351 réponses à ce sujet

[Firky]

Well. I started at Part 37 and regretting it. Now I'm going to have to go back to the beginning. (And find an extra 7 hours in the day.) What is your final word count? Also, I reeally like the simplicity of your descriptive bits. It makes it easy to read and allows the story to get complicated.

PS. Also - Ultima V Lazarus ftw.

Modifié par Firky, 24 mai 2010 - 05:25 .

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Gilgamesh1138 wrote...

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.

Tanks I did see you on FF.Net, so ty for that too.

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.

Well I can't speak for the reasons of game-Alistair drinking (if indeed the implications of him being the wandering drunk were TRUE, bloody epilogue ), but in there he could be doing it purely out of self-pity. I don't know. I'm sure plenty of people do the same and don't think they're wrong.

As for fiction-Alistair...I'll refrain lest I say something spoilery. >.<

Firky wrote...

Well. I started at Part 37 and regretting  it. Now I'm going to have to go back to the beginning. (And find an
extra 7 hours in the day.) What is your final word count? Also, I  reeally like the simplicity of your descriptive bits. It makes it easy  to read and allows the story to get complicated.

Thanks, Firky! Ah, the poor people who start reading near the end...I was tempted to name one of those chapters 'Alistair', but just KNEW that there would be people who, when browsing the story on FF.Net to see if they wanted to read the whole thing, would leap straight to that chapter and spoil it all. Not that 'Reunion' was that subtle of a substitute, but... yeah.

And the current wordcount is just under 110k, I think. According to ye olde MS Word.

PS. Also - Ultima V Lazarus ftw.

Huzzah! Virtue be with thee!

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 24 mai 2010 - 08:29 .

[Wicked_Loki]

Smart move bringing Asleena back home. Love the little scene at the end with her brother. Definitely showed us how human she is.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

This chapter contains a little DA:O dialogue I can't claim credit for. Stay with me, it won't be all doom and gloom forever, I swear This chapter's a bit longer than usual, but not tedious I hope.

Part 41 - Ashes and Ink

“The castle was in surprisingly good condition, considering,” Fergus said, leaning against the ramparts. “I suppose Howe didn’t want it too badly damaged when he intended to take it for himself.”

Asleena, arms crossed on a merlon as her eyes roved across the streets and buildings below, shook her head in a sort of disbelief. “It felt so much worse when the attack happened. Sometimes the smoke was so thick…”

They had talked for most of the first night and all through the next day. There had been much to tell, share and sorrow for, and neither sibling held anything back from the other. Asleena didn’t even conceal any Grey Warden questions that came up, knowing the secrets would be safe.

For Fergus’ part, returning home had been difficult in more ways than the obvious ones. It had been delayed from the outset, for a full week, by politics. Not only had he needed to be formally recognised as the new Teyrn of Highever, but there had already been some subtle pressuring from the nobility for him to remarry and produce an heir. With Loghain dead and childless but for Anora and the teyrnir of Gwaren currently without a ruler, Fergus was the only teyrn in all of Ferelden. Politically, this made him second in power to the throne and heir-presumptive should Anora perish without issue.

Understandably, Fergus was not too keen on remarrying so soon after the murder of his wife and son. This had not stopped a number of arls and banns from parading their daughters in front of him at any given opportunity, and there had been plenty of these with the Landsmeet reconvening several times after Asleena’s departure. Before the gathered nobility, arls, arlessas and banns were reconfirmed or newly recognised, some rulers having died in the Blight, and heirs had been declared as a pre-emptive measure against civil war. Fergus told Asleena he’d picked her if anything happened to him, and absolutely no one at the Landsmeet had argued with the decision. Being brother to the Hero of Ferelden seemed to have some perks.

Then the Orlesians had started to arrive, which had necessitated formal welcomes and hammering out just what they were and were not allowed to do while on Ferelden soil. Some privileges the chevaliers could indulge in back in Orlais had to be quite strenuously denied for while they were visiting.

When Fergus had finally escaped court to return home, there had been the signs of Howe’s occupation to erase, affairs of mother and father to put in order, and the outlying lands to tend. Howe had more or less ignored Highever upon taking up residence in Denerim, but he’d left soldiers and flunkies behind to ‘run things’. There had not been a lot of wanton destruction, as Fergus had noted, but many items of monetary and personal value had been looted, and many of the farmlands had been ignored completely so that their fields lay fallow. With famine threatening the land after many of the southern holdings had lost their crops and animals to blight sickness, Fergus had been fuming that any arable soil would be left untilled.

On top of all those duties, there were the fleeing darkspawn. People had to be protected. Soldiers had to be recruited and trained. Weapons had to be purchased. Staff had to be hired to cook, clean, forge and repair. Wages had to be paid. The Arling of Amaranthine, once sworn to the service of Highever’s ruling family, was now held by the Grey Wardens and could not be relied upon for stable assistance, if only because it currently had no ruler.

Stress piled upon stress…no time for grief, no one he fully trusted that he could turn to.

It made wandering around the world, fighting demons, foiling assassin plots and falling into the bloated laps of broodmothers sound simple by comparison. And the sad thing was, with the exception of helping to fight off darkspawn, agreeing to be Fergus’ heir and maybe finding a way to get Amarantine to support Highever, Asleena had no idea how she could really help, other than with the grieving part.

“Did he suffer?” Fergus asked, glancing over. “Howe?”

“I didn’t draw his death out,” Asleena said, avoiding his eyes and the look in them. “I didn’t torture him.”

“But you saw what he did here. You saw…everything. Mother and father and…and Oriana and Oren. Why didn’t you take vengeance on the slimy bastard, Asleena? He deserved whatever you could give him. It would have been justice!”

“No.” She rounded on him suddenly, saw his startled expression at her tone and tried to relax.

Too much like the argument with Alistair…it’s not enough for the guilty to die. They have to die badly, suffer, be remembered only for their crimes…

She took a deep breath and tried again. “No. Fergus, I killed him, and he gave me no choice but to kill him. He’s dead. That’s justice enough.” She looked over the rampart again, eastwards along the rough line of the coast. “He had children, you know. I knew his son Thomas and he had a daughter named Delilah. I killed their father, and their home, Amaranthine, has been taken from them for no fault of theirs.” Her eyes returned to her brother. “One day, as Warden Commander, I will have to go there. I will have to see his children and apologise.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Fergus said, looking unhappy to hear her say these things.

“I know. But neither did they. We are not the only ones who suffer for what Howe did, Fergus. I can give them one thing, and only one thing…I can tell them honestly that their father didn’t suffer when he died.” She smiled a little. “Coming from a Cousland, perhaps that will mean something.”

“I see what you’re saying…but I don’t think I could have done it. Had Howe faced me…” Fergus shrugged. “I must sound like a bloodthirsty barbarian.”

“You sound like a man who lost people he loved to someone we thought we could trust. At least I got some closure, seeing him die.”

Her brother sighed. “Speaking of closure, there’s something we still have to do. I wasn’t sure when to bring it up, but now seems as good a time as ever. Come with me.”

They walked back inside. Asleena found herself glancing at the familiar hallways for differences, and it showed mostly in the fixtures. Many of the paintings and tapestries that had once adorned the walls were missing, and nothing new replaced them yet. The floor carpets were not the same as before, the old ones having been torn, scorched or bloodstained.

She’d come to terms with the pillaging of her own bedroom. Furniture had mostly remained where it had been left, but smaller items, even clothes, childhood tokens and a large ball of socks Ferrix had loved to chew were all gone, burned, sold or stolen. Almost all she owned were the armour, weapons and various oddments she’d packed into some crates and asked Fergus to return to Highever before she’d left Denerim. She had spoken to him about going through it all at some point, seeing if he wanted to keep anything for the armoury or himself, then selling the rest to help restore the keep’s treasury.

The only heirlooms that remained were their father’s sword and shield, which Asleena had salvaged from the armoury on the night of the invasion. Fergus carried them now.

Her brother had moved into the bedroom their parents had once shared. It hadn’t been motivated by his rise in rank and a sudden urge to claim bigger quarters, but an unwillingness to return to the room and the bed he had once shared with his wife. Asleena could only imagine how painful it was for him walking past that door every day, or sometimes forgetting himself and putting a hand out to open it…then remembering…

But it was to this door that he led her now. He had given its use to Galahan and Sindel while they were in residence, but the elves were outside today exploring the woods at the rear of the keep. Fergus took Asleena inside and nodded up towards a shelf where four blue-glazed ceramic urns bearing the Cousland crest stood. One of the vessels was much smaller than its three companions.

“They say scattering the ashes helps…to move on,” Fergus said. “I didn’t want to do it until you came home.” He gave her a small smile, and she saw the bright glisten of welling tears. “I wasn’t sure I could do it without you.”

“Does it have to be public?” she asked, feeling her own eyes sting and throat tighten.

He shook his head. “We can do it alone. I’d rather it that way, actually.”

She agreed with a mute nod. The siblings took down the remains of their family in silence and bore them from Highever’s walls, father and mother, wife and son, sister and nephew…

…and on the cliffs above the Waking Sea, the wind took their ashes into the sunlit sky.

**

Brother and sister parted company when they returned to the castle in the evening, each wishing to be alone with their own thoughts for a time. Asleena went to her chambers and removed her armour, hanging the greatsword Yusaris on the weapons rack by her bed. It had been her favourite blade until Starfang, which had been forged and balanced for her hands.

She made a start sorting through the crates, setting aside a few items she thought the new Warden Recruits might appreciate.

Then she dug up the book. She’d been using it as a diary throughout the Blight to keep track of things she’d learned and help her remember things she had to do. There had been so much. On one page there was the phrase she’d been told would activate Shale (which hadn’t). On another there was a rough map of a dead thaig., or an herbal recipe she’d later passed on to Wynne and Morrigan, or an inscription she’d read on a tombstone…

In the middle, pressed between the pages, was the rose Alistair had given to her. It had died and dried long ago, naturally, but the dark red petals still bore echoes of the scent it had possessed when fresh. Asleena sat with the tome and flower in her lap for a while, one finger tracing the line of the stem, the thorns, the wilted bloom.

“Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!”

She turned her head to the metal brazier in one corner of her room. Lacking a fireplace, this was what provided the chamber with warmth.

“They say scattering the ashes helps…to move on.”

She crossed the floor, dead rose in hand, and held it over the burning coals. Heat radiated against her skin and the firelight cast a warm golden glow across the petals.

