying it had belonged to his mother. He had broken it in a fit of childish pique over Arl Eamon bundling him off to the Templars…

Hm…

A plan unfolded. Something reckless and vengeful in the heart Zevran so often ignored wanted to drive certain points home, and if he couldn’t do it with a blade, well…this would do. This would definitely do.

“You said you wanted to know why I am here,” Zevran said, drawing the other man’s eyes. “I wish to tell you what I think of you.”

“Really. Because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear it.” Alistair frowned, but not at the assassin. “I think I know what you think of me.”

“Oh, I may surprise you.”

“No, I can guess,” he muttered. “You’re going to say, ‘Alistair, you’re an idiot,’ or ‘Alistair, you have an intelligence comparable to a block of cheese.’”

Zevran sighed long and deep. “Such an unfair assessment of my thoughts. I would never say you were an idiot to your face, my friend, and I have no intention of comparing you or your intelligence to cheese.”

The reason being, he thought in the privacy of his own head, was that cheese could mature.

“To be completely honest,” Zevran went on, “I have never been very good at telling people plainly what I think of them. It is not a good survival trait amongst Crows, you see. If we went around telling the masters what charming people we thought they were…” Zevran chuckled. “Better to be friends with everyone, no?

“So I will tell you what I think of you in my own special way. It must be cushioned with some sort of story, an elaborate tapestry that explains my precise feelings for you.”

“You’re…serious?” Alistair looked at him dubiously. “You can’t just give me a straight answer and get it over with? It’s really not that difficult.”

Zevran set down his glass and stood, circling the table to stand behind Alistair. He placed both hands on the man’s shoulders in a companionable way and smiled when he felt muscles tense beneath armour. “The story I have in mind should be simple enough to understand, my friend,” he said, sliding his fingers up to the ex-Templar’s neck, as though preparing to give him a massage. “Do I…have your leave to continue?”

“…with the story. Anything else would be…weird. Can you stop that?” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

The Antivan sighed and undid the catch of Alistair’s necklace in a deft motion, whisking it away and palming the amulet without its owner noticing. “As you wish.” He paced a few safe steps from the table, just enough distance so that if Alistair made a sudden move he’d have enough time to get out of the way.

“Imagine for a moment,” Zevran said, spreading his arms and smiling like an actor on a stage, “that I am you.”

Alistair snorted in disbelief. “This is your story? Imagining you’re me?”

“Indeed. And now, imagine this”—he let Alistair’s mother’s amulet dangle free from his hand with a delicate jingle of chain—“is Asleena.”

“Hang on, that looks like—“ Alistair froze, peered more closely at the amulet, rubbed a hand against the spot it had previously rested, then got to his feet with an angry growl. “You—“

“—are you!” Zevran took a careful step backwards, still grinning. “And this is her.” He lifted the amulet slightly, examining it. “This has been broken in the past, yes? Did you do that?” Now he dropped the smile.

“You know I did,” Alistair said, advancing as slowly as Zevran was retreating.

“And someone else cared enough to take great pains trying and make it whole and beautiful again. Then it was returned to you. It was yours, so you got it back.”

Alistair’s approach paused, his brows knitting into a frown. It was hard to tell whether the man knew what was going on or if Zevran was merely speaking too quickly.

“I am you, this is her,” Zevran repeated, wanting to be sure he was understood. “She is returned to you…and what do you do?”

Flipping the amulet back up into his palm, Zevran turned his back on the ex-Templar, brought his arm back and hurled the necklace at the wall with as much strength as he could put into it. Alistair managed to push past Zevran’s shoulder and give voice to a strangled cry before the fragile piece of jewellery struck stone and fragments of silver frosted the wooden floor.

The warrior stood there, staring speechlessly at the wreckage. Zevran, positioned a little behind him now, watched him carefully for a moment for any reaction before shrugging to himself and dusting his hands, the motion loud and measured.

“So you see—“ he began.

The blow came without warning. It was easy not to take someone like Alistair seriously, because he was so rarely serious. This made it simple to underestimate how far he would go when truly angered, as Asleena had learned at the Landsmeet.

Alistair spun, his bare fist flying around and catching Zevran smack against the side of his face. There was enough force behind it to knock the assassin off his feet, and Zevran saw tiny little flashing lights explode behind one eye before he hit the ground, dazed and with the wind knocked out of him by landing on his stomach. He distantly felt his scavenged sword ripped from the scabbard across his back before a booted foot rolled him over and planted itself firmly against his chest, holding him where he lay.

