351 réponses à ce sujet

[Sialater]

And here I thought she'd not trust Xai to do anything on his own...

[Jules8445]

Bah! Pesky Alistair, selling that damn armor that's such a pain in the arse to get. I hope when she finds him, she gives him a piece of her mind about that! Still following obsessively, can't wait for more!

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Thanks guys.

Part 15 - Twisting Truths

“Checking up on me, Zevran Arainai?”

“I have questions of my own, Xai Merras.”

“I expected you would.” Xai chuckled, picked up a bridle and fitted it over the head of a dark brown gelding. The animal stood patiently as straps and buckles were fastened. “You were conspicuously silent upstairs…not at all the cocky assassin I remember from Antiva City.”

Markham Keep’s stables were sizable. There were ten wooden stalls, all occupied, and Xai stood in one right near the back. Zevran stepped over the threshold, inhaling the scent of horse, leather and fresh hay. It was a marked improvement on Ferelden’s pervading odour of dog and darkspawn, and made him look forward to next stage of the journey with Asleena. Innuendo aside, he was a fine rider and it had been some time since he’d enjoyed the feel of a good saddle and a running horse beneath him.

“Where is the groom?” Zevran asked suddenly, glancing about.

“I sent him away. I prefer to do things like this myself.” Xai flashed one of those confident, amused, irritating smiles of his. “A partially cut strap in the right place and a nasty tumble is a fate I don’t want any of us to suffer.”

“That warms my heart.” Zevran walked down the straw-strewn passage that ran between the stalls, listening to the soft crinkle and crunch beneath his boots. Out of trained habit he glanced into each enclosure as he passed, noting the heaped saddlebags and blankets in many of them. “Where are the Crows?”

“Still plotting your demise, I’m sure, but not as far as riding tack is concerned.” The Warden recruit smirked briefly. “Come, Zevran, we are on the same side now! Do you think I’m still out to get you? You should know as well as any assassin that killing a mark is nothing personal.”

“You are on Asleena’s side, not mine,” Zevran corrected. “A fine distinction, but an important one, don’t you think?”

“Quite so. And an intriguing woman the Commander is.” Xai laughed suddenly. “Recruiting me? Incredible. I never considered the possibility, save that she might use it on you as a last resort. You should have seen the look on your face when she began her announcement.”

That observation rankled. Zevran knew Asleena couldn’t have seen since she hadn’t been looking in the right direction, but that Xai had noticed nettled him. He didn’t like it when people saw beneath his mask, especially when the people in question had a penchant for manipulating such knowledge to their advantage. It was none of Xai’s concern that Zevran had no desire to be a Grey Warden.

There was a knowing look in the former master’s eyes, however. “I have to wonder,” he mused, “if she would have recruited you as well had I not cooperated. Lucky for you I was interested in being a Warden, hm?”

“And wanting to be a Warden is the source of your astonishing turn of aid and honesty? If indeed you spoke the whole truth at any point back there.”

“Why should I have not spoken truly?” Xai picked up a grey blanket that was slung over the railing and settled it across the horse’s back. “Like all the master assassins, my loyalties are simple and uncluttered, Zevran. The man or woman who is my superior is the one I will show complete respect and obedience to. That’s how I was trained, forged and twisted.” He chuckled. “You know a little of how it is. But I have also come to appreciate that there are many advantages to being relied upon and confided in by those in positions of power, and for someone like me who makes the most of deceit and manipulation to achieve his goals I must be scrupulously honest indeed to earn and maintain the trust of those above me. Otherwise I end up dead.” Xai’s smile widened fractionally. “But you are not my superior, Zevran, so how can you know I’m being honest right now?”

“Perhaps it’s to your advantage to earn my trust as well, considering my success at winning hers.”

“Yes, she said as much in the Great Hall, didn’t she? That she trusted you?” Xai hoisted a saddle atop the blanket and dipped out of view to attend the girth strap. His voice drifted from within the stall. “First impressions can make it…hard to earn faith. You only attacked her; I tried to throw her off guard and manipulate her. Breaking into her bathroom at The Silver Veil wouldn’t have helped matters between us, I suspect.”

“She seems to trust you enough to send you to Denerim alone, no?”

“You think so, do you?” Xai sounded entertained by the idea. His head popped up from the other side of the horse again, and he regarded Zevran with sly amusement. “Or are you just saying that to make me think I’m already getting somewhere?”

Zevran didn’t reply and maintained his confident air. Privately he suspected Asleena didn’t trust Xai on his own, but liked the concept of travelling with the man even less. Furthermore, when they caught up with Alistair it would be hard enough for her to explain Zevran’s oh-so-innocent presence without adding a master assassin Grey Warden recruit to the mix.

“Whatever the Commander’s reasons,” Xai went on, “I never made a habit of questioning orders in the past and don’t intend to start now.”

Zevran shrugged. It was hard to know what to truly believe, but master assassin loyalty (along with some of their other traits) was renowned amongst the Crows. He’d said as much to Asleena at the Veil, which was probably where she’d gotten the idea of recruiting him now that he thought about it. If Xai saw her as his superior then he would obey her to the hilt, and Xai’s open declaration of breaking his vows and joining the Grey Wardens, in front of other Crows and an Antivan noble no less, was evidence in itself.

Considering all that had happened to him in Markham City, Zevran didn’t want to trust Xai, but that didn’t mean the man couldn’t be useful.

“Speaking of Asleena,” Zevran said, “there was a Crow attempt on her life in Denerim the day we sailed from Ferelden, roughly two weeks ago. Has someone else taken up that Grey Warden contract?”

Xai’s manner became instantly professional, like a merchant who’d turned from casual conversation to serve a customer. “Not to my recollection,” he said thoughtfully. “Not when I left Antiva, that I know, but it has been over a month and a half since I departed with the Irrenill entourage. Maybe it was one of Taliesen’s group. He followed you to Ferelden some months back.”

“And he found us. We may have missed one of his team in the clean-up, there were quite a number of them,” Zevran conceded, “but that was before the darkspawn overran Denerim, and a lone survivor turning up just to take a desperate shot feels unlikely.”

“Hm. What happened to this mysterious Crow?”

“He’s either entertaining Queen Anora’s dungeon or dancing on the end of a rope by now. If he is still alive, however, you could get answers—see if someone else took the contract. He has no way of knowing you’ve been recruited.”

“There is that. I will speak to the Commander about it before we part and get her decision on the matter.” Xai opened the wooden gate to exit the stall, then turned and studied him. “You killed Taliesen, then?”

“He left me no choice.”

“The corpse of another friend in the closet, hrm?” Xai’s smile returned, as did Zevran’s irritation. “I hear he was quite put out you didn’t take him along on your suicide mission. Noble of you, leaving him behind when you set sail with the intention of dying at the Wardens’ hands.”

“How did—?” Zevran stopped, too late.

“Four swords, Zevran,” the other man swore mildly. “There was not a master who didn’t know you were going willingly to your own grave. There was at least one of us who despised your towering arrogance enough to actively want you dead, and my former brethren are hardly above engineering the fall of lesser assassins who become bothersome. You were intended to get yourself killed. For glory.”

“Engineered…how?” he asked, incredulous.

“Through that last mission of yours. Through Rinna. Your affection for the girl made her the obvious mark. The false information that led to you and Taliesen slaughtering her was ultimately supplied by a Crow craftmaster, like myself. I think you can guess for yourself which one.”

Zevran nodded mutely, a savage roaring building in his ears. He had never bothered to find out the source of that misinformation—at the time he hadn’t cared, and after realising the mistake he’d been too guilt-ridden to blame anyone but himself.

“Whether the remorse of discovering your error led you to throwing yourself on another’s blade or your own, he didn’t care,” Xai was saying in the same blithely conversational voice. “No one doubted you would kill her…you were cold enough, I suppose, but not quite there. A few of us thought the situation would only serve to harden your character by showing you how foolish personal attachments are.” He chuckled. “I guess we were wrong on that score.”

“Why…are you telling me this?”

“You asked, so why not?” Xai entered another stall, occupied by a roan gelding. He sighed suddenly. “You know, I wish I could give the Commander Taelin’s horse. It’s that silver Orlesian mare down near the front. Much more becoming of a woman of her bearing, but I suppose Roja would notice if his daughter’s prize went missing. Ah, the poor souls who die in the crossfire of craft.”

Zevran concentrated on getting his emotions under control. It should not have been this hard. No matter his other vices, vengeance was not in his nature; few things were so precious to him that he’d seek satisfaction for their loss. But for Rinna…he wanted this kill. The thought that there was someone to pin the blame on out there besides him was intoxicating. It would not be redemption, but it would feel right.

Asleena helped Leliana hunt down Marjolaine…

Yes, but she had also encouraged Leliana to let Marjolaine go. Besides, this would not be some side trip into a nearby city. Antiva was a massive deviation to their current course. She’d never agree to it.