“I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ In a lot of ways…I think the same thing when I look at you.”

Jaw and fist clenched. The back of her hand started to redden.

“Drop it,” she whispered. “Just let it go.”

But while the fine hairs on her skin singed and the petals closest to the flames began to wrinkle and curl, she couldn’t make her fingers open. She pulled her arm away only when the heat became too much to endure, and shakingly placed the rose atop Duncan’s shield, which she’d left on the bedside table.

“You won’t land me that easily, woman! I know I’m quire the prize, after all…no need to start crying on me or anything.”

She stared at it a moment longer before crawling into bed and burying herself beneath the covers.

After farewelling her family, she hadn’t thought there were any tears left in her to shed.

**

Fergus’ voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door.

“Asleena, you skipped dinner yesterday and have been in there all day today. You have to eat something!”

“I’m not hungry. Go away.”

“Don’t be a pest. Do you know how undignified it looks, being a teyrn and talking through doors?”

“Then stop talking!”

“Sorry, but I’m going to nag until you let me in. Or until the chamberlain comes back with the master key.”

“You can’t break into my room!”

“I’d rather you let me in, little sister. I haven’t come empty handed.”

Asleena scowled at the door. Ferrix, who was sitting off to one side on his favourite blanket, yapped.

“At least let Ferrix out,” Fergus suggested. “He’s probably bored out of his mind in there.”

The mabari whined pathetically and lowered his head to the floor, brown eyes staring at Asleena with such an overdone expression of pleading that she threw her hands up.

“Oh, all right. Manipulative sodding dog…”

He ran from the room as soon as the door was opened, almost knocking Fergus’ legs out from under him.

“And stay out of the kitchens this time!” Asleena bellowed as the dog’s hindquarters vanished down the stairwell. It was their third day home, not including the afternoon they’d arrived, and he’d already found his way into the larder. Twice.

Fergus rubbed his ear and grinned at her, but before she could speak he held up a handful of folded parchments. There was a rectangular box under his other arm. “Your Orlesian friend Leliana asked me to deliver some letters to you when you returned to Highever,” he said. “I forgot about them until this parcel arrived today, or I would have given them to you earlier.”

“Letters?” Asleena said blankly, taking them.

“You know, pieces of paper with writing on them that friends send to friends?” He chuckled when she glowered, followed her into the room and sprawled in a chair while she sat on the edge of her bed. “Can the lowly elder brother ask why his sister’s in such a bad mood today?”

“Didn’t sleep well,” she muttered, glancing unwillingly to where she’d left the dead rose. “And I didn’t want to get up.”

Fergus had followed the flicker of her eyes, and now he was looking at her with a depth of understanding that shamed her greatly. He settled the box into his lap, then nodded to the letters. “I haven’t read them, but maybe they’ll cheer you up.” He pointed. “The one with the ribbon tied around it is from Leliana.” He grinned suddenly. “She said I had to tell you to read hers first.”

Asleena couldn’t repress a smile, and she pulled the dark green ribbon loose to extract her friend’s letter.

She had to lower the parchment after the first couple of sentence.

“I think I’ll need you to read this to me out loud,” she said huskily, passing her brother the missive and wiping her eyes.

He nodded and did as she asked.

My dearest friend,

I hope that all is well with you when the time comes that this letter is delivered to your hands. I know that the last days of the Blight have been hard on you; you tried to hide it, but I could tell how unhappy you were. I was always worried that if I tried to get you to talk it would break even your great strength, and you had been trying to stay so strong for so many people. With the end of the war near I was afraid to say something wrong, and I believed you would talk to me when you were ready to do so. Being separated from one you love is no easy thing, as I know.

When I saw you depart the celebrations at the palace with Zevran I had no idea what to think! I did not wish to pursue you in case I intruded, but when I learned you were trying to find a ship I guessed where you might be going and why. If I am right, it seems we are both set on hunting down the ones we love. I will pray to the Maker every day that you find Alistair and are reunited happily. Zevran had better behave himself or he will have me to answer to!

I will write again when I can. I expect I will find myself back in Orlais, so I will be sure to buy you a gift. I will get you something nice.

All our love,
Leliana and Schmooples

PS. I should tell you, I suggested to the others that they each write a letter for you as well before leaving Denerim. They said they would, except for Sten. He doesn’t seem to understand the point! I will wear him down, though, I promise.

Fergus lowered the letter. “You knew someone called Schmooples?”

Asleena couldn’t hold back a laugh as she wiped her eyes on the blanket she’d pulled around her shoulders. “No, that’s the name Leliana gave her pet nug! She saw them in Orzammar and thought they were cute, so I found a dwarf who agreed to catch one for me and gave it to her.”

“I thought dwarves ate nugs.”

“They do. Oghren wasn’t too happy with the idea of a snack walking around camp, but Leliana threatened to shave him if he tried anything.”

“And…she called it Schmooples?”

“Don’t look at me.” Asleena grinned. “It was her pet.”

“Well, this arrived today, as I said.” Fergus gave her the box, and unfolded the letter that had come with it. “There’s a letter with it. The courier said it’s also from Leliana.”

The parcel, when Asleena unwrapped it, turned out to contain a pair of fantastically crafted shoes. They were black, the outer material something that felt like velvet under her fingertips. Across the tops of the shoes were sprinkled a pattern of dark green facetted jewels and flakes of some transparent crystal, maybe even diamond. Black velvet ribbons, intended to be laced around the ankles and calves, were tied in a bow above each.

“Oh, Leliana…” Asleena murmured in appreciation, turning the gift over in her hands and watching how the light sparkled off the gems.

Fergus read:

Dearest Asleena,

I only just arrived in Jader and I couldn’t resist! Schmooples favoured a red pair, but I thought these would be more you. Be sure to get a nice dress to go with them! Or maybe I will find you one. We shall see.

I miss travelling with you and the others already. It wasn’t easy reaching Orlais—there are so many darkspawn still about. Luckily I was able to travel with some of the dwarves who were returning to Orzammar, so it was a lot more secure. I don’t think it will be safe to walk around Ferelden alone for some time. Hopefully when the Grey Wardens from Orlais arrive they will be able to calm things down. When I visit Highever or Amaranthine to see you again, I want it to be in quiet times so we can enjoy ourselves for once.

I hope you have found Alistair by now. No news yet of Marjolaine, but I will keep you informed. I only wish I wasn’t moving around so much so I could give you a place to write back to me. If you want, you can try directing a letter to the Chantry in Val Chevin. I expect I will be heading that way eventually. You can tell me if the shoes fit!

Please give Ferrix a big hug for me! I think I forgot to mention him in my first letter. Maybe I should have sent him something as well? Mabari like shoes as much as other dogs, don’t they?

All our love,
Leliana and Schmooples

“I can’t wait to see you in a dress, little sister,” Fergus teased. “Some of those Orlesian gowns are very fancy. Wouldn’t be able to swing a sword in one of those!”

Asleena, who was trying one of the shoes on, swatted his knee. “I should ask her to send something for you to wear as well, big brother.”

“Not a dress, if you please. I don’t have the waistline for it. Who’s Marjolaine?”

“A woman Leliana loved very much.” Asleena explained the relationship and Fergus shook his head at the end.

“After all that woman did to her, betraying her and hiring men to kill her, she’s going after her? Why?”

“Because she loved her.” Asleena was silent for a few seconds before picking up the next letter from her pile, which had been sent by Wynne and Shale, then gave it to him. “I’m worried about how it might turn out, of course. I know Leliana can take care of herself, but I wouldn’t put it past Marjolaine to try and hurt her. I hope she’s careful.”

Fergus nodded and proceeded to read aloud.

Dear Asleena,

I hope your journeys were safe ones and that you return home hale and healthy. Leliana thinks you are going after Alistair. Had we known, Shale and I would have come with you—even if only a part of the way, if you’d have allowed it. On the other hand, I don’t know if the captain you hired would have liked a golem and an unescorted mage being on board.

I am sorry we did not get a chance to properly farewell each other in Denerim. I expected you to remain longer than you did, but I can’t blame you for wanting to leave as soon as possible. Whatever, or whoever you are looking for in your travels, I hope you find it.

You know I am proud of you, but I wanted to write it down so you would always remember. I never trusted Loghain after what happened at Ostagar—I, much like yourself and poor Alistair, was fortunate to have escaped with my life, and like Alistair I lost many good friends in that battle. But I have always admired your mercy and compassion, and I know you made your decision for good reasons even though the decision was hard. When you return to the Grey Wardens, as I have no doubt you will, I can only hope that these virtues remain with you always and are passed on to the Ferelden recruits.

Shale is unable to handle a pen easily, so she asks me to write that she hopes to visit Highever or Amaranthine when she is restored to flesh. She seems most eager to see you again on ‘mortal terms’. I think she wants you to teach her how to fight like you do, but she has expressed an interest in learning how to handle a bow as well (possibly to shoot down birds. I decided not to ask).

As for myself, should fate decree we never meet again, be safe, my friend. And be happy.

From Wynne and Shale

“I hope they manage to find a way to restore her,” Asleena said wistfully. “I really want to see what Shale looks like as a dwarf. And I bet Leliana would love talking to her about clothes and shoes. And how to wear her hair.”

“Wynne was the mage, wasn’t she? She doesn’t sound like she expects to see you again.”

“Did I forget to tell you about that? It’s a little complicated, but I’ll explain later. I hope I do see her again, though. She was a good friend, very wise and kind.”

The next letter was much shorter, and from Sten.

Hail Kadan,

I see no reason to write. We said all that was needed to be said on our parting, but the Chantry sister would not desist in her pestering until I agreed to this endeavour.

It is her belief you are pursuing your fellow Grey Warden. I expect you will succeed at locating him, just as you succeeded in finding Asala. Remind him of his duty to your order and his companions, if duty is as important as he once claimed.

Victory in your travels.

Sten

Fergus turned the letter over to check the back for more and shrugged.

“Well, he was right about me finding Alistair,” Asleena murmured. “I didn’t try the duty line. I don’t think it would have worked.”

“Who’s Asala?”

“Asala is the name of Sten’s sword.”

“Sten’s the qunari? Happy to get Asala back, was he?”

“He almost smiled.”

Fergus laughed and flourished the final parchment. “Last letter. From…Oghren.”