Zevran screwed his face up, trying to restore some feeling to one half of it, then consciously relaxed his body and lay still, looking up the cold length of an Antivan blade and into the furious eyes of the man who professed to love Asleena.

“That,” the assassin said quietly, not a smile to be seen, “that, my good friend Alistair, is a very good portrayal of what I think of you.”

[nos_astra]

*squeals* He punched him! YES! Thank you, Alistair! I was fuming while reading it, that damn hypocritical bastard.

I like how you wrote them.
Zevran is extremely annoying but it's perfectly understandable from his POV. I can really hear his voice.
Alistair is just very close to what I'd picture him at that time: Anger and guilt fighting for dominance, quick to judge (wrong), wallowing in self-pity, longing for a drink (or ten).

Modifié par klarabella, 19 mai 2010 - 02:13 .

[master-fluff]

Oh Zevran, why didn't you walk away and be the bigger man ? Rubbing Al's nose in it was petty -- I thought you were better than that. Asleena should have been your immediate priority, not Alistair. Not liking that spiteful, mean streak at all

[Kulkodar]

I've been keeping up on this, just haven't been posting. I try not to log into personal stuff at work, but couldn't resist today. That was quite a surprise. A bit wicked of Zev but Alistair needs something to shake him off the pity pot!



Well written, Shadow.

[Jules8445]

I've been keeping up too. God I love your Zev. What a brilliant way to illustrate how he feels....and he didn't raise a hand against our hapless Templar.

[Wicked_Loki]

I think that was totally in character for Zevran, although the whole time I was hoping that he wouldn't destroy the amulet. Even though I knew he would. It was a brilliant and subtle way to get his point across. Well done.

[Minaleth]

Oh, very clever And wonderfully in character for both Zevran and Alistair. I liked last three chapters A LOT.

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

Shadow, Amazing as always. I can't even guess what Asleena will do with this mess.

[Taiyama]

Honestly... Honestly, I can't find it in myself to feel sorry for Alistair for losing his mother's amulet. He deserved it. He should never had treated a lady like he did, especially one who had followed him all that way just to talk to him.

[nos_astra]

Taiyama wrote...
Honestly... Honestly, I can't find it in myself to feel sorry for Alistair for losing his mother's amulet. He deserved it. He should never had treated a lady like he did, especially one who had followed him all that way just to talk to him.

Zevran once laughed at the woman he loved (or believed to love), ignored her begging and watched her bleed to death. And also tried to kill the Warden. Oh Zevran, I'm so glad you are here with me. You. Are. So. Awesome.

Loghain almost destroyed all of Ferelden out of ignorance and caued endless suffering to the people of Ferelden. Absolutely redeemable. Here have a place amongst the Wardens and die a hero.

Alistair refused to accept a decision and decided to leave. OMG HOW DARE HE! HE DESERVES LIFELONG PUNISHMENT.
I love when things add up. I feel really sorry for this Alistair, basically because no one else does. Oh, wait no. I liked the elven guy, he was the only one who ever questioned Zevran's mission. Sadly, no one except Alistair has questioned Asleena's mission yet.

Modifié par klarabella, 22 mai 2010 - 01:16 .

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Thanks muchly for the comments. Some of that has been hard to write, since I love both Alistair and Zevran. I'm glad people seem to be agreeing they're both keeping in character.

Part 40 - Fragments

I need time, Zev. I’m sorry. If you don’t catch up on the road I hope I will see you at Highever one day.

~Asleena

She had left the note pinned to his saddlebags. Others she’d tried to find the words for had been screwed up and stuffed to the bottom of her own. Some had sounded too desperate, some too cold. One had been ruined by tearstains.

Goodbyes were not her strong point.

She, Galahan and Sindel left Starkhaven not long after the confrontation in The Red Oak. The two elves had already been in the stables when Asleena and Ferrix turned up, and they had known by the look on her face that something was wrong. She had told them the bare minimum: that Alistair would not be coming with them, that Zevran would catch up at some point, that the rest of them would be leaving immediately. Sindel had looked the most grieved at the news and started to ask questions, only to be stopped by Galahan.

“Not now. Give her time,” he had said, touching Sindel’s shoulder and glancing to Asleena, but questions and sadness had shone in his eyes as well. Alistair had been Galahan’s friend, she remembered, and a bond had been steadily strengthening with Zevran.

She was not the only one leaving people she cared for behind.