She killed Flemeth for Morrigan. Or she told Morrigan she did.

Strange, that, he reflected suddenly. All the way back into the Korcari Wilds with the darkspawn presence boiling around Ostagar, and not only did she not take the resident assassin with her, preferring instead the company of Alistair, Wynne and Leliana (the three least likely candidates for murder in his mind), but she claimed to have killed the old witch who’d saved both her life and Alistair’s from the Tower of Ishal.

Hm. Morrigan took her for her word. Asleena may have gone through with it, acting on the belief that Flemeth was a danger to Morrigan, but still…I wonder.

“No more questions, Zevran?”

“No,” he said thoughtfully, calm once more. “Not for you, anyway.”

And he walked out.

[ReubenLiew]

Damnit I've totally forgotten to check up on this!

But at least I get a whole slew of chapters to nom on!

*noms eagerly on all of it* So tasty!

[Sialater]

Hmmmm, just a little bit of vengeance.

[Phoenix Swordsinger]

Did Asleena kill Flemmeth?

[TheMadCat]

Got a lot of catching up to do with this story. Gotta slow down and give some of us a chance to catch up.

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Phoenix Swordsinger: Good question!

Onwards!


Part 16 - Leaving Markham

Asleena folded her two missives, wishing she had a signet and wax to seal them properly. Unfortunately her departure from Highever had been a bit hurried for her to think of grabbing her family insignia ring, and she’d never gotten a Grey Warden one—if they even used such mundane means to protect their mail. At least she hadn’t written anything she cared about Xai reading. The messages were simple, stating she’d reached Markham City in the Free Marches, recruited Crow master assassin Xai Merras into the Order and wanted him kept out of trouble as much as possible until she returned for his Joining. If he failed to turn up in Denerim by the time she got back…well, either she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore, or she’d deal with him as the future demanded. It was as simple as that.

After writing them she’d wanted to pen a third letter to Fergus, but reluctantly decided against it. The things she wanted to confide to her brother were too intimate to risk in Xai’s hands, and Fergus deserved a personal explanation anyway. She wondered how he was doing in Highever, restoring their home by himself with all those memories haunting the battle-scarred halls. She would go help him when this was over, but sorely regretted abandoning him to that task while she went chasing after a man she hadn’t even known for a whole year.

At least they were gaining on him, though. When she, Zevran and Ferrix had departed Denerim Alistair had been at least two weeks ahead of them. Now they knew he was little over one week in front, and with horses that gap could be reduced even further. She had no idea how fast the Dalish aravel travelled, but if they were pulled by halla then surely they couldn’t be much quicker than a wagon. She was hoping he’d gone with the elves. Maybe some time in their company would…sober him up.

A knock at the door distracted her. “Are you decent?” Zevran’s voice asked through the wood.

“Do I have to dignify that with an answer?” she rejoined, glad of a chance to smile.

“I have heard stories of what women get up to behind closed doors when they have no company and get bored. Very interesting stories.”

“Not this woman, Zev.”

“Alas, another dream crushed beneath the cold, booted heel of reality.” He opened the door and came in, a large bundle in his arms. “I apologise for taking so long, but I wanted to find something…just right.” He grinned, setting his burden down on the table before her.

She looked at him suspiciously. “You’re positive I can’t just wear my armour while riding? The Orlesian Chevaliers do.”

“True, but they are accustomed to the task. You, I think, should wear something a little more comfortable…just until you are confident in the saddle.”

Asleena unwrapped the bundle. “Leather?”

“Mmhm.” The assassin’s smirk broadened. “I do hope it fits. I had to do a bit of guesswork in places.”

“I’m sure you did,” she muttered, picking up the riding gear and carrying it into an adjoining room to escape his appraising golden-eyed gaze. “Give me a moment then.” After a few minutes she re-emerged, feeling not a little self-conscious. The soft doeskin trousers and vest fit—exceptionally well. The problem with wearing something that felt like a second skin, though, meant having the alarming sensation of walking around stark naked. Zevran’s slow up-down glance certainly seemed to verify this, except that Zevran tended to look at all women like he was imagining them without clothing so she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she should be affronted by his frank perusal.

“Very fetching,” he said with satisfaction. “I knew it would be so. You hide your figure behind too much steel, my dear. A body such as yours deserves to be seen and admired.”

“Really? Will the horse care what I look like?”

He laughed. “Probably not! At any rate, we should be off. I am not so keen to linger in Markham City any longer than needed.”

“I won’t argue with you there. I can’t wait to get out of this place.” Asleena picked up her scabbard and strapped it over her shoulder, wrapped up her dragonscale armour then followed Zevran out into the hallway, clicking her tongue for Ferrix to heel.

The assassin was unusually quiet on the way down to the courtyard. At first Asleena thought he was just being careful and watching out for the three Crows still in residence, but he was not looking about any more than usual.

“Is something on your mind?” she asked finally.

“A number of things, yes. It is…not the right time or place to discuss them, however. Perhaps on the road.”

She nodded and they continued into the courtyard, ignoring the scrutiny of the guards on the way, where Xai was awaiting them with three horses: two brown, and one roan. Asleena regarded the animals cautiously as she approached. They were quite a bit bigger than she’d imagined. Ferrix’s ears were perked with interest but he showed no sign of being intimidated.

“You’ve never even seen a live horse before?” Zevran murmured as they got nearer, and she shook her head, not taking her eyes off the beasts.

“Ferelden never took to horses. I think it had something to do with the Orlesian invasion...the chevaliers had their warhorses and we had our mabari.” She shrugged. “That’s my theory, at least.”

“Commander,” Xai greeted Asleena when they reached him.

“Xai. Here are those letters I spoke of.” She handed them over and he tucked them away inside his leather armour. “Do you know how to get to Denerim from here?”

“A pass through the Vimmark Mountains will get me to Ostwick, and from there I can hire passage across the Waking Sea,” he replied. “There is supposed to be some kind of hostile activity near Ostwick, but I shall try to avoid it.”

“You should encounter no trouble. Zevran and I handled that problem on the way here.”

“Then I shall look forward to a smooth ride, Commander.”

“I want no deviations,” she told him bluntly. “And especially no random killing sprees.”

“I understand. And may I share something with you, Commander?” He waited for her nod before continuing. “No matter what Zevran has told you about me, I do not just go around randomly killing people. Not without orders.”

Zevran snorted. “No, you would simply get someone else to do your killing for you. Or manipulate them into getting themselves killed.”

“Why so moralistic about the means of death, Zevran?” Xai asked mildly, turning his eyes upon the elf. “Am I the more reprehensible man because I don’t make a habit of having sex with my marks right before cutting their throats?”

Zevran glared at him, drew breath as though to reply but then said nothing.

“I always thought it the height of cruelty letting a target beg for their life like that,” Xai went on, warming to his subject. “Make them think they might have a chance of survival by utterly debasing themselves with their imminent killer…how terrified they must be in those final moments.” He shrugged. “But we all have our preferred methods of pleasure, don’t we?”

“That’s enough sharing, I think,” Asleena interrupted, noticing the angry light flickering in Zevran’s eyes and feeling disturbed. She wished she’d spoken up sooner now, but there was a strangely compelling quality in Xai’s voice that had made her want to hear more. Zevran had told her stories about some of his assassinations in the past…she’d almost forgotten about the finer details. “Which horse is mine?” she asked, trying to ignore the images of pleading women and indulgently-smiling Zevrans parading through her mind. That is all in the past, she told herself firmly.

“I suggest this one, Commander,” Xai said, indicating the roan. He passed her the reins then drew back with one of the other mounts, leaving the third standing for Zevran.

“Zev,” she whispered, and his attention snapped to her. “Are you all right?”

“Are you sure we can’t torture him? Just a bit?”

She grinned hopefully. “Come on, you’re teaching me how to ride, remember? How do I get up on this thing?”

“Hm.” He went to claim the reins of his own horse, and when he looked at her again she was relieved to see the fury gone from his eyes. “Watch me. Your hands on the saddle like so, your foot in the stirrup, and then—” with a push and a swing of his leg over the horse’s back, he was easily seated with reins in hand.

“Right,” Asleena said dubiously. “Time to make a complete fool of myself.”

After an initial clumsy attempt, she was sitting in the saddle on her second try. “Wow,” she managed, taking in the new perspective. “This is…high.”

Zevran’s horse came up beside hers. “Hold your reins like this,” the assassin said, showing her. He gave her a few other simple instructions, dismounted to adjust the length of her stirrups, then got back into his saddle. Xai also mounted and the three of them, with Ferrix trotting alongside, left Markham at a sedate walking pace. Citizens and guards alike melted out of their path along the way, until at last they were riding through the gatehouse then standing on the road outside the city.

“Commander,” Xai said once they were beyond the walls. He pointed north towards the farmlands. “Do you see that large tree past the furthest paddock? That is where the Dalish camped last week. The landships leave distinctive tracks, so picking up the trail through the Wildervale should not be an issue.