Hey Warden,

Leliana says you’re going after Alistair. And you took that fancy-pants elf Zevran with you! Why not me? I wouldn’t have minded seeing that reunion. All three of you together again, if you catch my drift. Don’t worry, you’ll find him. If you could track down Branka in the sodding Deep Roads then Alistair will be no problem. And if he won’t listen to you, just take a little advice from old Oghren and push him up against a good stone wall and—

“Err…” Fergus’ widening eyes trailed down the paragraph and Asleena actually giggled, all too easily imagining the kind of ribald suggestions the dwarf might have written down. “Maybe I won’t read the rest out loud. I’ll see if I can skim to a safer paragraph.” He coughed. “Actually, ah…I’ll go right to the end.”

I won the bet, by the way. Teagan piked out early. Knew he didn’t have it in him. Invite me to Highever some time and we’ll see if that pretty-boy brother of yours has a tougher stomach.

Oghren

“All right. What?” Fergus asked.

“Um. Do you like pickles?”

“Don’t make me tickle the answer out of you.”

Asleena grinned. “Bann Teagan Guerrin bet he could get through a barrel of pickle juice faster than Oghren.”

“That’s…a little gross.”

“That’s what I told him!” She hesitated. “Nothing from Morrigan, I guess.”

“This is all of them,” Fergus said. Folding the letters together into a small pile, he held them out to her.

Asleena handled them carefully. Nothing from Morrigan. She couldn’t say it surprised her. She’d probably never hear from Alistair again either. As for Zevran, it was still too soon to say. She had to wait a bit before she could manage to look at her brother again. “Thank you, Fergus.”

“Little sister…you still look so unhappy.”

“You must think me selfish,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “All this fuss over a man I only knew for a little while, when you lost so much more.”

Fergus moved from the chair to sit beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. Asleena leaned her head on his shoulder and he kissed her crown, like father had sometimes done. “I don’t think you’re selfish,” he said. “A bit of a pain at times—ow!” He rubbed his ribs with a grimace. “See, that’s more how I remember you. Terror.”

“Monster.”

“Brat.”

“I learned some good names from Oghren, you know. And you read his letter.”

“Andraste’s mercy, spare me!” He laughed. “Listen, I’ll get some hot water sent up here so you can clean up—you really are a mess, you know? Then get dressed and come downstairs to eat with me. Some Orlesian chevaliers and Wardens arrived to help with the darkspawn, and there have been a number of requests that the mighty Hero of Ferelden grace them with her glorious presence.”

Asleena groaned. “When you said ‘get dressed’, does that mean I can get away with wearing my armour?”

For answer, Fergus picked up the shoes Leliana had sent and plonked them into her lap. He grinned at her. “I’ll see if there’s a suitable dress around in your size. If nothing turns up by the time you’ve washed, you’re off the hook.”

“You’re on. And you don’t have a chance.”

When he reached the threshold to leave, Asleena stopped him.

“Fergus? I know you’re not looking to remarry any time soon, but…do you think you’ll ever fall in love again?”

“I don’t know,” he said, looking sombre. “It’s just too soon, Asleena. There are still too many…memories.” He cleared his throat suddenly and opened the door, smiling again. “See you at dinner?”

She made an effort and grinned back, arching a brow. “In steel. Not silk.”

“And I’ll find someone to do your hair for you.”

“You are the most horrible brother in the world.”

“Love you too.”

[nos_astra]

The chapter made me giggle uncontrollably, can't imagine why. Maybe because Wynne suspected Shale would want to learn how to use a bow so she can shoot birds.

And after all the companions encouraging her to find Alistair, I kinda miss Zev. Hope his head is still attached to his shoulders.

Modifié par klarabella, 25 mai 2010 - 01:34 .

[Wicked_Loki]

I liked this chapter, the voices were believable, the Oghren letter was probably my favorite. There were some parts between Asleena and her brother that seemed almost out of character, but this chapter is about seeing the 'human' side of Asleena, so it makes sense. I'm waiting anxiously for either Zev or Alistair to show up. I'm leaning more towards Zev, myself.

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

It wise nice to 'go home' again. (having been a cousland myself) I always liked Fergus. Nice touch with the letters. Well done as always.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Part 42 - Elves and Men

It was probably the closest thing Castle Cousland had had to a social function in some time.

Fergus extracted himself from the press after he was sure his sister could hold her own, relieved that after the past weeks of politics he was, for once, not the centre of anyone’s attention, or indeed required to do anything. It was a pleasant change of pace from economics and marriage suggestions.

Strolling to the table of drinks that had been set up along one wall of the Great Hall, he nodded to one of the servants to refill his glass and then made his way to a corner some distance from the fuss of Wardens and chevaliers mingling near the large fireplace. He leaned against a section of wall, quite close to a large potted fern, and sipped his wine.

“How in the world did you manage to convince her to wear that dress, my friend?” the plant asked after a short silence, its accent distinctly Antivan.

“I bet her I couldn’t find one before she could finish bathing,” Fergus said.

“Ah. So you did not, in fact, tell her you already had a dress for her?”

The young teyrn smirked behind his wineglass. “She likes it, by the way. She called me a bastard.”

“Mm. Ferelden fashion does leave something to be desired, however. These dresses your land inflicts upon women cover entirely too much skin. Not that this seems to be stopping any number of admiring glances being cast in her direction, I notice.”

“She always did look good in green.”

Zevran had to concur. Despite the fern, he had a good clear view towards the cluster of guests and Asleena. In forest green silk trimmed with black embroidery, her hair plaited to her shoulder-blades, the Lady Cousland was definitely the one to watch. The other Wardens, in armour and armed, were generally treating her with the mutual respect of fellow warriors, but the chevaliers were all highborn, dressed to impress as any self-respecting Orlesian gentleman did when hobnobbing with other nobles, and Asleena was eligible, beautiful, a national hero, and, perhaps most importantly to a chevalier’s mindset, she was interested in swords and horses and could handle both.

“How long is this likely to continue? I do not wish her to be…worn out before the main event,” Zevran finished delicately.

“Probably not for another hour. She had a rough night.” Fergus frowned, a touch of unease entering his voice as he asked, “Are you sure about this? I know she trusts you, but after this morning I can’t help but worry. If something goes wrong—”

“I am sure.”

“If something goes wrong,” Fergus repeated, “I will get angry.”

“And I would expect nothing less.”

Fergus sighed but nodded. “My wardrobe isn’t extensive right now,” he said, “but if you can find any clothes that will fit you may borrow them for tonight. They key is in a bowl by my bed.” He drained his glass and strode away.

Zevran lingered a while longer, allowing his eyes to soak up the vision on the opposite side of the room before he snuck out in the wake of a pair of elven servants. As much as he longed to make his presence known to Asleena, it was not the right moment for what was planned. And his position was not yet decided.

He followed a few of Highever’s paved streets to where Galahan was waiting for him in the lee of a building. Like Sindel, the hunter had made an appearance to the visiting Wardens but excused himself early from the party. Being indoors still made the Dalish uncomfortable, so Asleena suspected nothing from their departure.

“Well?” Galahan asked quietly.

“She looked ravishing, just as I knew she would. You should think about getting your lovely wife some fetching number, my friend. I suggest midnight blue, perhaps a concoction of velvet that leaves the shoulders bare and is cut to the thigh.”

“Are you undressing Sindel in your mind, Zevran?”

“Dressing her in my mind! Quite different, no? The very opposite, in fact.”

Galahan smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Speaking of clothes…”

“We have the teyrn’s permission.” Zevran fell into step with the hunter, whose room was close to both Asleena’s and Fergus’. This combined with Galahan’s status as a Grey Warden meant none of the guards challenged their presence into the residential area of the keep.

Tonight, he told himself.

Tonight it will be decided.

**

The contents of the small leather pouch clinked as Alistair rolled it distractedly between his hands. It was night outside, and candles lit the table he sat at. He was alone this time, without even a bottle to keep him company. Only his thoughts…

Being by himself and completely sober had given him a great deal of time for reflecting on things…

**

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 Alistair got the rare pleasure of seeing Zevran fall flat to the ground with a complete lack of dignity. Casual violence was not something Alistair tended to indulge in; it wasn’t right and he was strong enough to hurt most people quite easily without even trying.

Punching Zevran,though…after enduring that smug smile, that suave voice and the destruction of his mother’s amulet…

Alistair took the sword from his erstwhile companion’s scabbard and kicked him onto his back. His foot pressed down against the Antivan’s chest. The sword swung to point at his throat.

Zevran’s faced screwed up in a brief grimace of pain. An angry red mark was already blooming against the bronze skin of one cheekbone. The elf looked up at Alistair, golden-brown eyes cold. “That," he said quietly, not a smile to be seen, "that, my good friend Alistair, is a very good portrayal of what I think of you."

“You deserved it, you bastard,” he grated. “Do you have any idea what that meant to me? Any idea at all?”

“Of course it was deserved.” Zevran’s voice was carefully neutral. “And yes, I am aware it was very dear to you. Maybe it can be repaired again. And maybe not…I do not know how extensive the damage is, yet. I do wonder, however, if you intend to pick up the pieces this time.”

Alistair’s knuckles whitened as he glanced towards the shattered fragments of the amulet. They glittered against the dark wood of the floor, reminding him of the day he himself had thrown and broken it, bitterly angry at the injustice he’d felt done to him, unwilling to listen to the arl’s reasons or even let him visit at the Chantry, choosing to believe he was not getting the life he wanted because Eamon cared more for other things than him…

“You would be the best man to mend it,” Zevran continued in the same even tone. “You, I think, are most familiar with its structure and pattern. It would be…distressing if such a beautiful thing were not restored to its full splendour.”

Alistair’s eyes flicked back to the assassin’s, which were observing him so intently it felt like they were trying to follow his very train of thought. Alistair was honest enough with himself to admit he didn’t always catch on to things quickly, but he did know Zevran wasn’t talking about jewellery.

He remembered the anguish in Asleena’s face when he’d spoken his hasty, ill-thought words…practically the mirror of how she had looked when he’d left her side at the Landsmeet.

Maker…how he regretted that day. Not for hating Loghain or wanting the bastard dead, but for how he’d kept trying to pressure Asleena into allowing the execution. If he’d just stopped after his initial outburst and tried to draw her aside to discuss it privately, it might have been all right or even turned out differently, but he’d tried to force the issue by claiming the throne he’d talked her out of putting him on in the first place. He’d given her that unforgivable ultimatum of emotional blackmail: ‘Do this or lose me.’ He’d made her choose publicly, and when she’d decided against him, unable to avoid an issue raised before the entire nobility of Ferelden, he’d been too ashamed and angry at the humiliation of it to remain.