**

The remainder of that first day, riding south into the Wildervale, was the hardest. The two new Wardens respected her unspoken request for privacy, but it was not the solitude this afforded her that hurt, rather the love the two elves had for each other. They were not obvious about it, but it showed in little ways. Inflection of voice, a smile here, a passing caress there…

The heart-breaking agony of loss returned in full. It had been felt back in Ferelden after the Landsmeet, usually when she’d looked around camp expecting to see him near the fire, or the nights when Ferrix had refused to eat or sleep and kept vigil instead, staring away from the cluster of tents and waiting for the missing member of their group to return. Then the lonely nights in her bedroll, where Alistair had come to her in dreams only to leave when she opened her eyes in the hopes that this time he really was lying beside her.

The problem on the first night was that it was effectively Galahan and Sindel’s wedding night. Asleena couldn’t very well ask them not to have their first night of intimacy, and on a personal level, for Sindel’s sake especially, she wanted them to enjoy it.

So she deliberately volunteered herself to stand guard all night and quashed any objections with brittle cheer. They thanked her, and she watched over the small camp with Ferrix at her side.

With the wind rushing through the night-darkened grasses of the Wildervale and the unmistakable sounds coming from the tent the Dalish shared, Asleena found it more and more difficult not to keep looking back north at the distant darkness of the forests obscuring Starkhaven, in case Zevran or maybe even Alistair would emerge from the black.

But when dawn finally stained colour into the dark horizon she was still standing by herself, and feeling more alone than ever.

**

Several days passed, riding across the grasslands and heading towards Markham. Over time, and with great care, the elves had gradually managed to coax Asleena into revealing what had happened at Starkhaven between her and Alistair. While she often couldn’t remember exactly what had been said in the heat of the argument, she’d been able to relate enough of it to give an honest account. And she felt a bit better for getting it off her chest.

Sindel did her best to offer comfort and diversion, and Asleena made an effort not to mope—while the elves were around, at least. For Galahan’s part, he revealed very little about his thoughts regarding what had happened. In fact, it only came up once, two days ride from the city. He pulled his horse, Zevran’s horse, up next to Asleena’s as they rode at a walk, and said simply: “You don’t have to worry about him.”

Asleena had been watching Sindel circling above them as a hawk, wings flirting with the breeze, but every ten minutes or so her eyes turned northwest, hoping to see more than golden grass and heat-haze.

“I don’t like it that I left him in Starkhaven,” she said. “With a sodding note.”

“Zevran will understand your reasons.”

“I know. I just…don’t like that it felt necessary.” She turned her gaze to the wagon trail they were following. Ferrix was trotting ahead of the horses, pausing often to sniff at or pee on some otherwise unremarkable feature of the grassy landscape. “I don’t like feeling as though I abandoned him,” she tried to explain, “when he was the only one who didn’t leave me in Denerim.”

Galahan nodded. “I can sympathise with that. But as I said, he will understand. If he was not where you left him, outside the tavern like you said, it may have been his intention to give you space, whether or not Alistair came with you. He is a clever man.”

“I was…thinking of Alistair, too.”

He looked at her, quizzically.

“I was thinking…about all the things we said and shouted. I keep trying to remember if I apologised for how the Landsmeet turned out.” She stared ahead, one hand fidgeting on the reins. “I know I meant to…but I don’t know if I did. Right or wrong, I wanted to ask his forgiveness. It felt so important that I do that when I was trying to track him down…”

“It’s the nature of arguments. Things are said that are not meant, or said in haste. Other things are not said when they should have been.”

“Was there…anything Alistair wanted to say but didn’t?”

Galahan shook his head. “I am not the one to ask about that. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I wish…we could have had that second talk. Even if he didn’t come back to Ferelden, I…really wanted to make sure he’d be all right on his own. He’s seen I’m alive though, so maybe he’ll stop drinking?” She glanced hopefully at him.

“Maybe you’re right.” Galahan looked up to where his wife flew above them. “And I, too, wish you could have spoken a second time. I believe it would have gone better for both of you. You love each other, neither of you really wanted to be apart from the other, and while you were both angry…you still cared.”

Asleena tried to force back the bitter feelings those words stoked, and didn’t trust herself to reply. It was still too soon.

**

They stopped at Markham, but did not stay long. Asleena didn’t want to linger in the city after what had happened last time, and didn’t know if Teyrn Ramvor would take kindly to her return even if Zevran was absent.

Besides a brief stop at the market to pick up some feed for the horses and food to get them through the mountains to Ostwick, Asleena visited the Chantry.

There had been a reward offered for ending the ‘cannibal’ threat in the Vimmark.