“Zevran also mentioned a Crow attacked you in Denerim on the day of your departure from Ferelden. If Queen Anora has not had him executed, would you like me to question him?”

“What do you think you might learn?” she asked.

“If another has taken the Grey Warden contract,” he replied. “And if not, why he so foolishly took a shot at the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Sounds fine to me, so long as you don’t torture him.”

Xai chuckled. “With any luck, simply seeing that a master assassin has crept into his cell may startle the truth straight from his lips. I shall mention it to the Queen and the Orlesian Wardens when I reach Denerim.”

“And I will see you when we get back, then handle your Joining.” Asleena nodded to him. “Travel safely.”

He inclined his head in return. “I’ll be seeing you around, Commander.” He turned his horse’s head for the west, touched his heels to its flanks and it set off into a rolling canter towards the forested mountains.

“I suppose it’s too late to wish he’d get eaten by cannibals on the way,” Zevran remarked. “Maybe the pirates will sink his ship? Perhaps I could help them?”

“And maybe he’ll just be useful some time in the future,” Asleena said. “Can we not talk about Xai any more? He’s gone for now, and I want to get as far away from this place as possible.” She smiled wryly. “Teach me how to ride, Zev. I want to learn how to go fast.”

A grin of anticipation suddenly broke across Zevran’s face, and turned his horse with a slight movement. “You will enjoy this,” he promised.

**

A warm wind blew.

The Wildervale was a wide valley that stretched across the middle of the Free Marches, bounded by the lush Vimmark Mountains in the south and the Minanter River in the north. Trees were sparse, and there was something incredibly free about seeing that broad expanse of gold and pale green grass stretching out ahead, seemingly forever until it hit the cloud-streaked sky.

It reminded Asleena little of home, looking out from Highever across the Bannorn.

Except back home, she’d not had a horse.

Zevran tore ahead, laughing like a madman, and Asleena charged after him with the thunder of hooves filling her ears and the wind whipping her hair and her horse’s mane back behind her, a surely manic smile upon her face. The long grass blurred past them, and occasionally one of the two of them would plunge through an unsuspecting flock of seed parrots, sending them skywards with startled cries and a flurry of rainbow-hued wings. The speed of their passing was incredible, like nothing she’d ever experienced or expected. Once she’d gotten over her fear of being thrown from the saddle like a sack of potatoes, she realised she was laughing breathlessly, ecstatic.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just enjoyed herself like this. She didn’t want to stop.

What would it have been like to ride a griffon, I wonder? To fly through the air, swooping down on darkspawn from above?

Watching Zevran guide his horse over a hillock, seeing the muscles ripple beneath its chestnut coat as it leaped, the assassin astride its back whooping gleefully, she grinned to herself.

Perhaps horses can fly just fine without wings.

Ferrix was keeping up nearby, a dark streak through undergrowth that rose above the mabari’s head in some places. He was probably enjoying himself too, Asleena thought. He didn’t get much of a chance to simply run anymore, restricted to the pace of his two-legged companions most of the time.

“Enough!” Zevran cried eventually, slowing his horse to a halt. He was still grinning when Asleena reined in, and his usually immaculate blond hair was wind-blown and tangled. “Well?” he asked her, raising a brow.

Asleena laughed, still catching her breath, and rubbed the arched neck of her roan. “I could do that forever, I think.”

“We seem to have discovered a natural talent, my dear. Perhaps when you take over the arling of Amaranthine you should have a stable built and buy some horses. The Grey Wardens don’t have griffons anymore, after all.”

“I was just thinking that! About the griffons, anyway.” She grinned then shook her head. “As much as I like the idea of Wardens charging into battle on horseback, though, I don’t know how badly they’d be affected by blight.”

He cocked his head curiously. “How did the griffons die out?”

“I don’t know. All the stories I read just said their numbers dwindled, and I never thought to ask Duncan or Riordan. Maybe they were as susceptible as other animals in the end.” She looked to where Ferrix stood a little ahead of them, tongue lolling out as he panted but clearly eager to press onwards. “I consider myself lucky that Ferrix didn’t get sick with all we went through. A mouthful of tainted blood is all it takes, apparently.”

They nudged their horses into a walk, following the furrows in the ground left by the Dalish aravel. Markham was far behind them now, visible as a white dot high up against the Vimmark.

“We’ve come a long way in just a few hours,” she observed. “How did we ever get anywhere on foot?”

“I know!” he laughed, then fell silent and glanced at Asleena when Ferrix started barking from up ahead. “Has he found something?”

They followed the mabari’s calls into the long grass, slightly off the aravel trail, to where a gleaming white shape was thrashing feebly amidst the golden stalks, a broken-off arrow shaft sticking out of its side.

It was a halla.

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 14 février 2010 - 12:15 .

[Sialater]

Who on earth would shoot a halla?



Other than a stupid Shem, I mean.

[ReubenLiew]

Everyone who's not an elf? *whistles*

Yay for new chapter!

[Jules8445]

So good! As always, eagerly awaiting the next chapter. Silly Xai...he's growing on me. I'm glad he's gone now...that will stop!

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Part 17 - The Wildervale

“And people say I have a death wish,” Zevran murmured, turning in his saddle to scan the surrounds even as he unshouldered his bow.

“Ferrix!” Asleena ordered. “Quiet! Good boy. Now back up…back up…”

The mabari slunk back a few paces, watching the stricken halla with perked ears. He lay down on his belly in the grass, lowering his head to the ground to make himself look less of a threat.

“Good boy…” Asleena dismounted awkwardly, grabbing at the saddle to keep from falling backwards. “Halla are forest animals, aren’t they?” she asked Zevran, creeping towards the wounded animal. It had stopped panicking once Ferrix left it alone, but its eyes were still rolling with distress.

“Yes indeed,” Zevran said. “This one must have been with the aravel.”

“Shh…” Asleena whispered as the halla shied. She didn’t have much experience with the animals, having only seen them in the Brecilian Forest back in Ferelden, but she’d helped an elf named Elora calm one down once. Murmuring softly to it, she examined it quickly without getting too close. It was a buck, fully mature, its coat glistening white, its horns longer than its legs and elaborately carved in the way of the Dalish. She focussed on the broken arrow in its side. “It’s not fresh,” she said over her shoulder to Zevran. “At least three days old. He must have fled and gotten confused.” She crawled backwards, got up and fetched a waterskin from her saddlebags. “Who would attack an aravel?”

Zevran chuckled humourlessly as she circled the animal to approach his head. “People who hate the Dalish? People who want to make some quick gold? Both?”

“Quick gold?” Asleena asked, pulling the stopper from the skin.

“As a revered animal of the Dalish, one they take exception to people killing, naturally there are rich individuals out there who would pay a great deal to own, as it were, a piece. The horns of a halla alone are worth a fortune, at least in Antiva, their hides can be turned to leather, and of course there is always someone who wants an exotic head mounted upon their wall.”

Asleena didn’t reply at once, intent on tempting the halla with a thin stream of water. As she’d suspected the creature was dehydrated, and he stretched his nose out towards the flow, flicking out a pink tongue to lap it up. Alistair was with the aravel, or so she still hoped. He would have tried to protect the elves from attackers. They’d be all right. “I don’t think the arrow pierced anything vital…I’m going on mabari anatomy here, though.” She reached out carefully, ready to jump back if the halla struck out with a hoof, but it didn’t. Shooing flies away, she touched the hide near the arrow wound as gently as she could.

“If we can get it on its feet again,” Zevran observed, “and bring it along of course, the Dalish would be very happy to see us.”

“Well, he doesn’t look injured enough that I’d want to put him down,” Asleena said. “Getting that arrow out will be a problem...I don’t know if I can do it without being gored, and I might end up doing more harm than good.”

“Leave it in then. Less risk for you and him, and the elves will know best what to do.”

“Then we just have to get him up. Maybe now that he’s had a drink—” Asleena looked to her side as something brushed her elbow, and saw Ferrix worming his way under her arm. Still flat on the ground, the warhound wriggled closer to the halla until they were almost nose to nose, his tail wagging in a canine invitation to play.

Then his head came up sharply, turned west, and a growl sounded in the back of his throat.

Zevran looked, then cursed and grabbed the reins of Asleena’s horse as it tossed its head nervously. “Something is out there. An animal, I think.” He shouldered his bow one-handed, trying to control his own skittish mount with his legs, and drew his sword. “If I get down and let the horses go, they will bolt and we’ll be walking again.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Asleena said with a tight grin. Edging away from the halla, which was showing signs of distress again, she drew Starfang and signalled for Ferrix to show her the way. “If I’m not back soon,” she added to Zevran, “it’s your turn to save my life.”

“Are we keeping score now, my dear?” he asked, smirking. “Very well then! I shall listen most intently for your desperate cries of my name.” He paused. “And now I don’t know whether or not to wish you well.”