“You backed yourself into a bad place, lethallin,” Galahan had sighed during one of their lengthy conversations in the Wildervale. “That this Loghain deserved death for his crimes I will not argue, but you chose a painful path to try and achieve it, gambling with the integrity and heart of your love.”

If only he’d shut up before trying to become king…if her face when he’d told her they couldn’t have been a royal couple was any indication, really telling her he had to set her aside would have torn him apart. And for what?

“I should have tried to compromise,” he muttered aloud, slowly moving the blade away from Zevran’s neck.

“Compromise?” the assassin replied cautiously, eyes following the sword but otherwise unmoving.

“I could have lived with him not dying,” Alistair said. He took two steps back and sat down heavily on the floor, propping the sword against his shoulder. “At least, I think I could have. But making him a Grey Warden when he’d as good as killed my family? Let him live, fine…but don’t make him one of us.”

“Are you still on about Loghain, man?” Zevran sat upright, fixing him with an exasperated glare. “The way I see it he did you a favour by becoming a Warden. He made the sacrifice, no? Happy ending for everyone else.”

Alistair had begun to bristle until the assassin reached that word. “Sacrifice? What favour? What are you talking about?”

“He killed the archdemon. Did she not say this?”

Alistair shrugged. “Yes? So?”

Zevran’s impatient look became one of slowly dawning suspicion. “Grey Warden kills archdemon, Grey Warden dies?”

“What?!”

“Mother of Mercy…” The assassin groaned and lay down again, putting a hand over his eyes. “What kind of order doesn’t tell their recruits what the point of their mission is? Are you quite seriously telling me you did not know?”

“The Grey Warden who kills the archdemon dies? This is what you’re telling me?”

Zevran sighed, lifted his head to regard the ex-Templar then rolled to his feet. “If I am to explain what you missed, and I cannot wait to see your face when I get to the Morrigan part, at least allow me to finish my drink. It is quite a nice vintage.”

Alistair did not object. He was too busy considering futures in which he or Asleena might have died.

Heroically.

With a statue raised in his or her honour afterwards, and roses on the bier.

He shivered.

Zevran paused before sipping to probe his injured cheek with a couple of fingers, and there was a popping noise when he flexed his jaw. He didn’t do it ostentatiously, as though expecting some sort of apology, and Alistair didn’t offer one.

He had deserved it.

He had…

“I have a question for you, my friend, before we begin,” the elf said suddenly, his face serious, and nodded towards the broken remains of the amulet. “What are your intentions where that is concerned?”

Alistair was not, as he would have put it, completely stupid. He was familiar with Zevran’s antics and attitude in regards to those he took a fancy to, but his behaviour here, defending Asleena so passionately, was something he would never have expected of the elf. In his experience, that was more than just loyalty.

“I could ask the same thing of you,” he said.

“You care for her,” Alistair went on when Zevran didn’t reply, only sitting back down in his chair and taking a mouthful of wine. “Let’s say I do go after her and apologise for being an idiot just now. What will you do?”

“Do you remember on that fateful day I tried to kill the two of you, I told her I would be her man without reservation?” the assassin asked, putting his feet up on the table again.

“I also remember you calling her a deadly sex goddess. It’s not easy to take you seriously when you’re…” Alistair, still sitting on the floor, made a vague gesture in Zevran’s direction. “You.”

“Pretty and charming?” Zevran grinned, but held up his free hand when Alistair frowned. “I know, I know. Speaking seriously then, if you go after her…and I strongly suggest you refrain from doing so until you’ve slept off the drink you’ve been indulging in…I will go with you to ensure this apology of yours reaches her in one piece.”

“All right, and assuming I’d even agree to have you along…what then?”

“That would depend entirely upon her, my friend. Where she and I are concerned, it always has.”

**

Alistair looked up when the door opened, admitting Galahan and Zevran. The hunter carried an armful of folded clothes to the table and set them down.

“Try these on, lethallin. You should at least be wearing something clean.”

“How did she look?” Alistair asked Zevran as he began unbuckling pieces of splint mail and putting them down on Galahan and Sindel’s bed.

“A hundred painters could have tried to capture her likeness and succeed only at producing a mere shadow of her beauty,” the Antivan replied extravagantly. “She is truly a marvel in that dress. I warn you, the very sight of her wrapped in the silks you chose may wipe all thought clean from your head.”

“Not helping.” Alistair gulped a deep breath of air. “Urgh. I think I’m going to be sick…”

“That is perfectly reasonable, my friend,” Zevran said, grinning. “Just don’t vomit all over the shoes Leliana gave her. She would likely kill you for such a transgression.”

“Which ‘she’?”

Galahan interrupted. “You will be fine, Alistair. Just say to her what you came to say. You owe her that much.”

Alistair nodded and pulled on the clean tunic. The leather pouch went beneath it, hanging from his neck by the chain the whole amulet had once decorated.

He and Zevran exchanged a long look, then they shook hands.

“Good luck,” Alistair said, a little awkwardly.

Zevran inclined his head. “And to you, ser.”

[nos_astra]

Maker, how he regretted that day. Not for hating Loghain or wanting the bastard dead, but for how he'd kept trying to pressure Asleena into allowing the execution.
Oh yes. Exactly!

What is a bit too much for me (but I love the darkest takes on the ending) is this: See, Alistair, one Grey Warden has to die (or take one for the team with Morrigan) so Asleena made the totally right choice without even knowing why! She is THAT awesome. People do argument like that but it's so unfair. He did feel betrayed and all alone and this can't be undone by the fact that it turned out well for everyone else. When Alistair says he should have backed down (he should), so could have Asleena, that's why they say it's a mutual betrayal.

Of course it's hard for Asleena to see it that way because she soon learned that her choice had some advantages and the Blight still ended. This story is from Asleena's and Zevran's POV so it makes sense that they don't dwell a lot on things that became a non-issue when Loghain killed the AD.

Sorry, rambling.

Oh, and I'm happy that Galahan and Sindel are back.

Modifié par klarabella, 29 mai 2010 - 10:34 .

[Wicked_Loki]

Ah, Zevran. I think I'm in your corner wholeheartedly here.

[Minaleth]

Either way this is gonna end it will be sad ... or weird. I prefer sad.

BTW someone at ff.net suggested alternate endings. I say hell no, just tell us your story how it was meant to be.

[Suemoo]

Wow...I am so totally torn right now. I never thought I'd be even considering Zevran over Alistair. I will feel bad for whoever loses this honourable contest (or perhaps not so honourable we shall see how desperate they get)

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

I haven't played DA in quite awhile, it is your story that keeps bringing me back to check the forums. Thank you Shadow. I'm on the edge of my seat.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Sorry this part has taken so long. I was actually procrastinating a great deal due to expectations...I might have to avoid reading FF.Net reviews until the story is finished, since I know I won't be able to please everyone. XD I anticipate that there will be one final chapter after this one. Time to wrap this baby up.

klarabella - Thanks. One of the hard things about this story is that characters have been able to talk/think about Alistair, but he's never been able to defend or explain himself from his own POV. I wanted to try and do that.

Minaleth - I did ponder alternate endings for a while, even though I don't really like the idea. >.< I do intend something else, though...which I'll mention when the story is finished.

Thanks all for reading.

-----

Part 43 - Silk and Leather

“You don’t mind if I leave early?” Asleena asked, embracing her brother.

“I don’t, but I can’t speak for our guests,” Fergus replied. When she pulled away he was grinning, but also looking oddly worried at the same time. She quirked a brow at him.

“I’m sure they’ll behave. Or would you rather I stay up a bit longer?”

He chuckled. “No, don’t mind me. Just…have a better night tonight, you hear?”

She smiled as he hugged her again. “I will. Thanks.”

She left the main hall, returning a few farewell words and suffering her hand to be kissed at least three times before emerging into the cooler air of the night. A pair of guards by the torch-lit door nodded to her and she bade them good evening, but not by name. It would be a while before she was familiar enough with all the new faces for that.

“Commander?”

Xai had just come out of the hall behind her. Like the Orlesian Wardens he had attended the gathering under arms, but he wore a dark blue robe over his customary grey leathers.

“Do you mind if I accompany you as far as my quarters?” he asked. The former assassin had a guest suite downstairs from the family residence, not far past the atrium.

“If you wish,” Asleena said. “I’m surprised you’re leaving so soon, though.”

“The subject of conversation looks set to circulate around your person for the next hour or so,” Xai said dryly as they began walking. “Whom amongst the chevaliers the Lady Cousland favoured most, and so forth. I could always settle their dispute by giving them an answer straight from your lips, Commander.”

“I didn’t ‘favour’ any of them,” she replied with a slight smirk.

“I suppose they will entertain themselves by debating otherwise for a good portion of the evening, then.”

“You could have stayed and spoken with the Wardens instead.”

“I did not feel so inclined. I am sure I will find something else to occupy my interest for the rest of the evening.”

She arched an inquisitive brow and he smiled.

“There is always something going on at night in a place as large as this, Commander. There are many new faces about.”

They parted company at the door of Xai’s room and Asleena went upstairs alone, removing her shoes when she reached the carpeted hallway and sinking her feet into the thick material with a sigh. Ferelden boots may not be the most attractive of footwear, but they were definitely comfortable.

There was a sudden clamour of canine barking mixed with the sound of Sindel’s voice when she reached the wide passage that branched into various family bedchambers. Sindel was attempting to herd Ferrix into Asleena’s room, but the mabari was in a state of excitement and proving uncooperative. He kept trying to get past her to Fergus’ old room, but the door was shut.

“Asleena!” Sindel said in relief, spying her. “Can you please control him? He won’t listen to me.”

Asleena called Ferrix over and told him to quiet, which he obeyed, but his huge body continued to tremble and his tongue hung out as he panted loudly. “He must be bored,” she said. “I should have left him in my room tonight, but he’d been in there all day. Sorry.”

“It’s no trouble.” The elven woman smiled. “Did you have a nice time with the Orlesians?”

“I think so.” Asleena shrugged a nod, patting Ferrix on the head. “It was good to have my mind taken off things. Maybe tomorrow I’ll manage to get up at a decent hour and do something more productive than mope—like teach you how to handle a sword.”

“It would be too much bother, Asleena,” Sindel said. “I know I mentioned it in passing, but I’m a mage. A staff is too valuable as a focus to substitute for any other weapons, even if I did become proficient in…where are you going?”