She claimed every last coin.

**

Three days later they reached the mining village, passage faster than last time due to being mounted. It looked abandoned at first, but then a couple of wary faces peered out of windows and one of the villagers, a miner she recognised from the previous visit, emerged from his house.

“The Grey Warden,” he said, and chuckled with unexpected warmth. “I did not think we’d see you again.”

Asleena dismounted and shook the large hand he stuck out. “Loren. I was heading back to Ferelden…thought I’d stop by to give this to your village.” She took the purse of gold she’s picked up in Markham and pushed it into his startled grasp. “Courtesy of the Chantry. I figured it might help you rebuild.”

“I—thank you,” he stammered, staring at the contents.

“I know it won’t replace lost lives. I’m sorry…that I can’t do more.”

He sighed deeply and nodded. “It will help us hire hands from Ostwick and purchase supplies to get us through Winter. We relied on the mine and forge to trade for goods and coin, but yes…what we lack right now is manpower.” Patting the pouch of gold, he said, “With this we won’t starve, Warden, and it will make bringing new faces in easier now we can pay people to work. You have our thanks. For this and our lives.”

“I wish—“

He waved a thick finger before her eyes. “Ah, ah, ah! I know. Don’t say it. I’ve had a bellyful of wishing, and it did me no good. You did your best under the circumstances. Not a man or woman here should ask for more’n that.” The miner’s blue eyes took in Galahan and Sindel and he grunted. “Where’s that elf who was with you last time?”

Asleena introduced the Dalish, then said, “Zevran, who you saw before, isn’t with us right now.”

“Hm.” Loren chewed his lip. “I guess this means I won’t have to tell him to keep away from my daughter.” He eyed Galahan, brows lowering. “You, on the other hand—“

“He’ll behave,” Sindel said firmly.

“Yes, my love,” Galahan murmured with a faint smile.

Loren grinned. “Good.” He looked at Asleena. “You’re staying for lunch, Warden. No arguments. Least I can do, and don’t look so surprised.” He waved a hand for them to follow back to his house. “I know last time wasn’t the warmest welcome we could have given you and I regret that, so let me make it up to you before you head back over the Waking Sea.”

**

No one greeted them at the docks of Denerim, for no one had known they were coming. As they disembarked, bidding the captain thanks and farewell, Asleena wondered how many people would even recognise her more than a month after her abrupt disappearance. Few to none, she hoped. In fact, the Dalish drew more stares and whispers than she did.

“They’re not going to mob us, are they?” Sindel asked uncomfortable, keeping her voice low.

Asleena shook her head. “I doubt it. Some of your clans fought to free Denerim from the darkspawn.” She grinned. “They probably think you’re war heroes.”

“What about you?”

“I’m just showing you the sights.” She rubbed Ferrix’s head absently as she glanced around. They no longer had the horses with them, as the captain hadn’t been willing to transport the larger animals. “We have to go to the palace. There’s another Joining I have to see through, and I should check in with the Orlesian Wardens. I’ll probably have to pay my respects to Anora as well,” she added reluctantly.

She didn’t dislike the queen, but it was hard to feel much warmth for the woman. Asleena doubted she’d ever really forgive Anora for trying to have Alistair executed, just as Anora would always remember Alistair’s attempt on her father.

They made it to the palace untroubled, through streets still bearing the scars of the siege, and noticing one or two patrols of Orlesian chevaliers bolstering Denerim’s own guard. It occurred to Asleena that Loghain would have been livid at the sight. She didn’t care, personally, but then she had not been alive during Orlais’ occupation of Ferelden.

At the gates she was recognised and ushered inside. Anora, she was told, was currently seeing to state business but would be informed of her arrival as soon as possible. While that was being seen to, Asleena, Galahan, Sindel and Ferrix could be taken to the small complement of Grey Wardens that had remained in Denerim.

The bulk of the Grey who had come from Orlais were roaming Ferelden and helping to stamp out the darkspawn or chase them back into the Deep Roads. Perhaps twenty had gone to Amaranthine, which had been granted to the order, and only five were in Denerim to answer nearby threats.

With those five, of course, was Xai Merras.

**

“He is most capable,” the Senior Warden, Pierre, told Asleena privately. “I have watched him spar with the others and fight darkspawn. He is a demon with those twin swords of his, and he can follow orders. If he survives the Joining I believe he will be a strong addition to the order.”

“What has his behaviour been like?” she asked. “What do you think of his personality?”