“Rogue.”

Ferrix padded through the long grass, his ears swivelling this way and that. Asleena followed as quietly as she could manage but she was no student of stealth, and trying to walk without noise in this environment was beyond her. She glanced back once, seeing Zevran watching her from his vantage point in the saddle with a look of concern, then the grass hid him from view.

She tightened her grip on the hilt, hoping she wouldn’t end up needing her armour. Why was she always without it when she needed it these days? Maybe she should have taken Duncan’s shield along…she’d left it strapped to her horse. Too late now.

What do we have, Ferrix? Wolf? Bear? Boar? What lives out here?

The sun beat down. She tried to listen and get a feel for the wind, reaching back to her hunting lessons on the Bannorn. The grass there had been nowhere near as long as this…

Ferrix growled again and halted. Asleena stopped too, turning a slow circle. There was no noise but the rustling grass…nothing to see but the swaying gold and green fronds…

…and then a deep, reverberating growl sounded from behind her. She spun, Starfang sweeping around to cleave a great swath of grass, but the animal was upon her and its weight bore her to the ground as curved jaws in a tawny-furred head snapped towards her face and claws pierced her shoulders. Asleena dropped her too-large blade with a shout, half surprise half pain, and tried to beat at the creature’s face with her fists. Then Ferrix was there. The mabari simply charged, launching himself at the other animal and bowling it clear off his mistress. Dog and wilds-beast tumbled over into the grass, a mass of teeth, claws and vicious snarls as they fought.

Asleena rolled to her feet, grabbed Starfang in blood-slippery hands and whirled with the two-handed sword held low as the grass parted to admit another of the animals. It looked like a huge golden-furred cat with tufted ears and tail. Amber eyes stared unblinkingly at her from above bared teeth as it gauged its intended prey.

Not giving it a chance to launch an attack, Asleena bellowed a war cry that made the animal flinch back, startled, then she lunged forwards and drove her sword straight into its chest. It screeched, thrashed hard enough to wrench itself free, then collapsed dead.

Ferrix yelped in pain behind her and she turned back quickly.

“Get out of there!” she wanted to yell, but upon seeing the fight knew it was no good. The two animals were locked together, and while Ferrix was a powerful war-trained beast, the cat was bigger than him, heavier, and its claws were doing a lot of damage. The mabari’s studded collar was preventing the cat from getting a death-grip around Ferrix’s throat, but his belly was a mass of blood where hind-claws had scored him over and again, seeking disembowelment. If he tried to flee now, he might be killed.

“Here!” she roared, taking a provoking strike at the cat’s flank that she knew would miss, but hoped would get its attention. It worked; the animal disengaged from Ferrix and turned to face the greater threat. Asleena circled, blood pounding in her ears and trickling down her arms as she tried to put herself between her injured dog and the wilds-beast. She heard Ferrix stagger out of the way, still gamely on his paws, and prayed to the Maker that he was not too seriously injured. He’d had brushes with death before, and Asleena had been worried sick each time. He was as much family to her as Fergus, and to lose him would be like losing her home all over again.

“I love you, you big sodding mutt,” she whispered, keeping Starfang held low like a spear, its point trained on the pacing cat. “Don’t die on me now.”

Although it had managed to best Ferrix, the cat was far from steady on its feet. Blood matted the golden fur around its neck and there were fleshy furrows across its belly and sides. Asleena swept Starfang in its direction and it crouched, tail lashing angrily and a yowling snarl filling the air. She lunged and it jumped back, fangs bared, then it backed further away into the grass and disappeared.

She hoped it had fled.

Ferrix whimpered piteously when she ran to his side to check him over, but licked her face from chin to brow when she crouched down.

“Good boy. You’ll be all right,” she whispered, fishing a piece of mabari crunch from her belt pouch and feeding it to him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She kept her sword out on the way back, walking slowly to accommodate Ferrix’s injured pace, but then she heard the high-pitched squeals of horses and Zevran’s voice shouting a challenge. She moved faster, Ferrix limping to keep up, and she could see the assassin before she reached him. The reins of one horse were gripped in his left hand as it bucked, pulling him off balance when he trust his sword downwards. Then she saw the head of the wounded halla rise above the grass, its horns gleaming as it lashed at something unseen with its front hooves.

“Little help here!” Zevran yelled upon spying Asleena, and she broke into a run.

There were two more cats. The first, caught between Zevran and the suddenly hostile halla, did not get out of the way in time when Asleena plunged out of the grass and brought Starfang down in a massive overhand chop. The second was avoiding the flying hooves of the horse it had approached from behind. It jumped to one side then pounced at Zevran, huge paws extended to drag him from the saddle, but the assassin whipped his slender blade across its face before the claws reached him and it fell short, staggered, then just stood there blinking and wobbling. One of the horses promptly kicked its skull in.

“Take the reins of this enthusiast before it twists my arm off,” Zevran gasped, still struggling to control both horses, and Asleena went over to take control of her mount, though cautiously. She hadn’t thought to gauge the strength of a horse’s kick until now.

“Let’s get back to the aravel trail where the grass isn’t so long,” she said, and they did. The halla came with them without urging, but its legs trembled.

“I think we’re going no further today,” Zevran said when they were clear. He leaned down to examine his left leg, which was bleeding through his leather armour. “There are still hours of daylight remaining, but we’re not in good shape. There may be trouble at the aravel if it was attacked.”

Asleena agreed, but reluctantly. “We still came further than if we’d walked all day,” she said, trying to find the bright side.

**

They hobbled and watered the horses, set up camp, tended their wounds and ate. The halla allowed its injury to be seen to; although the arrow was left in its flesh, a poultice-soaked bandage was wrapped around the shaft to fend off infection and prevent the injury from becoming flyblown. Sleep was taken in shifts.

Asleena woke from hers with her heart pounding and sweat on her brow.

“That’s the first time I’ve had a nightmare about darkspawn since the Blight ended,” she told Zevran in the morning.

“What did you see?”

She shook her head, squinting at the sky. “Some place dark. There were a lot of them, all around, and I could hear that noise…the one that Shrieks make, you know?”

“I try not to remember. Those are the ones that come from elves, yes?”

Asleena nodded, went to the saddlebags and pulled out a hairbrush. “Maybe getting jumped by those cats spooked me,” she said, trying to shrug it off. “Or maybe I’m just remembering that ambush on the bridge in the Deep Roads.”

“I missed that one. You left me behind with Sten, Morrigan and Wynne for entertainment. I haven’t thanked you for that yet, I believe.”

“You can thank me now, then. That was one of the most terrifying fights I can remember.” She sat down near the small cook-fire where porridge was bubbling in a pot. “Alistair, Oghren, Leliana and I were going across a stone bridge, a big one, looked clear all the way to the other side. Alistair and I could sense darkspawn of course, but there’s so much activity down there…” She shrugged. “Anyway, we got to somewhere in the middle of the bridge and then we heard them, their cries. They were in front of us, they were behind us, and we were suddenly fighting for our lives. Leliana went down, then Oghren. Alistair and I were back to back and outnumbered, both of us badly wounded. That’s one of the few times in my life where I really thought ‘I am going to die.’”

The assassin grinned. “Challenging, then? Sounds like fun, if you ask me.”

She looked at him sourly. “As much as I miss killing darkspawn, that situation was far from fun. Sodding Shrieks. Urgh…” She gestured with the brush. “What about you? Even been in a situation where you thought you were done for?”

“The time I ambushed you sticks out the most.”

“I don’t remember you looking particularly scared in that encounter…”

“Because I was not.” Zevran quirked a brow. “But perhaps you meant to ask if I have ever been in a situation where I feared for my life. Antivans do not scare easily, Crows less so. Death is commonplace so we do not tend to waste time worrying about it—especially those of us in the business of dishing it out.”

“Well, I wish I had your confidence.” She stretched her legs out and groaned. “Maker’s breath…why didn’t you warn me riding would be so painful?”

“Oho, I forgot to warn you about that, did I? So sorry.”

“You don’t seem to be in agony.”

“I have certain exercises and techniques for preparing the muscles and relaxing them afterwards. I could teach you.” He grinned at her. “I did not think you would be interested, truth be told.”

“Let me guess…some of these lessons involve massaging my thighs,” she said in amusement-tinged disgust.

“If you change your mind…”

She snorted, set down the brush in favour of a bowl of porridge, then found herself glancing off down the aravel trail where it cut northwest through the grass. The nightmare niggled at her mind. “I don’t know why,” she said quietly, “but I have a bad feeling.”

**

For the second and third day, along with half of the fourth, they rode without interruption, going at a pace both the halla and Ferrix could maintain. The mabari healed quickly with treatment, but the halla’s state began to deteriorate despite Asleena’s efforts to keep the wound clean. She had made the silent decision to try pulling the arrowhead out at the end of that day, but in the early hours of the afternoon they finally saw the dark smudge of the aravel on a distant hill.