Asleena opened the door to her room, snapped her fingers to send Ferrix to his blankets, put her shoes down then returned to the hall with a bow in one hand and a sword in the other, the latter of which vibrated unceasingly in her grip.

“This is Spellweaver,” she said, passing the sheathed blade over. “It’s a piece of elven history I picked up during the Blight, forged by your people. I also learned some techniques you might be interested in, an art your mages used long ago to channel their magic into martial skill. I only know the theory of how it works, but if you’re willing—“

“Yes.” Sindel nodded fervently, both hands gripping the sword. “I…Asleena, this is a fine gift. My people travel for all our years seeking the lost lore of our race, and you have found…you would give…” She looked almost overcome. “And I could teach what you pass on to others? I could return the knowledge to my people?”

“So long as I prove to be a good teacher, and you an apt student,” Asleena said with a smile. “I don’t see why not.” She gestured with the longbow she still held. “I wanted to give this to Galahan. Is he in?”

“No!” Sindel said suddenly, eyes wide, but then, “I mean, yes! I mean…he’s…waiting for me,” she finished lamely and going bright red. “I was going to get something from the kitchens for us to share, but then Ferrix started up and…”

“It’s all right,” Asleena replied, unsuccessfully fighting a grin. “You can pass this on to him for me. It’s called Falon’Din’s Reach. I figured since Falon’Din was Dirthamen’s brother, it would be appropriate to give this to him.”

“I think he will appreciate it very much,” Sindel said gravely. “Ma serannas, from both of us.” She cleared her throat and glanced back at her door. “He’s…probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

“Don’t keep him waiting then. Good night.”

Asleena closed her own door, feeling a satisfied little glow at what she’d achieved. Maybe things would get better if she tried a bit harder. Now if she could only figure out what to give Xai…she’d asked him about his life before the Crows on the way from Denerim to Highever and he’d spoken of working with his family in a troupe of entertainers, before they’d been sold on the slavers’ block to pay for debts. They were supposed to have been kept together and resold as a group to preserve the value of their main act, but the Crows had singled Xai out and no one denied Antiva’s most powerful guild of assassins.

“I could dance,” Xai had said, “and I could act. My father always said I had ‘stage presence’.”

“You have nothing to remember your family by?”

“Neither the slavers nor the Crows allowed memorabilia. We had little of value anyway, Commander. As I recall, the thing I prized most as a child was nothing more than a stage prop, a pair of large metal fans I used in my favourite dance routine. Hardly valuable.”

“The sentiment is valuable.”

To which he had chuckled. “I am no longer that child, Commander. I dance with swords now, not toys.”

Maybe, maybe not. Morrigan had still loved that mirror. Zevran had still taken to those gloves. Alistair—

She paused, frowning to herself as her blood tingled.

She wasn’t used to being in close proximity to large numbers of Grey Wardens, and had discovered it was more difficult to discern individuals than she’d previously believed. Since Zaria’s group at Starkhaven, Pierre’s at Denerim and tonight’s festivities, she’d become more certain that one didn’t detect specific people so much as how strongly the taint flowed in them. A brand new recruit, for instance, could easily be separated from a Senior Warden, and perhaps you could deduce who they were through an educated guess, but you didn’t know who they were unless you saw them.

Asleena could sense a single Warden presence nearby: Galahan was the logical choice. Sindel was a fading tingle as she headed deeper into Highever, and there was a strong blur further out, where the Orlesians were. Drawing nearer to her own position were two more Wardens…one very young, the other…

…disturbingly familiar.

It couldn’t be Alistair, even if it felt like him. A couple of Orlesians had gotten lost, or maybe someone else was with them and showing them around…or something…

She didn’t jump when the knock came at her door. But she didn’t go to open it straight away either, and she didn’t call out to ask who it was. Ferrix got up, though. He trotted to the door and stuck his nose in the gap near the floor, where he snuffled for the visitor’s scent. His tail was wagging madly.

“Just answer it,” she muttered, and nudged the mabari aside with a bare foot so she could pull the door open.

Alistair was on the other side. Alone. In clothes that looked of fine weave, if a little tight across his broad shoulders. Ferrix sniffed happily at his boots, then galloped off down the corridor. Neither Warden looked to see where he went.

“Wow,” Alistair managed, staring at her. “He wasn’t joking.”

“Who?” Asleena replied, completely at a loss. “What?”

“You look…I just…I don’t know how I walked away from this.” He gazed at her for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her, then abruptly looked down at the floor.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, quietly demanding, when the silence drew out. “You said you wanted nothing more to do with Ferelden or any of us who lived here. You made it…very clear…what you think of us. And of me.”

Alistair met her eyes again, and there was shame in his face. “What I said to you at Starkhaven about the demon…that wasn’t fair. I should have let you explain. I know you would never do…” He sighed. “…what I basically accused you of doing. I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“How do you know I didn’t do what you said?” Asleena replied, her conscience stinging. “How do you know I didn’t…kill any of the villagers? Or slay the host when there might have been other options?”

“Zevran told me everything.”

She stared at him. “Zevran? Is he here too?”

Alistair nodded, averting his gaze once more. There was a subtle shift in his position, as though he was withdrawing slightly. “He’s in Highever. He was the one who convinced me to come after you. Funny story, really,” the former Templar went on, adopting the almost-joking tone she remembered so dearly. “He tricked me into metaphorically punching myself in the face.”

“He…he what?”

Alistair grinned a bit, stealing a glance at her face, then went serious again. “Look…I know he’s been a good friend to you. He’s been at your side when I wasn’t, so I’ll understand if…well, I’ll understand. I just came back to talk, not to sweep you into my arms and take you back or anything.”

“I see,” she said, a shade coldly to cover the sudden stab of hurt. “You came back to talk, then give your blessing so I can move on to another man.”

“No no no, that’s not it!” Alistair blurted hastily. “Argh, this felt so much easier when I was working it out in my head. You know how I am!”

She glared a second longer before her expression softened. “Yes…I know how you are.”

“I just meant I know I have no right to come back here expecting anything of you,” he said, his earnest expression willing her to understand. “I should have stayed with you to the end, but I left, and then I drove you away when you came after me. Tell me to leave, fine, tell me you don’t love me anymore and I’ll go. I won’t make a scene.”

“About the Landsmeet,” she said slowly, watching his face as it turned apprehensive. “If we’re giving each other apologies, then I’m sorry for how that turned out. I hated…I really hated going against you like I did, in front of everyone, and can only imagine how betrayed you felt. I hated hurting you.”

His stance relaxed slightly and he shook his head. “I should have handled that better than I did. Asleena…I can’t say I’m sorry for hating Loghain. I probably will for a long time after everything that’s happened. But I shouldn’t have tried forcing you to kill him like I did. I know that was uncalled for. We could have asked for a recess to discuss it, right?”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” she whispered. “I was in charge. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Maybe you were too busy being yelled at?” Alistair suggested with a wry smile. He glanced aside. “I didn’t know then why Grey Wardens were necessary for killing the archdemon,” he went on, more quietly, then shrugged. “Even now I don’t know if that knowledge would have changed how I acted. I can’t forgive what Loghain did. It felt like he took…everything from me. Even you, in the end…and then I was alone for so long.”

“I’m sorry…”

He nodded. “Me too.”

They stood there in silence, she still on the threshold of her room, he in the empty corridor beyond.

“Zevran…cares for you, you know,” Alistair said, his manner as though he was dipping toes into potentially scalding water. “He doesn’t let on, but when he talked me into putting things right with you he was very…emphatic.”

“I care for him too,” Asleena replied honestly, if quietly. “He’s been a very good friend during times I needed one. He didn’t have to come with me to the Free Marches, and he didn’t have to talk you into…”

Alistair nodded when she trailed off, but didn’t speak. It was…strange, looking at his attentive expression. Something in it almost reminded her of Zevran at that moment. Asking for nothing…expecting nothing…perhaps even believing he deserved nothing.

Recognising that…hurt.

“But I love you,” Asleena told Alistair, forcing herself to continue. “Zev knows this. He always did. I don’t think you’d even be here otherwise.

“I want to try and work things out with you, Alistair. If you think we can. We…seem to be doing all right so far,” she finished with a hopeful smile.

“We do, don’t we?” he agreed, like he was just coming to the same realisation.

“We could keep talking...sitting down.” She tilted her head backwards.

“In your room?” Alistair’s ears went pink. “I don’t…I mean, I’ve never been in a lady’s bedroom before. Are you sure? You don’t need a chaperone, or something?”

Asleena felt a smile tug her lips. Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she pulled him gently across the threshold.

“I’m sure.”

**

Unseen by either Warden, Zevran stood perfectly still in a shadow down the hall. One hand rested on Ferrix’s collar to keep the mabari from returning to his mistress, but the animal sat quietly by his side and almost as motionless. The elf waited, watching as Asleena led Alistair into her bedchamber. He heard the door close behind them.

An ever-ready treat slipped into the assassin’s hand, offered to the warhound. “Good dog,” he murmured. “Try not to disturb them.”

Ferrix wagged his tail a couple of times before padding quietly up the hall. He stopped outside Asleena’s door then lay down, his head lowered to his outstretched forepaws.

Zevran headed in a different direction, eventually pushing through a door to step outside. He walked beyond the pool of torchlight to the ramparts, glancing up and around as he did. A brisk wind was blowing from the north off the Waking Sea, and the night sky was very clear. Seeing no one about, he crossed his arms atop a stone merlon to wait and gazed into the black streets of Highever stretching away below.

After a moment he reached beneath his leathers to the inside of his shirt, pulling out the earring and letting it slip into the hollow of his palm. Shielded from the fire of the torches, moon- and starlight alone glinted off the circle of gold and facetted jewels.

“Long way down,” the voice of Xai Merras noted softly.

The grey-clad master assassin had appeared seemingly without noise, his passage aided by the sounds the wind made as it whistled through gaps in the stone walls. He stood close enough to Zevran that either man could potentially strike and hit with a drawn blade, but not so close that they were right next to each other.

Xai glanced over the edge.

“The first one, you let die,” he mused. “The second one, you let go. No need to look at me like that, Arainai. Your behaviour in Markham alone made it obvious. You could have tried fleeing the city, but instead you put your life in Asleena’s hands…just as Rinna’s was once in yours.”