Pierre regarded her with a curious expression. “His behaviour has been impeccable as far as I am aware. He listens a great deal and does not speak much about himself, but I confess I don’t ask many personal questions of recruits before they are fully initiated.”

“I’d like to get that done as soon as possible, actually. Can we do it today?”

“Certainly, sister. I can prepare it myself.” Pierre was a mage. “I will secure a private room for the ceremony and send a messenger when we can begin.”

She thanked him and returned to the training room. Galahan and Sindel were there, leaning against a wall and watching as Xai sparred with two Wardens simultaneously. She had to admit the assassin was a sight to behold as he ducked and wove between his attackers, deflecting and parrying, almost as though it was some kind of dance. He did not attack, as for this exercise he had challenged either of the Wardens to land a telling blow upon him, but he did move in just such a way as to get them to occasionally stumble against or even come close to striking one another.

“He uses their movements against them,” Galahan noted to Asleena, observing the combat closely. “You told me of him a while ago. He does this with words as well as swords?”

“He manipulated people quite well in Markham,” she replied.

“An interesting man.”

She smiled. “That wouldn’t have been the word I’d have chosen.”

“Doubtless.” The hunter looked thoughtful. “I hope he survives the Joining. Conversational possibilities aside…I would be interested to see if he can dodge my bow.”

“All right, that I would love to see.” She watched a while longer then said softly, “Actually, I would have loved to have seen him spar with Zevran.”

Sindel looked at the floor and Galahan nodded once. “Me too.”

When the training completed (one of the Wardens finally got a lucky hit in), Asleena drew Xai aside for a chat.

“How has it felt so far?” she asked him.

“Surprisingly good, Commander,” he said. “I enjoy using my swords as they were intended. I’d almost forgotten what killing felt like.”

Asleena wasn’t quite sure she’d heard him right. “You were a master assassin. Isn’t killing what you did? Or was it all arranging political marriages after you were promoted?”

“Not at all, Commander,” he said gravely. “I have taken many contracts since becoming a master, I simply haven’t killed many of the marks personally. There was a game, you see, amongst the craftmasters. Do you wish me to explain?”

“Zevran told me something of your sect, or whatever it’s called. Some poem that ended along the lines of death by a target’s own hand being glorious.”

He nodded, but didn’t smile. “The Creed of the Craft. That was written many years after the game became popular. It was conceived by a master, before my time, who merely sought to improve lateral thinking amongst assassins. Weapons, poisons, traps…” he waved a dismissive hand. “Unnecessary if you can use a person’s very surrounds against them, and there are often occasions where a kill must look accidental or natural. In any case, the game grew from this concept—killing without being the actual killer. Suicide evolved as the ultimate form of indirect assassination.”

“So how long has it been since you’ve actually killed anyone?”

Now he smiled. “Two days, sadly. Ferelden bandits. But before that…it must have been at least a year. I was in the lead back in Antiva City—the most contracts successfully completed in a row without claiming a personal kill.” He chuckled a bit. “I suppose Sandino will move up to take my place now I am no longer a Crow.”

Asleena hid her frown. The whole concept was repugnant, but then some of Zevran’s preferred methods hadn’t been pleasant either. It was hard to judge the man before her when Zevran, who also expressed pride in his exploits, had become one of her closest friends.

“Speaking of no longer being a Crow,” she said, putting assassin morality aside for now, “I’ve asked Pierre to prepare the Joining. You will go through the ritual today.”

Xai inclined his head. “As you wish, Commander. I am ready.”

“You’ve been in Denerim for a while now, so you’ve probably learned what the Joining can do to you.”

“That it can kill. Yes, that secret is out and on the streets. Assassins do not greatly fear death however, and I must confess that the revelation only made me more impressed at your move to recruit me.”

“Pleased to hear it,” she said, not fully understanding his meaning.

But she figured it out an hour later when the Wardens gathered for his Joining. After Pierre had spoken the words and Asleena handed over the chalice, Xai paused to tilt it towards her in the manner of a man giving a toast.

“Death by their own hands,” the assassin said, his eyes on hers. “To your glory, Commander.”

Then he drank.

**

Clouds blanketed the sky above the Bannorn, promising rain.

Four Grey Wardens and a mabari warhound walked along the road that stretched between Denerim and Highever, humans and elves not speaking. They were all too tired. Asleena had pushed them hard today, wanting to reach the walls of her home before it grew dark, and there had been isolated bands of darkspawn to deal with along the way.