Five Dalish scouts intercepted them some distance from the landship an hour later, bows and blades drawn but lowered. All of them had noticed the halla and they were speaking to each other in rapid elvish, clearly unsure what to make of this situation.

“We found him half a day’s ride out of Markham city,” Asleena said, finally deciding to interrupt their dialogue. They shut up at once. “He was wounded and still is. I hope, with your aid, he will be all right.”

A blonde elf stepped forwards, beckoning to the halla with an outstretched hand. The animal walked over to her, horned head bowed, and the elf smiled. Tears were in her eyes when she looked up. “You have our thanks, strangers. We searched and had almost given him up for dead. Please be at ease. I am Selandel.”

“I’m Asleena and this is Zevran.” On the verge of asking about Alistair, she stopped when she noticed several elves straighten and glance between themselves. Selandel’s smile had faded into a thoughtful expression.

“Are we no longer welcome?” Zevran asked dryly.

“You were companions to a human named Alistair,” Selandel said.

“Is he here?” Asleena demanded.

“No.”

“No?”

“I am not playing you false,” the elven woman said, hearing the note of challenge in the Grey Warden’s voice. “He left four days past, bound for the Green Dales with a number of our warriors. Alistair impressed many of us here when he helped fight off a group of poachers who attacked our aravel, and he was asked to aid the Dalish in the struggle within our forest. He agreed to go.”

“What kind of struggle?” Asleena asked, but she already had a sinking feeling she would know the answer.

“A nest of darkspawn, shemlen. Sharlocks.”

Shrieks.

[AdorableAnarchist]

Oooo, Shadow, this is good. I can't wait to see what happens when they finally meet up.

[Sialater]

Ugh, shrieks are nasty.

[Freckles04]

More, please! Please? Do I have to beg? lol

[ReubenLiew]

Yes freckles, with our combined begging our voices will reach the story-gods to produce more goodness!

*begs along with Freckles*

[Jules8445]

Can I be part of the begging party too? I take your stuff in like oxygen! More please!



*begs with Freckles and Reuben*

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

Your begging pleases me! *scatters words at her beloved readers* *

Glad people are still enjoying the story

Edit: I should add that this chapter includes in-game dialogue that I can't take credit for. It also includes dialogue that's been paraphrased for the purposes of this story.

Part 18 - Healing Wounds

They did not linger with the Dalish. After some specific questions, like the location of the sharlock nest and when it had erupted into the Green Dales, Asleena, Zevran and Ferrix pushed on. They moved faster without the halla, but when night fell they had not yet reached the forest or the Minanter River. Zevran had convinced her not to keep riding through the night, so now Asleena paced restlessly some distance from the camp, her mind in turmoil and far from the impending bloodshed.

She had not asked Selandel or any of the other elves about Alistair, his emotional state or the things he had said about his past friends, and cursed herself as a coward because of it. Would it be easier to simply run into him in the forest, meet him in the thick of battle, fight at his side with the song of blades expressing everything she still didn’t have words to say? A fool’s dream, that forgiveness would come so easily and without even a raised voice, without anger, without hurt. She could count the number of times he’d yelled at her on the fingers of one hand, but it was their parting that always echoed most loudly in her ears and made her spirit cringe.

“You’re going to let him live? After everything he’s done?! KILL HIM, ALREADY!”

Loghain, a man who abandoned hundreds of men and women to the darkspawn, tried to have Alistair and her assassinated, poisoned Arl Eamon, had Riordan and many others tortured, the city elves sold off like cattle to bolster the treasury, brought Ferelden to the brink of civil war and probably sanctioned Rendon Howe’s attack on the Cousland family because their noble blood, like Eamon Guerrin’s, would be a threat to his authority.

“I will not stand next to him as a brother. I WON’T!”

Loghain’s betrayal had resulted in Duncan’s death, the deaths of all the other Grey Wardens in Ferelden, almost everyone Alistair had considered family, his true family. How differently would the Blight have gone had the general attacked at Ostagar, or at least not blamed the Grey Wardens for the slaughter when he withdrew? Loghain had claimed that by the time the beacon had been lit in the Tower of Ishal it was too late…charging would have only meant more loss of life and would not have saved King Cailan…but true or not, it did not justify his other atrocities.

“You’re siding with her? How could you do this to me? You of all people?”

“I couldn’t let you do it,” she whispered, staring up at the stars. “I couldn’t let you take the crown just to have your revenge. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want anything more to do with this place or any of you people. Ever! I swear it.”

The re-established Queen, the Ferelden nobility, the Grey Wardens who had accepted Loghain…

…her.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded.

“This wasn’t my choice,” he said, his voice broken and his dark eyes empty of everything except bitter torment and heartbreak. “I had these dreams…they don’t matter now.” He turned away from her. “Take care of yourself.”

The brilliant pinpricks of light in the dark sky blurred. Her breath burned in her lungs.

“Andraste’s sword…he’s going to rip me to shreds better than a horde of Shrieks ever could.”

She ran both shaking hands through her hair then sank down to her knees in the grass, unbuckling Starfang to let the weapon thump softly beside her. After a moment she reached both hands to the back of her neck, unlatching the amulet she’d worn since receiving it in the Gauntlet that protected Andraste’s Ashes. Rubbing her thumb over the etching in the front, she reversed it to look at the mirror-polished backing and, as always, caught a glimpse of a smiling, encouraging face reflected in the metal.

It was her mother this time. Eleanor and Bryce Cousland had fought often enough when they’d lived, yelled loudly enough to rattle the stone walls of Highever, but their love had always been true and strong, binding them together to the very end.

Asleena blinked back tears and closed her fingers over the amulet, wrapping both hands around it.

Sometimes it was her father or Fergus she saw in the amulet, Leliana or Wynne, even Sten had appeared a couple of times right before some fearsome battles were to take place, though it was hard to tell whether or not the qunari was actually smiling.

Alistair’s face had been reflected many times in the past as well, but never since the Landsmeet.

Soft steps approached from behind and paused short of reaching her side.

“Do you ever wonder,” she asked without looking back, “what your life would have been like had a certain path not been taken?”

“Sometimes,” Zevran’s voice replied. “Had I not run away from Antiva City when I was a child, then run away from the Dalish not long after, I would not have been picked up by the slavers. I would not have been sold to the Crows. I would not be here.”

“Had I not betrayed Alistair—”

“Stop, Asleena.” He came around in front of her and crouched down to her eye level, forcing her to look at him. He frowned at her. “Why do you do this to yourself? You spared Loghain because you thought it the best course of action. You did not betray Alistair—he judged himself betrayed. Had he not tried to take a throne he said he had no desire for, you would not have been put in the position of choosing between him and Anora.”

She stared at the ground. “It’s just as bad that he counts himself betrayed.”

“Trust me, my dear, I know something of betrayal. You, at least, did not allow the one you care for to be murdered. And you…” He stopped, as though bracing himself, then went on: “You, at least, have a chance to seek forgiveness.”

She looked at him then. The campfire was some distance behind her, but it was still bright enough to catch the gold glints in his eyes. “We’re not just talking about me and Alistair anymore, are we?”

There was a long pause, then Zevran sighed. “No,” he agreed quietly, “we are not.”

“You did love her.”

Guilt and shame shone clearly in his face for a moment, and Zevran averted his gaze. “Rinna was special,” he said, “and everything I thought I desired. She made me feel things that, as an assassin, I should not have felt. I had been trained to make my heart cold and I had thought no one could touch it, but she did and it frightened me.

“She was with me and Taliesen on my last mission, the one before I took the Grey Warden contract. During the hunt, Taliesen obtained information that Rinna had accepted a bribe from our mark and betrayed us to him. I agreed she had to die.”

“Roja Irrenill said the information was false,” Asleena said. “It was an accident, like you told Taelin. You didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “I did not know…but I did not care. I did not even wish to explore the chance we might be wrong. It was a convenient excuse to be rid of her, this woman who made me feel as I did.” His eyes went distant. “She pleaded her innocence and begged for us to spare her. She wept on her knees before us. She told me she loved me.” Deeper lines of regret and sorrow marred his features. “I told her I did not care, even if her words were true. I mocked her. I spat on her. And I let Taliesen cut her throat while I watched and laughed.”

“Oh, Zevran…” she whispered.

She had never seen this man before. Always he had claimed to have no real regrets about the past, let alone the people he had killed. ‘Death happens’, he would say, like it never mattered except as part of the job. Life was short, pleasures to be taken whenever they presented themselves, and a heart’s only importance was how much gold would be paid to stop one beating permanently. That was how he presented himself and perhaps what he thought he should be to survive in the world…but clearly not who he was.

“When we finished the mission and learned Rinna had not betrayed us,” Zevran continued, “I…wished to tell the Crows what we had done. But they already knew.”