The fingers of Zevran’s right hand twitched, a movement he covered by closing them over the earring. He didn’t like hearing the name of either woman from Xai’s mouth. Come to think of it, he didn’t like hearing anything from Xai’s mouth.

“Yet no matter how much you have changed from that arrogant, self-absorbed assassin,” the Warden recruit continued, “you still end up with nothing to show for it.”

This time Zevran’s lips quirked. He chuckled softly. “Compared to what, Xai Merras? To you?”

The other man smiled. “I am a Grey Warden; you are a renegade Crow with his wings clipped. Those who see me in the streets will think me a warrior of legend; you remain a fugitive elf of dubious character, without even an Alienage to call his home. I have brothers, sisters, a family; you have…no one.

“You are still nothing, Zevran.”

Zevran traced a silent finger along the embroidery on the back of one of his Dalish gloves, but didn’t reply.

“Who would miss you?” Xai asked as he looked thoughtfully at the darkened rooftops and streets beneath them.

“Still playing your little game, and still thinking like a Crow…Master Xai,” Zevran said, using the honorific the man no longer had a right to. “Allow me to save you some time. I came up here to wait for some friends to join me, not to throw myself from the battlements in a dramatic suicide bid.”

“Friends?” Xai echoed, amusement tinging his voice. “Tell me, Zevran...do these ‘friends’ know you as I do?”

“You do not know me, Xai Merras, and neither do the Crows. It may take some time for you to get used to,” he went on in a more conversational tone, even smiling a little, “but your new family, as you call it, calculates a person’s worth quite differently than the guild does.”

A dark shape swooped out of the night, feathered wings cuffing Xai across the back of the head even as the assassin ducked. He had one sword out and a hand on the other’s hilt when the hawk reached the rooftop above the torch-flanked door and perched there, pinions half-furled, fierce eyes reflecting fire and a threatening hiss issuing from the curved beak.

Zevran caught the flicker of surprise and confusion in Xai’s face. Highever boasted no mews, and even if it had there was still the fact that hawks were not typically flown at night—let alone within the grounds of a castle.

The hawk dropped from its position in a smooth swoop, coming up again halfway between door and assassins and making the transition from bird to elven woman so seamlessly that Dalish robes and black hair still flared in the wind, winglike, before settling.

“Sister,” Xai said, managing to keep astonishment from his voice.

Sindel’s glare was eloquent. “You have a distorted view of family, shemlen. It will take more than shared blood for me to regard you as kin.” Her gaze shifted briefly to his drawn sword, then she turned her back on him and strode to the door.

“You sealed it?” Zevran murmured when Sindel didn’t open the portal straight away, but bent her attention to something jarring it closed.

Xai sheathed his blade and shrugged. “I prefer not to be interrupted when I’m enjoying myself. Nothing personal.”

Galahan came through a moment later, bow unshouldered. His eyes fixed on the assassins as Sindel spoke to him, her words lost beneath the wind, then the two Dalish approached.

“And this is where I take my leave,” Xai murmured, watching the hunter with something close to caution. He strode for the door, and Zevran couldn’t hear if he made any sort of reply when Galahan nodded and said, “Brother,” as they passed one another.

“Are you all right?” Sindel asked Zevran when she and Galahan reached him.

“Indeed I am. Your arrival was most timely, my dear.”

“And…the other thing?” she asked, more gently.

Zevran shrugged. His instincts wanted him to come up with some distracting comment or joke, but he didn’t have the heart to think of one and the Dalish hadn’t come here to deal with evasive manoeuvres. Meeting here had been Galahan’s idea so that, hopefully, no one would have to endure the night on his own.

“I knew it was what she wanted,” the assassin said finally, feeling the earring that was nestled in his hand, unclaimed…still free. “It is done.”

It did not exactly answer the former Keeper’s question, but she did not push for a more specific response and simply gave a quiet nod.

“What of tomorrow?” Galahan asked then. “Do you still wish to go ahead with that plan of yours? Do you still want our help?”

Zevran thought for a moment, glancing up at the stars, then smiled. “Yes…that is, if you are still willing?” They both nodded, drawing closer to better hear him over the wind. “Very well, then. First of all, one of you will need to deliver a message to Asleena, preferably while it is still daylight.

“If she is willing to tear herself away from Alistair for an hour or two, tell her…I still wish to give her a gift.” With a flick of his fingers, he spun the earring free with a soft shing and caught it, then tucked it back beneath his armour.

His smile widened to a grin. “And tell her I would be most pleased if she would do me the honour of wearing leather.”

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

Ahhh, I'm sad for Zev, but happy for Asleena... so torn.

[viento2]

You`re a wonderful writer, Shadow. This chapter made me cry in the end. I´m really sorry for Zevran. He deserves Asleena even more than Alistair!

[Emma-Lath]

It been quite since I read your story (too lazy to fix my broken laptop) and I ended up blowing thru 13 straight chapters today and I have to say I LOVE this story! I really like the bittersweet direction you took with Zevran. Any way brilliant job shadow.

[Jules8445]

What a read...seriously. I've been with you the whole way and as rabid an Alistair fangirl I am...I was seriously cheering for Zev. I can't wait to see what the conclusion brings...and I truly truly hope that you plan to write more when you've finished this. I'm not counting out Zev's chances yet...I just can't let go of that tiny string of hope.

[Wicked_Loki]

Well, as much as I can say I was in Zev's corner, the way it all played out felt right. Well done.

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

Well, If Asleena is going to let such a loyal man go, Zev can come home with me :-)

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Oi! No stealing my elf!



Besides, it's my birthday in a couple of days, so I need him to jump out of a large novelty cake and pose in a seductive fashion.



As such, final chapter may be slightly delayed due to the author being...distracted.

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

Well okay, since it's your birthday and all (happy b-day by the way)

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Epilogue - Here I Am

There was no fanfare.

The Chant of Light did not echo from the four corners of Thedas, nor did the Black City suddenly sparkle with gold again.

Sometimes things ended with an explosion of light and the cheers of armies…sometimes they finished peacefully, quietly, with only a few knowing or appreciating that even though the fate of the world had not hung in the balance, hearts had still been weighed and sacrifices made.

Fate had no care for what people deserved. If she did, then good men would not become wandering vagabonds, and murderers would not become heroes.

Asleena lay in the curve of Alistair’s body, wakeful but not restless as the light which preceded dawn touched the windows and walls of Highever. She toyed idly with one of her lover’s large callused hands while her mind continued to wander the myriad paths of the future.

They had already identified difficulties to overcome. It would take time before he felt comfortable calling himself a Grey Warden again, or even Ferelden, for he was understandably worried he’d be scorned after leaving on the brink of war and pressing for the execution of a man who was now, no matter what he might have deserved, a legend. Asleena had influence, but she couldn’t stop people from whispering. She had agreed to Alistair’s point, if reluctantly, that one day it might mean leaving Ferelden. Even if he did show he could bear up against slurs and derision, would it be fair to expect him to just so she could stay in her homeland?

Loghain would be remembered for his final sacrifice, his heroic deeds eclipsing the evil he’d done, but Alistair bore the brand of a pariah even though he’d been with Asleena since Ostagar and done nothing much worse than speak in anger and walk away…

His hand closed around hers suddenly, fingers lacing together. She’d thought he was still asleep.

“Something on your mind?” he asked quietly, his breath warm against her neck.

“Just wondering what would happen if we all got the futures we deserved.” She chuckled. “Silly though…none of us would be here if that sort of thing happened. My parents would still be alive, you’d have been raised by your father as a prince. Zev never would have lost his mother or grown up where he did…”

Alistair’s other arm was already wrapped around her, but his embrace drew her a reassuring fraction closer. “You’re worried about him.”

She sighed, grateful he hadn’t taken exception to her mentioning the Antivan while they were in bed together, and nodded. “Yes. I’m worried this…” her fingers curled more tightly with his, “…means he’ll leave. I’d understand. I would. But…” She swallowed against the hitch in her voice and turned her head, trying and see Alistair’s face in the gloom. “Did he say anything? About his intentions?”

“Not for the future. I got the feeling he meant to leave that up to you.”

“I just wish I could give him…something.”

“Should I be worried?” he asked teasingly, smiling, and she couldn’t resist the sudden impulse to squirm around and take those curving lips with her own.

“No,” she whispered at length, running her fingers down his neck and across one muscled shoulder. She paused when her eyes found the slender chain of his necklace, regarding it thoughtfully for a second before following it to the leather pouch. “What’s this?”

“My…mother’s amulet. There was a little…accident.”

“What happened?”

“I sort of broke it.” Alistair cleared his throat and mumbled: “Metaphorically.”

She gave him a very long look. “You’ve been doing a few things ‘metaphorically’ recently.”

“Well, you know, I’ve been away for a while…I’ve probably picked up all sorts of bad habits. Not changing my socks regularly. Eating my breakfast straight out of the bowl without using a spoon. Walking around camp without pants on.”

“Really?” She raised a brow and he grinned.

“Maayyyyybe. There wasn’t anyone else around to tell me not to…”

“I never would have told you not to.”

“That’s because you, my love, are biased,” he said, claiming another kiss.

She rolled the pouch in one hand. “Do you want my help putting it together again?”

He nodded and said, more seriously than she’d expected: “Yes. If you don’t mind, that is.”

There was a short silence as he gathered her closer and she nestled her head against his chest, enjoying the simple warmth of being held and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. “If Zevran did happen to stay in Highever…would you mind? Would it make you uncomfortable?”

“You’re asking me?” he replied with a little surprise.

“I think it’s…fair to ask you.” She tried to burrow closer. “I should get used to it, seeking your opinion first before I just decide things that might affect you.”

He was quiet for a moment, smoothing her dark hair with one hand. “Thank you,” he said at last. “And no, I wouldn’t mind. I know he’s your friend, and I think we sort of bonded on the way back to Ferelden. You know, as men do.”

Asleena’s Zevran-influenced imagination presented her with several possible scenarios. “Bonded?” she managed, weakly.

“Sure. We were completely alone for all that time, after all, no company but each other. Only natural.”

“Only natural…that you’d bond?”

“I know we couldn’t exactly go fishing, or go cheer a backstreet game of foot-and-ball out in the middle of nowhere, but he did teach me how to ride.” He paused. “Why are you giggling?”

“No reason.” She grinned to herself. “So…what else did the two men get up to while bonding?”

“He gave me a tattoo.” Alistair smirked when she pulled back to gape at him. “On my back. Of a nug wearing a bow.”