The presence of the monsters so close to the coast had been troubling, and Asleena hoped it was nothing more than remnants of the horde fleeing in the wrong direction. What else could it be with the archdemon slain? Even so, seeing the havoc relatively small groups of darkspawn could do to, say, isolated farmsteads, reminded her of the duties and people she had neglected by leaving Ferelden.

When Highever’s soaring walls came into view and an armed party emerged from the gates to meet them, however, she knew those duties would be set aside for a while longer yet.

Becoming a Grey Warden and a hero had not stopped her from being human.

She gazed across the grassy flats of the land she’d grown up in, feeling a strong rush of emotions. It had been too long since she’d fled this place, with tears, fire and blood as her last memories of home.

She broke from Galahan, Sindel and Xai as soon as she recognised the leader of Highever’s party, weariness forgotten and decorum tossed to the winds. She ran and threw her arms around him, not caring who saw or what anyone thought.

“Make it all better,” she whispered.

“Little sister,” Fergus murmured back, mailed arms returning her hug tightly, “I was going to ask you to do that for me.”

[Taiyama]

klarabella wrote...

Taiyama wrote...
Honestly... Honestly, I can't find it in myself to feel sorry for Alistair for losing his mother's amulet. He deserved it. He should never had treated a lady like he did, especially one who had followed him all that way just to talk to him.

Zevran once laughed at the woman he loved (or believed to love), ignored her begging and watched her bleed to death. And also tried to kill the Warden. Oh Zevran, I'm so glad you are here with me. You. Are. So. Awesome.

Loghain almost destroyed all of Ferelden out of ignorance and caued endless suffering to the people of Ferelden. Absolutely redeemable. Here have a place amongst the Wardens and die a hero.

Alistair refused to accept a decision and decided to leave. OMG HOW DARE HE! HE DESERVES LIFELONG PUNISHMENT.
I love when things add up. I feel really sorry for this Alistair, basically because no one else does. Oh, wait no. I liked the elven guy, he was the only one who ever questioned Zevran's mission. Sadly, no one except Alistair has questioned Asleena's mission yet.

When did I ever say that Alistair was unforgivable or deserved lifelong punishment? I can forgive pretty much anyone if they're actually sorry about it. What I said was that he deserved that particular loss. A man must place duty above all other things, especially his feelings. Alistair proved just how much of a boy he still was when he shirked his duty and ran, and he continued to act like a petulant child when Asleena confronted him. Maybe he didn't actually deserve punishment for what he had done and of course it wasn't unforgiveable, but I can't pretend that I feel sorry for him after all that he had done.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

*sigh* Ok, I have to answer to this, for what good it'll do.

klarabella wrote...

Zevran once laughed at the woman he loved (or believed to love), ignored her begging and watched her bleed to death. And also tried to kill the Warden. Oh Zevran, I'm so glad you are here with me. You. Are. So. Awesome.

Yes, Zevran did both of those. And he has been trying to pay for them.

As for the italics, Asleena is appreciative of the fact Zev's been keeping her company through what has been a hard and lonely time for her. She doesn't think his crimes are 'awesome', but she's not going to throw his past in his face when he has apologised for it.

Loghain almost destroyed all of Ferelden out of ignorance and caued endless suffering to the people of Ferelden. Absolutely redeemable. Here have a place amongst the Wardens and die a hero.

Plenty of people are revered as heroes when they don't deserve (or want) the recognition. Yes, it would have been justice to execute Loghain. Lots of people who become Grey Wardens (and heroes) deserve justice. In the end, though, Asleena didn't spare Loghain for his sake alone.

Alistair refused to accept a decision and decided to leave. OMG HOW DARE HE! HE DESERVES LIFELONG PUNISHMENT.

No one's saying he deserves lifelong punishment for leaving. Certain people (like Zevran) think he's a self-absorbed child for doing so, there will be Fereldens who consider him a coward and a fool, but no one wants to burn him to a stake or anything.

Alistair chose his own punishment, really. :/

Ah well...I figured you'd like the punch.

[Gilgamesh1138]

From the post above you had quite a lively discussion. I apologize Shadow for not posting here earlier. I did a review on FF.net under Erynnar. I wanted to tell you how much I am loving this story.



And I agree, Ali choose his own punishment. He obviously feels he did something wrong, or he wouldn't be drinking. And Zev is right, he isn't evil for running out, or even a coward. He is a self absorbed child in a way. That Chantry upbringing, where things are black and white didn't help I'm sure.



Anyhoo, my two cents, worth a wad of navel lint and a broken button (my the economy sucks).