“What did they do to you?”

“Nothing. They did not care, and told me so. She was just another tool, a weapon to be used until it got broken. Just like the rest of us.” He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind at the last moment and stood up. “So you see,” he said, looking down at her with a tiny smile, “I know something of betrayal. And I say you did nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Zev, wait,” she said when he started walking back towards the centre of the camp. She got to her feet and went to where he stood waiting, watching her with an indecipherable expression, revealing nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling after the words that had just been spoken between them.

She realised she didn’t know what to say to him then, just as she didn’t know what she’d say to Alistair. That she was sorry? That everything would be all right? It was all in the past? She wished…she could make things better, or easier, or less painful.

She stepped closer and hugged him. For a moment he did not move, and then his arms enfolded her carefully, more awkwardly than she would have expected from him, as though he didn’t know how to embrace a person without there being more involved, be it danger or dalliance. He did not try to cheapen the gesture by deliberately misconstruing its intent, but when they pulled apart he slid his hand down her left shoulder and arm, all the way to her fingers, which he lifted to his lips and kissed lightly.

“Thank you,” he said in a soft and oddly heartfelt voice. Releasing her hand, he backed away a few paces with his eyes still on her, then he turned and strode to his tent, vanishing within.

Asleena watched the canvas flap fall closed before walking back to where she’d left her sword lying in the grass. Realising she still held her amulet clenched in her right hand she looked down at it again, flipping it over. A certain bard’s face flitted across the surface, smiling her approval. For some reason, Asleena found herself smiling back.

Yeah…I should have guessed you’d have liked what just happened, Leliana.

You were the only other person who ever seemed to care about giving him a chance.

**

Morning came, bathing the valley in golden light. The few clouds scattered across the sky were highlighted in colours Antivan poets would have swooned over to put down in writing. ‘Blushing pink’ or ‘delicate peach’ or something similarly cloying. Zevran tended to prefer poems that involved blushing women rather than clouds, and as such he found himself observing Asleena rather than the horizon. Not that he didn’t make a point of watching the dark-haired Grey Warden as often as he could get away with when she was around, but today he found he was trying to be less obvious about it.

He knew he was falling into the same trap as he had with Rinna, but could not help himself. It was different with Asleena; he had not even tasted this woman’s lips, but something about her captivated him all the same. He did not know how to deal with it, and the closer they got to finding Alistair the less chance he felt he had to figure out precisely what he wanted from her. It would have been easy if he could just say ‘sex’ as an answer to that particular question, but of late he had found he could not.

He had, though, decided on this as fact: she would not give up looking until she found her lover, and if Zevran succeeded in bedding her before then it would go poorly in the end for everyone concerned. Alistair already had enough to be angry about, and Zevran understood these two noble-minded Wardens enough to know that if Alistair challenged Zevran’s presence, Asleena would not lie about anything that had happened between the two of them. Whether or not that would push Alistair over the edge into violence he was not sure, but if he’d taken to drinking then Zevran did not want to find out. A brawl involving all three of them would be very bad.

There was also the high likelihood that Alistair would simply reject his love out of hand if Zevran had taken her. If this happened, there was a good chance Asleena would blame herself, and Zevran by extension, for ruining her chances of reconciliation. It might destroy the relationship they currently had. She might send him away or ask him to leave.

He smiled wryly to himself. No, it would be safer all around if he stood by his decision to bide his time and wait to see how the dice fell. He had known for a long time, after all, that she considered herself Alistair’s. Until that changed, Zevran would be patient. And if it did not…

…well, at least that didn’t mean he had to stop looking.

She eyed him from the other side of the camp, where she was forcing a folded section of her tent into a bag. “What are you ginning at?” she demanded.

“You, naturally, my dear.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“Is there a reason why a man cannot admire the view on a morning like this? The sloping valleys, the undulating curve of the hills…it is quite a vision, don’t you agree?”

“Maker…I can’t wait to get out of these leathers and—”

Zevran arched a brow, his grin widening to a slow smirk.

“—into my armour. Stop grinning! Ferrix, pin him to the ground and lick the tattoo off his face!”

“What? Hey!” Zevran shot to his feet and backed away, laughing as Ferrix bounded towards him with his alarmingly long tongue hanging out. “Come now, Asleena, call him off! I’ll be good. Or less bad, at any rate. Ferrix, stay!”

Asleena whistled and the mabari trotted back to her side. She rubbed his face with both hands and whispered something—probably about what a good boy he was.

Zevran shook his head and went over to the horses. “What do you have against my tattoo, anyway?” he called.

“Nothing at all. I’ve always found it rather attractive, to be honest. Probably what it’s there for, right? To drive the ladies wild?” She picked up a bag in either hand and carried them over.

Zevran turned the left side of his face towards her when she reached him. “Is it working yet?”

“It’s always working, Zev,” she said dryly. “Didn’t you listen to what I just said? I like it.”

“You aren’t thinking of getting one of your own, are you? Because I should advise you not to try asking the Dalish. They get tetchy about that kind of talk.”

She chuckled. “No, I don’t want one. Not on my face, at least.”

“Ooh…”

“Shut it.” Grinning, she swung into her saddle and took the reins. “Will we get there today, do you think?” she asked, in a more serious tone.

“The Minanter River, yes.” Zevran mounted. “We can ford it, leave the horses at the outer camp the Dalish spoke of then enter the forest on foot if you are eager to go in after nightfall. I do not think fighting on horseback would be a good idea; you’re not quite that good yet and it will be dark.” He hesitated, considered a moment, then decided to tell her. “If Alistair and the elves were not mounted, we may well see them tonight.”

She nodded, looking faintly worried, but not as much as she had the previous evening. “Them and the darkspawn. Let’s go, then.”

**

They reached the Minanter River an hour before sunset and followed it west until they found a safe place to ford, as Selandel had advised. No matter what Alistair had told the elves, it must not have been bad enough for them to lie about their directions in following him. There was a large encampment of elves on the northern bank of the river amidst the trees, but upon hearing Asleena’s claim that she was a Grey Warden and seeing the shield she carried the party was promptly waved in.

“Another Grey Warden?” one of the elves who watched the river approach said once the horses reached the shore. He stared down his nose at the two riders, no mean feat when they were sitting some height above him. “We’ve been trying to get aid from your order since that column of light pierced the sky in the south. A horde of blighted monsters spills into our forest from a wound in the earth and they send us only two young cubs and your city-spawn servant?”

Zevran laughed aloud, eliciting a scowl from the one who’d spoken. “I like him,” he commented to Asleena. “He reminds me of why I left. Ah, childhood memories.”

“Leave be, Nellaran,” a robed female elf said, and followed up with a string of elvish that made the first nod curtly and back down. She inclined her raven-haired head to Zevran and Asleena. “Andaran atish’an. Enter in peace, strangers. Or as much peace as can be had here.”

“We won’t trouble you long,” Asleena said. “We’ve come to help with the sharlock nest. I understand another Warden named Alistair is already here?”

“Your fellow Warden headed for the earthwound at dawn this morning, accompanied by a large band of our best hunters. They anticipated it would take all day to fight their way there.”

“How bad is it?”

The elf’s tattooed brow furrowed. “The place where the fissure opened had been sickly and diseased for almost three seasons, Warden. Our clan avoided the area at first, but when it spread and peaceful animals turned feral, our last Keeper, Turii, went to try and discover the source of the infection. She and her guardians vanished as though the earth had swallowed them whole. Others went looking for her and never returned. Then the sharlocks started to appear and we knew too late we were dealing with blighted land.

“Only a few came at first, but they struck without warning and dragged our kin away when they could. Then there was the light, as Nellaran said, and the land erupted like a burst boil. Entire clans of Dalish have been killed or taken below since that day, Shrieks are everywhere, and those of us who escaped to the fringes of the trees have been too scattered to send in a unified force.”

“So…bad, then,” Zevran remarked.

“Alistair said there may be a broodmother involved.” She looked disturbed. “He said…it might even have been Turii.”

“Wonderful,” Asleena muttered. She looked at Zevran. “We have to go in. They’ll need help.”

The Dalish elf woman hefted her carved ironwood staff. “I can lead you to them. If they have cleared a path we may catch up at the earthwound.”

“Your help would be welcome,” Asleena said, nodding.

“I certainly have no problems with this arrangement,” Zevran seconded, giving the elf his customary head-to-toe (with significant pause in the midsection) appraisal.

“Allow me to fetch a few things and I will return swiftly.”

“I need to put my armour on,” Asleena said, dismounting. “And we need somewhere to leave our horses.”

“See to their mounts, Nellaran,” the elf said, and the other nodded.

“Yes, Keeper Sindel.”

-------------

Writer's note: By the way, I was listening to the Firefly soundtrack when writing parts of this, and one track in particular stuck. If you're of a mind, listen to this while reading from where Asleena says "Zev, wait," near the end of the first section.