Asleena gave him a dangerous smile. “You, ser, are lying to me.”

“Only about the nug part.”

“Roll over!” she ordered, determined to see exactly how much damage Zevran had inked into Alistair’s skin, but when he did as she bade it was to pin her beneath him. “Alistair!”

“Ye-esss?” he teased, brushing his lips against her neck, then lower as she squirmed ineffectually.

“You’ll have to show me eventually!”

His face returned into view, eyes watching her miniscule reactions as he released one of her wrists to glide knowing fingers up her arm to the shoulder, down her side and back up over her body, leaving a shiver of longing in its wake.

“Eventually?” he queried in a husky voice.

“Eventually,” she repeated, her voice also going softer beneath his familiar gaze and warm weight. Her freed hand reached for him. “But not…just…yet…”

**

A brisk walk southeast from Highever’s gates landed one on the edge of the Bannorn. There was a tree there. It wasn’t a particularly significant tree, nor that interesting to look at, but it provided a nice spot of shade from the noon sun for the blond Antivan lounging amidst its roots.

Zevran cut a wedge of apple with his dagger and glanced up at an overhanging bough, lifting the morsel towards the dark-feathered hawk perched there.

“Hungry? No?” He grinned and slipped the piece of fruit into his mouth, savouring the tart juice and the crunch as his teeth bit down. “It occurs to me,” he said after swallowing, “I have never seen your other form. Did you know there is a delightfully naughty song about men who hunt black hares?”

The hawk’s head tilted to one side. Birds couldn’t do facial expressions very well, but some gestures were universal. Her wings spread and she flapped down to earth, then changed when she touched ground. The hare that took the hawk’s place was similarly coloured, not quite black but with shadings of deep, luxuriant brown on her fur. She stood up on her hind legs, nose twitching in Zevran’s direction.

He cut another slice of apple and held it out, mindful of the blade. "I seem to recall complimenting your ears once before and being told not to look at them,” he remarked as she took the piece of fruit between two delicate forepaws and munched at it. “Alas, it is a bit hard to ignore such finely furred appendages when they are displayed so proudly. Do forgive me.”

Sindel ignored him.

Zevran watched her idly. There was something about small fuzzy animals that made most people do strange things, like speak two octaves higher than normal and devolve their vocabularies to nonsensical syllables. Zevran had never thought himself one of ‘them’, but admitted he was a little tempted to reach out and stroke those long ears. He restrained himself on the basis that he wasn’t really looking at an animal, and it—she was married to a man with very good aim.

He’d never admit it to anyone, and it was shocking enough that he could admit it to himself, but he envied them.

He envied all of them, to be both free and willingly bound, vulnerable to the other yet strengthened by them. Once he had not understood these concepts properly…they had frightened him. Now…

“Zevran?” a familiar female voice called from some distance off.

Coming back to himself, he tossed the half-eaten apple atop the small pile by the tree and got up, dusting off the backside of his armour and running a careful hand over his hair. A quick glance for Sindel revealed nothing—she had taken Asleena’s voice as her cue to fetch his gift from where Galahan waited.

Zevran stepped out from behind the tree, catching Asleena’s attention from across the field. “Here I am!”

“You gave him a tattoo!” Asleena shouted back in mock indignation, starting towards him.

Zevran cupped his hands to his mouth, grinning. “It was his idea! Are you telling me you didn’t like it?”

“Frankly, I’m impressed it wasn’t a little more risqué with you holding the needle.”

“Believe me, my dear, I suggested a few designs that would have been sure to bring a blush to your cheeks, but Alistair was quite adamant about what he wanted. Did all my hard work not meet with your approval? I may cry.”

She lowered her head as she shook it, not quite hiding her smile as she closed the remaining distance between them so she wouldn’t have to yell her answer. “It looked great, Zev. I had no idea you were such an artist.”

Alistair had requested a rose in bloom across one shoulder blade, complete with stem and thorns. Despite the ex-Templar’s recalcitrance to give a serious explanation for his choice, Zevran had easily guessed the reasons behind the slightly gushy sentiment.

The only thing he couldn’t figure out was which of the two of them was the more hopeless man—Alistair for permanently marking himself for a woman who might not have taken him back, or Zevran for taking such pains perfecting the details of the design in case she would.

“That? A trifle,” he said airily, downplaying his pleasure at the praise. “Maybe next time it will be something larger, more striking. Or perhaps something for yourself? You mentioned a desire for ink of your own, no?”

“Does this mean you’re staying in Highever?” she asked, a little carefully, as though scared of putting a foot wrong all of a sudden.

Zevran had thought about this a great deal the previous night, even spoken of it a little with Galahan and Sindel, weighing up both what he wanted from the situation and what would be wise. He had come to the conclusion that he did not wish to leave…not immediately, at least. The number of people he truly trusted in life, and who trusted him, were few…and currently they all lived right here. The thought of leaving brought him no pleasure, and knowing a sudden departure would wound the woman standing before him made the very concept undesirable.

He had no illusions that seeing her with Alistair again might be difficult, but he could endure it for a time. He was not ready to go just yet, he did not even know where he wanted to fly, but he was confident he would figure it out and much preferred to remain in good company while doing so.

“If I would be welcomed, I would be pleased to stay,” he said aloud. Deciding to voice practical reasons rather than personal, he added, “The Crows will eventually come after me, however. I may put people at risk by remaining.”

“You’re not the only one the Crows are after, Zev,” she reminded him. “We could look out for each other, just like before. And yes…” She smiled. “You would be very welcome.”

Seeing the elven form of Sindel appear in the distance behind Asleena with his gift, Zevran smiled and said, “Close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise.”

The Warden lifted a brow but did as requested. “You don’t have to give me anything, you know. You already have.”

“We had this discussion once before, no? I wish to give you something—a token of friendship. Indulge me.”

“So…how long do I keep my eyes shut?”

“Patience! Let us talk a bit first.” He allowed himself a broad smirk, projecting it into his voice as he asked, “Did Alistair happen to use any of the highly pleasurable techniques I told him of when he was making up with you?”

Her eyes flashed wide open. “You—“

“Closed!” he admonished cheerfully.

They shut tight. “—talked about sex with Alistair?”

“My dear, I talk about sex with everyone.”

“You talked about sex with me with Alistair?”

“Is this a bad thing? You deserve all the fun he can give you, no?”

She blushed a fascinating shade of pink. “He does very well without advice, thank you!”

“But he could do better,” Zevran pointed out slyly. “If you think your time with him is enjoyable now, just imagine…”

“Maker’s breath…Wait.” Even with her eyes closed, her expression became dangerous. “Did he talk about it?”

The Antivan laughed. “Fear not, Asleena. I took pity on him after my first few attempts to discuss such topics, as he kept falling off his horse. Something to do with his fingers being in his ears and singing at the top of his lungs, I imagine.”

“Well, good. I mean…not that he fell off his horse.” She sighed then and looked regretful. “I had to leave ours in Ostwick, you know. The captain of our ship wouldn’t transport them.”

“They were serviceable enough animals, I suppose,” Zevran said in a deliberately offhand tone. He gestured at the approaching Sindel to stop a short distance away, then he picked up two apples.

“Well, yes,” Asleena was agreeing, “but I don’t care how good the horses themselves were. Just riding. Of all the time we spent in the Free Marches together, that was the most fun.” Now she was smiling, still with her eyes closed. “I’ll miss that.”

Zevran was glad she couldn’t see his grin. “Turn around, my Grey Warden,” he instructed, “then hold out your hand, palm up.”

She did so, and he placed an apple in her grasp. “Is this it?” she asked as her gloved fingers closed around the fruit.

“Remain as you are,” he said, backing away to where Sindel waited. The Dalish elf smiled at him when she passed her charges over and moved swiftly away before disappearing into the grass.

“Now,” Zevran said to Asleena, “you may look.”

She did so—first at the apple in her hand, and her perplexed expression almost made him laugh. But then her eyes turned to him for an explanation and widened when she saw the horses.

“This magnificent creature,” Zevran said, indicating the larger dappled grey stallion, “is an Orlesian charger with bloodlines as grand as any purebred mabari—or so his previous owner claimed. He is a warhorse, Asleena, and if you wish I can teach you some of the commands he responds to so you may ride into battle, churning darkspawn to pulp beneath his hooves and your sword both.” He grinned and held the reins to her. “Or we can simply begin by riding, if you miss it so.”

“Blessed Andraste,” she whispered, fixating on the animal as he arched his proud head to eat the apple from her hand. “Zev, he’s gorgeous. Thank you.” She glanced over at him with a wide smile. “So this is why you asked me to wear leather?”

“In part,” Zevran admitted. He climbed into the saddle of his own horse, one of the animals he’d picked up in Starkhaven. “Shall we?”

“Wait, I had something for you too.” She put a hand to the back of her neck and undid the clasp of her necklace, the one she’d picked up in the Gauntlet that protected Andraste’s Ashes. Zevran had seen her toy with it on several occasions, or simply gazing at it. He’d never been able to fathom why. Whenever he’d gotten a good look at it he’d only seen an amulet with a curiously archaic religious symbol upon the face.

“A Chantry amulet?” he said when she reached up to pass it to him. “How…nice.”

“It’s more than that,” she said. “I’m not giving it to you, though…it’s more what I hope it will show you.

“I got it from the…the ghost of my father, I suppose. At the beginning of the Gauntlet there was a Guardian who asked each of us, me, Alistair, Leliana and Wynne, personal questions about ourselves. For Alistair it was if he regretted not being on the field at Ostagar to take the blow that killed Duncan. For me it was if I believed I’d failed my parents for leaving them to the mercy of Howe’s soldiers. I told him yes.”

Zevran shook his head impatiently, very glad all of a sudden that he had been left in camp for that part of the adventure. “It is pointless to—“

“I know,” she interrupted. “Now. Back then I was still beating myself up about it. Anyway, later in the Gauntlet, an apparition of Father appeared and gave me that amulet. He said he loved me and he forgave me and I had to move on past my regrets.”

“Good advice, Asleena. Self-flagellation is a waste of energy.”

She nodded. “So I was thinking. Do you remember one of the nights in the Wildervale we spoke of seeking forgiveness? And you said you would never be able to?”

“I…yes. I do.”

“I know the past can’t be changed,” she said. “And I know you want to move forward. I’m hoping the reflection in the amulet’s reverse might help.”

“You have already done much to help, my friend,” he said, meaning it, but he glanced down at the amulet anyway. He could humour her. How bad could it be? A magic trick that’d show him something motivational or encouraging, no doubt.

He flipped it over with his thumb, and speech deserted him.

Asleena was busying herself settling into the saddle of her new horse, keeping a tactful silence as Zevran recovered. He turned the amulet over again, twice, blinked until the landscape around him was no longer so blurred, and breathed deeply.

“Is it real?” he asked finally, edging his horse nearer to hers and returning the necklace.

She fastened it around her neck again, tucking it into her vest, shrugging a little as she met his eyes. “I believe it’s real.”

“Then that is enough…for me to believe the same.”

Following her as she turned her charger’s head to face the Bannorn, he pondered how luck had favoured him. Free of the Crows, the chance of a new life spread out before him, a guest in the home of one of the Wardens he had been sent to assassinate, a woman who might not love him as he wished but cared for him all the same…more than he deserved, and more than anyone else ever had.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I am thinking…” Zevran pointed directly ahead of them. “I fancy riding that way. Fast and hard. I always did approve of going fast. And the harder the better, as they say.”

“As who says?” she countered, and he countered her smirk with a salacious grin.

“Everybody, in my experience.” He patted the neck of his steed and added, “I should warn you, Asleena…if you don’t manage to keep up I may have to roam further afield to find someone who can.”

“That’s fair…but you can’t give them my horse.”

“I am hoping they might accept something more personal,” Zevran said. “But…they will have a hard act to follow in order to impress me, I think.”

She smiled at him. “Well I don’t think you’ll have any trouble impressing them. Scoff all you like, but you’re a good man, Zev, and a true friend. You’ll find happiness and love, I hope.”

It was difficult to admit, harder still to answer, but he did. “I also…hope this.” He cleared his throat, called forth a grin and gestured. “But for now, here we are. Good strong horses beneath us and a very inviting stretch of grassland in front. Remember…fast.”

“What happened to hard?”

“Perhaps I should leave that part to Alistair,” the Antivan replied with a wicked smirk, and kicked his horse into a run. “But if he ever has trouble in that department,” he shouted back, “he can always come to me for more advice!”

Zevran charged ahead over the Bannorn, some part of him imagining he left the past breathing dust as he rode. When he had left Antiva he had not known what he was looking for. Death, he’d thought at the time, but that hadn’t been it. Not really. Perhaps he had found it now thanks to Asleena…or perhaps she had just given him the chance to begin a new search, unshackled by his old life.

The promise of a future beckoned, and Zevran Arainai intended to meet it.

**



Author’s Final Notes…

When I started writing The Hunt, I was an unashamed Swooper. I had not romanced Zevran all the way through. He was picked as Asleena's travelling companion (along with Ferrix, real name Phoenix after my RL pooch ) because, yes, he is the only party member who offers to stay on with you after the end of the game in the setting I used, and I wanted to run with that because I’m a stickler for consistency. Besides a vague idea for the ending of the tale I did not have much planned at all...I wrote as the inspiration came, and more and more it became a story about Zevran.

During the course of this fan fiction I have been accused by a number of people of converting them to Team Zev, or at least making them see our beloved Antivan Crow in a new light...one that is sometimes hard to notice unless you do romance him, listen to all his dialogue and try to understand his character. The more I studied and tried to write from his point of view, the more I realised I might be converting myself. At times it became pretty hard not to just say 'Screw it', and have the assassin and Warden go off to some private corner for some steamy lovin’ (which is when I went to have a nice walk or lie down...), but I always wanted to hold true to the ending I had planned, and hold true to the hearts of the characters. Alistair had Asleena all along, and much as it made me sad not to give Zev the proverbial happy ending everyone (including me) had come to wish for him, this woman was not to be his.

In the end, The Hunt was as much about Asleena's search for Alistair and reconciliation as it was about Zevran's quest for some kind of personal redemption. For him, this story was a stepping stone…and let it not be said that Zev's efforts are without reward. For those who were hoping for a *happy* happy ending for Zev, I have a sequel planned just for him. This is why you will not get any alternate endings for this particular fan fiction. Hope that’s ok.

Thank you very much for joining me on this adventure, and I hope you will consider coming along on the next one!

Shadow of Light
aka Laura Campbell


Acknowledgements

Bioware – for creating the ridiculously awesome game that is Dragon Age: Origins. Please hire me.
Bioware Social Network – for giving me a place to pimp my writing
FF.Net – for giving everyone a place to share their stories…even if formatting does screw up once in a while. >.>
The DA:O Wiki – for being a font of knowledge
Various Youtube Contributors – for when I needed to cheat and look up game scenes on the fly
Nescafe – for the estimated 172 cups of instant coffee drunk during the course of this fic. Probably more if I count the days I stared at a blank screen and went ‘…’
Thins – makers of the world’s tastiest potato chips. Original flavour ftw.
The (old) Dragon Press – first place I ever publicly posted fan fiction. I remain hooked.

Bawpie – for being my sole reviewer for the first few chapters. Thank you Hope my writing has improved since the days of Ultima.
Tarante11a –for our numerous Zev-based and encouragement-oriented PMs
Klarabella – for giving me a cool idea for aforementioned sequel… >
Lehni – for useful info on the elven language!
Hecthorn – For prompting a return to the mining village.

Also… tevikolady, Tanith Aeyrs, Drax_Lyonsbane, frostajulie, Twerq, Dennis Carpenter, MarcusDeVarro, lala_lover, Kerridan Kaiba, Kulkodar, PetrosS, AdorableAnarchist, TheMadCat, Originsmaster, Rhyanekat, tallon, Sialater, ReubenLiew, Phoenix Swordsinger, Jules, Taiyama, master-fluff, mochen, Freckles, Treason, Sisimka, Miliat, K9miles, moemie, Sandtigress, Minaleth, bloodtallow, Palentor, leeboi, Erynnar, Tausret, Tasmen, senorfuzzylips, Saerwen, Miri, Suemoo, viento, Wicked_Loki, Arassi, Firky, msaligned, Questorion, Hubaba and thepringle for your words of encouragement during the writing of this story, as well as everyone else who was following on BSN!

And on FF.Net…well, you’ve all been awesome. Ridiculously so. Thanks for all the comments and for reading! It’s been fantastic.

Teaser For The Sequel

“Hey! Hey, you! Wait!”

Zevran glanced back, keeping a hand near his belt dagger in case this was some kind of distraction. Even though he’d returned to the city as a recognised companion of the Hero of Ferelden, wandering alone in Denerim could present all sorts of wonderful opportunities for those who still wanted him dead.

The woman who’d called and was chasing after him was plainly dressed, not armed in any obvious way, and elven. She was pretty of face and brown of eye, her hair fiery red and cut short above the shoulder. Normally Zevran would have paused to admire more than a woman’s face and hair, but he realised he’d seen her before.

“You’re one of the ones who was with the Grey Wardens, aren’t you?” the woman demanded, slightly breathless after her run. “I remember seeing you in the Alienage. You went against the slavers and fought during the siege.”

“Indeed I did,” Zevran agreed, examining her more closely. “Zevran Arainai at your service. And you, I believe, are that feisty minx who was shouting at the Tevinter slavers and defending the Alienage against darkspawn. Shianni, unless I am greatly mistaken.” He gave her one of his winning smiles. “I never forget a face, especially a beautiful one such as yours.”

“People say you were an assassin,” Shianni said, completely ignoring the compliment.

“I still am, my dear,” Zevran said, cocking his head slightly and raising a brow. “Were you looking to hire one, perchance?”

She hesitated, glancing around the street and the numerous bystanders, then nodded.

“Then perhaps we should retire to more suitable surrounds for discussing business.”

“I can’t afford to pay much,” she muttered quietly. “I was hoping, we both being elves, you’d do it out of a sense of kinship.”

Zevran chuckled and took a step back, shaking his head. “My dear, how would I make my way in the world if I did favours for every elf who asked, lovely though they may be?”

“During the Blight he kidnapped several women from the Alienage, who were raped by him and his…friends,” Shianni whispered fiercely, almost spitting.

“Excuse me?”

“The man I want you to kill. He’s a rapist. The human courts don’t care…it’s only a knife-ear’s word against that of nobles, and I’m the only one left who’s willing to speak. The other women are dead since the siege or carted off to Tevinter, like my cousin.”

Zevran stared off at a distant building so he wouldn’t be forced to look at the angry light in her eyes. Growing up in a ****house and then amongst assassins had familiarised him with a great number of unsavoury appetites possessed by the races of Thedas, and experience had taught him very early in life that it was usually wise to look the other way when something was happening he found distasteful. It wasn’t an assassin’s job to ask why a mark was wanted dead, though admittedly he’d liked to believe in the past that the people he’d killed had mostly deserved their fates.

Sticking one’s neck out only led to trouble, and charity was for heroes. He was an assassin, not a crusader for the weak.

Still…the world would not miss one abusive human. And it would not hurt to have a favour to call upon if he ever needed to lay low in Denerim. Yes. A place to stay in case of an emergency would be a fair price, and then no one could say he was working gratis out of anything foolish like pity or a sense of justice.

“Who is this man you want dead?” he asked, expecting it to be some minor lordling who would prove ridiculously easy to cut the throat of and whom nobody would even care had turned up dead, including his relatives.

“The Arl of Denerim,” Shianni said, still speaking as quietly as she could, though her voice was thick with hatred. “Arl Vaughan.”

[Firky]

Congratulations on the finished product. That is one serious achievement.

(I joined you late so I'm still only 1/3 ish of the way through but I'm reading a chapter a night!)

EDIT: I should probably leave feedback shouldn't I? So far as I've got, I think that the major strength is that your Zevran both sounds like Zevran and then extends his character beyond th game. That's clever. And also, you seem to have struck a good balance between action and description.

(And I have no idea how anyone can write 125k words. I struggled with my 2 attempts and they were under 2000.)

Modifié par Firky, 13 juin 2010 - 09:23 .

[bawpie]

Just re read the teaser - the 'cousin', the would be Warden if Duncan hadn't been at Highever conscripting Asleena?  Ooooh now I am intrigued.  I always did wonder what happened to the other 'potential' recruits of the back stories...  Don't forget Soris (also another possible cousin?) ends up at Highever in the epilogue of the alienage Grey Warden...but of course, that could be all changed due to the fact that his cousin wasn't made a grey warden... Ah, I'll shut up now.

Modifié par bawpie, 13 juin 2010 - 10:10 .