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 21 février 2010 - 01:04 .

[Freckles04]

Please tell me they meet up with Alistair soon. The suspense is killing me!



(Good chapter, btw. )

[Treason1]

..I'm starting to loose track of all the works I'm keeping tabs on....

[Sisimka]

Treason1 wrote...

..I'm starting to loose track of all the works I'm keeping tabs on....

Once you start, it's hard to stop.  I end up having to alternate days I read all these fine fictions!

[Sialater]

Alistair doesn't deserve Asleena.

[Jules8445]

Awesome chapter. I'm an Alistair fangirl...but I seriously don't know how I want this to come out! Part of me wants it to be a happy Alistair/Asleena ending because I've always said that I got why Alistair acted the way he did when PC left Loghain alive...Zev is SO GOOD in your fic though. I just don't know.

I DO know that I can't wait for your next chapter!

[Shadow of Light Dragon]

@Freckles04: I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you then.

@Sialater: Dawww, don't say that!

@Jules8445: Oh, I understand Alistair's reaction perfectly! I think he had every right to be angry and he behaved like...well, Alistair. Poor guy. Zev has really grown on me since writing this, however...

Part 19 - Out of the Shadows

Sindel did not seek to engage either Asleena or Zevran in conversation while leading them into the forest, nor did she show any reaction when their names were revealed. She ran ahead of them and Ferrix, alert for trail signs and trouble, her staff always at the ready. They crossed a wide branch of the Minanter after about a half hour of travel, using the fallen trunk of a massive tree to do so, and once upon the opposite bank they were truly in the Green Dales. It was a much darker green than the Brecilian Forest, more lush, and a lot warmer.

They found the first darkspawn corpses only a few paces inside the treeline. The majority were sharlocks, but there were a couple of genlocks and even a hurlock emissary.

“I read stories of tunnels all the way across Thedas, just beneath the surface,” Asleena said, turning an arrow-riddled body over with her foot. “Always thought they were just stories until Ostagar, when the darkspawn came up under the Tower of Ishal.”

“The kingdoms of the durgen’len were once spread as far and wide under the land as the shemlen now are above it,” Sindel said. “Darkspawn hold those passages now, as they have for centuries, and they keep digging.” She gestured they should continue. “Had we known there was a Blight we would have better prepared ourselves for this.”

“How could you not have known there was a Blight?”

“And what do you mean, ‘better prepared’?” Zevran put in. “This has happened before?”

“As to the first, the news we got from humans was always confused, Warden,” Sindel replied. “A darkspawn presence, even a massive one, does not always signal a Blight, and no one had reported seeing an archdemon. The official word from Ferelden, such as we heard it, was always that it was no true Blight.”

“Damn it, Loghain,” Asleena muttered, but then shook her head. Even Cailan had voiced doubt about it being a Blight.

“As to the second,” Sindel said, addressing Zevran’s question, “it has happened before in the history of our clans, thrice in fact, but not in my lifetime or Keeper Turii’s.”

“How did your people stop the threats previously?” Asleena asked.

“By diverting the river and flooding the tunnels. And by losing a lot of our kin along the way.”

“Is that what Alistair and the others plan to do?”

“If they can get close enough and the mage with them is not killed, then yes.”

“The problem being that Shrieks,” Zevran noted, “are quite skilled at killing. Good thing we are too, no?”

Sindel glanced back at him briefly before returning her attention to the trail. “You implied you once lived with the Dalish.”

“I’m sorry, was there a question in there that I missed?”

“You told Nellaran that he reminded you of ‘why you left’.”

“Your elven ears are as acute as they are lovely, my black-haired beauty.”

Asleena rolled her eyes and tried hard not to grin.

“I am not your black-haired anything. And you will stop looking at my ears.”

Zevran chuckled low in his throat. “As you wish. I shall rest my eyes elsewhere.”

Sindel chose not to continue the conversation after that, and when Asleena raised a brow at Zevran the assassin merely grinned at her and dropped a wink. She’d seen him fence with their companions back in Ferelden often enough to know this was how he dealt with people prying into his past, deflecting their questions with wit or pure unsubtle flattery. It really was quite remarkable how complimenting a woman’s assets could make them lose control of a discussion or abandon it completely.

They travelled deeper into the trees and it became dark, both as the sun set and as they progressed under the dense cover of leaves. They came across more bodies along the way, always darkspawn but this wasn’t saying much. Fallen elves could have easily been dragged away later for meat.

“Stop,” Asleena said at last, breathing hard after the long stretch of running. She drew her sword. “Company’s coming.”

“I see and hear nothing,” Sindel replied, but Zevran’s blades were already out.

“Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn.”

And they can sense us.

The two elves backed closer to her, Sindel casting a spell that sent a ripple of stone-like texture flashing across her skin. Asleena gripped Starfang and stared into the silent forest, but didn’t look for movement. Shrieks were almost impossible to see or hear until they struck, so she had to rely on the tainted blood in her veins.

She had never tried to explain what it felt like to anyone, nor had she and Alistair ever discussed it, but they both knew why: it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. It was a magnetism that sought to draw one closer, an attraction which was controlled only by the will of the Warden for however long they could endure, until the call grew strong enough that they headed into the Deep Roads for one final fight.

This was why Riordan had said it didn’t matter if a Grey Warden turned away from his oaths; his blood would inevitably lead him back to fighting the darkspawn, no matter where he tried to go.

You will seek them out, or they will seek you.

Asleena roared a war cry at exactly the same time blood-curdling howls reverberated between the trees, and then dark, gaunt shapes were rearing up out of the brush with blades scything towards the group. Starfang swept up in a vertical arc, taking a Shriek across the chest. It staggered at the force of the blow and Zevran was suddenly there, his long dagger thrusting into the darkspawn’s ribcage and his sword lashing out to take its head clean off its shoulders. Asleena guarded the assassin’s back as another sharlock closed in, parrying one attack and taking the second across a dragonbone bracer with a horrific screech. She lashed back with her heavier sword and it ducked in past her guard, striking towards her throat. She pulled to the left and growled as she felt the metal wrist-blade pierce her shoulder only to be removed a split second later as Ferrix seized one of the darkspawn’s legs in his jaws, jerked it backwards and hamstrung it with a snap of his teeth.

Chilling screams sounded on all sides and three more sharlocks leapt from the darkness and into the fray. One of them jumped straight at Zevran, who ducked and rolled to evade the onslaught only to come up in a whirlwind of steel against the two following it. One of these stiffened and stopped moving as it turned to stone, then shattered as Sindel made a punching motion towards it, projecting an earthen fist into the petrified foe. Zevran killed the other after a back and forth flurry of attacks, his movements almost too fast to follow as he darted in and out of the Shriek’s guard, finally finishing it with a kick to the groin then a dagger propelled up through the soft flesh beneath its chin and into the brain.

Asleena stalked the last one, not allowing it to get behind her or dart to her side as she pushed it back with sweeping blows, using her sword’s longer reach to its full advantage. It bared its jaws and screamed, then bounded backwards and disappeared into the black.

There was a crackling noise as the butt of Sindel’s staff crushed the throat of the Shriek Ferrix was mauling. “Is that all of them?”

“Shh.” Asleena kept Starfang ready. “Keep well away from me. The last one’s not running.”

Zevran chuckled, grinning after the fight, and pulled back near a tree where he dropped into a crouch.

There was not a breath of wind, and no sound. Asleena listened to the beat of her heart and the rush of blood. She held perfectly still, letting it come up behind her until it was so close she could sense its presence along every nerve, and then she whirled with a powerful two-handed sweep, twisting in a complete circle that sheared the Shriek in half and splashed darkspawn blood across the tree trunks.

“Invigorating,” Zevran remarked. He wiped his sword clean and made a face. “They still smell horrible, however.”

“This from the man who likes the smell of tanning leather.”

The assassin laughed. “I never said I liked it, I just said it reminded me of home.”

“Are we close?” Asleena asked Sindel.

“We’re almost there,” the elf confirmed. She levelled her staff to point north. “The earthwound is that way, but it looks like my kin and the Grey Warden headed further west, possibly circling the area to clear it out first.”

“I can sense more darkspawn that way,” Asleena said, nodding north. “A fairly heavy concentration. They’re…fighting.”

“Alistair?” Zevran guessed.

“I can’t tell. They’d be drawn to him, though...” She stared in the direction Sindel had indicated. Somehow she knew, but if that was some Grey Warden sense or something deeper than the tainted blood they shared she had no idea. “He’s there,” she said quietly.

“What do you want to do?”

Asleena drew and released a long breath, her heart pounding from more than just the battle they’d just come through. She’d thought of this moment even before leaving Ferelden. She’d hoped for it, dreamed of it, dreaded it. She’d gone over conversations in her head, trying to guess what he’d say and what she’d reply with until she thought she’d go mad with stress and doubt.

Zevran, Sindel and Ferrix all looked at her, waiting for an answer.

“We go north,” she decided.

**

After half a week in the saddle, it was almost a relief to be running again. Asleena didn’t think she’d ever get tired of riding, and had thought seriously about talking Fergus into having a stable built at Highever, but after all those months of walking and running around Ferelden she’d never thought she’d actually miss the sensation of ground passing beneath her feet, ducking under branches or vaulting logs. It was strange to be feeling about such things at a time like this, with darkspawn around and Alistair so close, but there it was, and she concentrated on the sensation like it was an anchor keeping her from turning tail to flee in the opposite direction.

Zevran kept close to her side, glancing at her now and again but never speaking. There was an edge of worry to the assassin’s manner, a protective overtone even. He knew she was afraid. She tried to give him a bracing smile and he grinned in reply, but it was a wistful echo of his usual confidence.

“Look out,” she said suddenly, pulling up short as her blood screamed a warning. “They’ve seen us!”

Almost at once black shapes jumped them from the trees and inhuman shrieks split the air. Zevran and Sindel were taken by surprise at the ambush and staggered beneath the attack, and it was all Asleena could do to try and defend them and draw the attention of their foes. Ferrix howled his own deep cry and the Grey Warden focussed her energies to unleash the smiting technique of the Templars, wreathing the sharlocks in blue and white fire. The two elves recovered and retaliated, tearing into the darkspawn with steel and magic. One of them turned to stone; Asleena split it down the middle with a mighty overhand swing. Ferrix knocked one down; Zevran darted in to deliver a killing blow.

“Just like old times,” Zevran laughed, twisting out of the way as a Shriek’s blades scissored towards his neck.

Asleena found herself grinning as well despite the tenseness of the situation and the glancing blows she’d sustained. Killing darkspawn might be dangerous and bloody work, but it was straightforward and unburdened by any need for mercy or restraint or morality. All that needed to be worried about was staying alive and destroying the enemy before they could destroy you. You didn’t have to be a hero or even a good person…you just had to know how to fight.

Sindel chanted and a surge of healing energy surrounded the party. “They’re driving us closer to the fissure!” she shouted, fending off an attack with her staff.

And then they were in the open and fighting a furious defence. Asleena took quick stock of their situation. At least five Shrieks pushing against them from skeletal, diseased-looking trees, and not too far behind was an extremely sharp drop, a yawning chasm that split the ground.

“Maker’s breath,” Asleena said suddenly, realising something. “Where’s Ferrix?!”

Her guard was dropped just long enough for a Shriek to take advantage and gouge a blade into her lower chest. Asleena roared in pain and kicked the darkspawn backwards, swearing furiously. “Ferrix!” she shouted, and a dreadful howl answered her from somewhere back amidst the trees. “We have to go back!”

“We’re in no position to do that right now, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Sindel retorted, thrusting out with a fist and hurling a sharlock backwards, where it crumpled against a tree. “You said the others would be here, Warden! Where are they?”

“They’re…north…”

Asleena turned around.

They’re on the other side of the earthwound.

A swarm of Shrieks on the far edge were fighting a vicious combat against a group of heavily armed elves, who were knotted together in tight formation with a human man…a man who plunged his burning sword into the chest of a darkspawn and shouted a battle cry in a familiar voice.

Asleena felt air fill her lungs.

“Alistair!”

His head turned sharply. At his name? At her voice? She saw his eyes widen. Then a pair of Shrieks were on him, taking advantage of his distraction to tear him to the ground. Their blades rose and fell as they stabbed down.

“Oh, Maker…NO!”

“Asleena!” Zevran’s voice shouted, sounding closer to panic than she’d ever heard. “Look—!”

Something struck her hard, lifting her clear off the ground and over the edge of the fissure. Starfang flew from her grip and spun a glittering arc as it tumbled into the abyss. Asleena flailed wildly, brushed something with her hands and grabbed with all her strength. Dry and dead wood, brittle from age, creaked with the weight of its sudden burden. Snarls from somewhere below caught her attention and she looked down, dizzy, her heart pounding in her ears. A single Shriek was clinging to the edge of the fissure below Zevran and Sindel’s position, and it was looking straight at her as though judging its chances for a flying leap.

“Hold on!”

Asleena tried to pull herself up, felt the branch give a little more and froze. The muscles in her shoulders and arms burned with the effort of supporting the weight of herself and her armour, and she felt a giddy urge to laugh; she finally wears the stuff into battle again and it’s going to be the death of her. Her hands started to shake. She turned her head to the right, trying to see Alistair, but the deadfall was blocking her view. She looked left to her companions, watching as Sindel threw herself clear of a sharlock’s attack and Zevran launched himself at an ogre, driving his sword and dagger into its throat with a single motion of the dual blades. She felt her handhold tremble as the weight of the beast’s fall carried through the ground.

She heard the Shriek below her shift its stance on a narrow ledge, saw the slitted eyes narrowing even further as it prepared to jump.

And she felt that familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach, clenching around her heart and lungs.

I am going to die.

**

Zevran wrenched his blades free and jumped from the ogre’s chest, taking the Shriek that was harrying Sindel from behind. The Keeper summoned another burst of healing magic then gestured, petrifying another sharlock that had emerged from the trees.

“I can’t keep this up!” she gasped.

Zevran knew what she meant. “Keep down,” he ordered tersely, and plunged into the middle of the remaining darkspawn. Not for nothing had he once boasted about being the best assassin in Antiva. He used every trick he knew and every weapon in his arsenal, striking and evading, twisting aside and taking advantages as they presented themselves. The poison he’d anointed his blades with before leaving the Dalish encampment complemented the paralytic and silverite runes they were enchanted with perfectly, and after a brief but furious struggle he alone was left standing.

Bleeding heavily…yes, but standing.

He staggered towards the edge of the chasm. Asleena was too far out to reach by hand and in no position to pull herself to safety no matter how strong she was. The branch of the fallen tree she clung to was a gnarled and withered thing, no doubt weakened still further by the blighted land its roots had been sunk into.

What is she looking at…?

With a piercing scream, a Shriek flew into view from the inner edge of the earthwound. Clawed fingers wrapped around Asleena’s right ankle and leg, bringing a rasping tear from the branch and an abrupt drop in height. Zevran’s bow was automatically off his shoulder and an arrow nocking to the string. Asleena gasped aloud and kicked down with her left foot, trying to dislodge her unwanted passenger as it tore a dragonbone greave free and tossed it aside.

“Hold still!” the assassin shouted and she heard, but even as her struggles ceased the Shriek twisted both hands in opposite directions and there was a distinct sound of breaking bone.

Asleena screamed.

Zevran’s arrow took the sharlock through its left eye. It let go and tumbled into the rift.

“You should know, my Grey Warden,” Zevran chided lightly, “not to get distracted in the middle of a fight, hm?”

She grinned weakly. Too weakly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Hold on, now, Asleena,” he said, approaching the deadfall. He kept calm, remained cold and in charge of himself. It was no time to go losing his head while she was dangling over a terminal drop.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sindel said, coming up beside him and spending some energy on a healing spell that closed many of his wounds. “You won’t be strong enough to pull her up.”

Zevran halted, knowing she was right. “I have rope,” he remembered aloud, and dropped his pack to pull out a long coil. He lashed one end around a likely looking tree and returned with the rest wrapped around one arm.

“Alistair?” Asleena asked in an unsteady voice.

Zevran looked to the other side of the earthwound. There was no sign of anyone over there, though corpses aplenty littered the ground, little more than dark shapes in the moonlight. “I cannot see him,” he replied and prayed for her sake that it was true.

“Ferrix?”

“I do not know.” He began to crawl out along the dead trunk. If he could tie the end of the rope around one of her wrists…

“Zev?”

He met her green eyes reluctantly.

“Thanks. For coming. I wouldn’t have made it this far—”

“We still have a way to go yet, my Grey Warden,” he told her, but he saw her fingers slipping. Her face was pale and drenched with perspiration, and he knew then he would never reach her in time. “Do something!” he shouted at the useless elf standing on the edge.

The Keeper motioned with her staff and lines of green light spun around Asleena’s form, encasing her in a shimmering emerald net. “That will give her a chance, at least,” Sindel said quietly.

“A chance?” he spat.

“The Lifeward will protect her. The fall won’t kill her.” Sindel looked down. “She can fight them beneath the earth, as all Grey Wardens do in the end.”

“Zev?”

His eyes jerked back to her. “Asleena, hold on,” he ordered, and crawled closer. Dead wood creaked beneath him.

“I can’t,” she whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Tell Fergus I’m sorry.”

Zevran lunged forwards, throwing himself flat against the trunk and reaching desperately as she lost her grip.

He swore afterwards, as he watched her disappear into the darkness below, that their fingertips had touched.

Modifié par Shadow of Light Dragon, 04 mars 2010 - 10:09 .