Disclaimer: The Dragon Age world doesn't belong to me.
The army is celebrating. The Blight is over, the Horde broke in the aftermath of the the Archdemon's fall, in the city of Denerim. The city itself is wrecked and ruined, but there are survivors, and more than half of Ferelden still stands untouched.
They brought her in the camp, wounded, but breathing – soldiers carrying their hero. Let them have their hero. She won't last long without the others.
Oghren is already drunk. His favorite Warden lives and he forgot to ask about anybody else.
The Qunari guards the Warden's tent, together with the dog . The dog is just a dog, and the Qunari will be heading home soon. He won't get to tell his tale, but that is another matter. He did lead the defense of the gates in a most satisfactory manner, and the men respect him. He'll be taken care of later.
Alistair is in Redcliffe. He wouldn't come to the battle. Poor soul, he is still sulking over the Landsmeet. One has to know exactly what to tell him. Wynne'd become an abomination. Leliana would have perished. He should be easy to handle.
Why did Loghain have to take the final blow? She had everything ready. She waited for them to come down, with only a couple of personal guards – what could there ever have been more natural than a good daughter coming to greet her father, the Hero of River Dane, Grey Warden and survivor of the Blight-ending battle, fading then in the background to allow him bathe in his glory? Inviting the Senior Enchanter and the Orlesian to join her, and then to follow to the tents, for food and rest? When they did come, finally, Redcliffe's men-at-arms carried not one Warden's body, but two. One of them was still alive – not her father's.
Still, she did what she was set to. Greeted the army, honored the passing of the Wardens, shed a tear surely to be noticed and remembered afterwards, and humbly withdrew from sight, like wishing to be left alone with her grief. When Wynne and Leliana finally got in the courtyard, she smiled comfortingly, and summoned them aside, which they did with grateful brows. The Orlesian did argue some about remaining at the Warden's side, but she reassuringly told her that the wounded would be in good hands, that at the time the soldiers needed their moment, and that she'd find her friend again at camp. Nobody thought anything of seeing them follow. With a bit of luck, they won't remember the mage and the bard descending from the roof at all.
The Antivan is missing, though.
Anora frowns.
Chapter One – Aftermath
The army camp covered two small hills and the valley between. The Dalish to the left, with their hallas and aravels hidden by the nearby forest, the Magi with their tents set in a circle-shaped cluster guarded by a chosen handful of Templars, upper in the valley, the Redcliffe soldiers downhill to the right, and the dwarves, uphill on the right, with no tents whatsoever, simply gathered with their bedrolls around a huge fire, the ale pouring, while one of their not-so-gifted minstrels glorified fierce warriors and nugs alike in the same verse, no less, and the Legion of the Dead warriors boasted with hoarse voices and chosen words. One had brought down three genlocks and seven hurlokcs at once, another, two hurlocks and an emissary, and then another had gutted four genlocks and had been stomped by the Archdemon, what more could have been asked of him.
Oghren, who had actually spent more than a year fighting at the Warden's side, was naturally enjoying most of the warriors' attention. Half-drunk as he was, he seemed to find his words well enough as to keep the attention of his equally intoxicated listeners hooked as he told the story of a very angry Warden hacking and slashing through the Deep Roads all the way to Bownamar and taking the gates of the City of the Dead in one glorious charge. There was something askew in this recollection, but the shadowy silhouette that crept through and around the dwarven camp had never been to Bownamar, so he indulged in listening for a short while.
Further down the valley, in the First Enchanter's tent was a gathering of sorts, one that brought the most unlikely people together. While usually the magi camp was off-limits for any other than Templars and the magi themselves, it seemed that the issue at hand was of such weight as to cause an exception.
"I'm telling you, Irving, I saw her die!"
"I was there too, Eamon, dare I remind you."
"We cannot be sure of anything right now. I say we keep this until the morrow." Teagan's even tone brought this line of argument to a close, apparently.
"Senior Enchanter Wynne is nowhere to be found, my lords. Ser Landry and I have looked her up to this hour."
"Ser Cauthrien, this is no trifle. Would you be so kind to let the Queen know of this?"
The discussion, however, went on in the same heated manner, and no one left the First Enchanter's tent. Apparently, besides Revered Mother Perpetua, who was bound to cry "abomination" at every street corner, none of the others were to reach a fitting conclusion any time soon.
The eavesdropper moved further.
Most of the people in the camp were drawn close to the center, where the human fire was burning merrily, and grain-made, surface ale was pouring, on behalf of the Queen herself. While her person was nowhere in sight, the Queen's tent stood out, a generous structure woven in expensive colorful silks, merely steps away from the fidgeting crowd. Next to it stood another, a little less adorned and a tad smaller, that had Sten and Con the mabari as faithful guards. Even in the lack of knowledge, this was proof enough that Kallian was inside; which didn't make the task any easier.
"Good that tent isn't right in the middle of the camp, or anything" the shadow muttered to himself, as he donned a black cloak over a battered dalish armor, and poured just enough stale ale over himself to stink from distance. He then staggered around the tents, mingling among the merrily drinking elves, dwarves and humans with no apparent purpose, while steadily approaching the Warden's tent. When he finally reached his destination, he let himself fall spectacularly at the Sten's feet, revealing part of his face just quick enough to avoid being thrown aside straightaway.
"It's me. Shh." Zevran thrashed like making considerable efforts to get on his feet, while whispering fast. "I talk. You listen." The Qunari had turned his face, with the deepest loathing etched all over his brow, his eyes locked on some spot over the horizon. "Good. Now – I don't know what to make of it, but the Queen has taken Leliana and Wynne, put them in a wagon that took the north highway – I didn't follow. I'll get Kallian out. You sit here and keep the dog with you – until dawn. Then, you leave. Con will find us - her, yes? Now, act naturally."
Zevran crawled closer and grabbed at Sten's arm, spilling stale ale all over his plate in the fumbling process of straightening himself. With no visible effort in making it look genuine, the Qunari rose and heaved him hard in the next drunken soldier, which generated a bit of commotion as the man fell over noisily, mumbling and swearing under his breath.
Apparently, that one hadn't been simply passing by. He had a purpose, which he began to make clear after he kicked Zevran with his boot and spat in the dirt in front of the Sten's feet. He'd only wanted to see the "glorious" Warden – he said –what was wrong with that. The big one could surely understand – he'd heard that the she-elf was "so-o pretty" and he'd only wished to take one good look in her tent, the man added in a sweetened voice, matching his drunken, lecherous sneer.
That was by no means a way to talk to the Sten of the Beresaad - the man's sense had apparently gone down the gutter with the last piss. The Qunari had snared him by the collar and was veering him one foot up in the air, perhaps undecided upon punching him senseless or running him through, or, more likely, looking for the hardest spot of ground to smash him into. In the meantime, quite a handful of onlookers were gathering in front of the Warden's tent, some of which appeared to know the man.
"Get him, Bry!"one of them shouted mockingly.
"Right, get him." A roar of laughter followed.
The man called Bry was yet oblivious of his circumstance, it seemed.
"I've seen her in Fort Drakon – the Warden. Quite good looking, that, fighting like a cat, she was. Can't we – just – see – her, ser?
"Parshaara!"
Knocking the man senseless had perhaps been the kinder choice.
Zevran heard the Qunari shout and draw steel behind him while he quietly lost himself inside the Warden's tent, leaving the now steaming pot of a diversion in his companion's quite impressively built hands.
Kallian was lying face-up in the tent, covered in blood and striped of armor, with some furs carelessly thrown over her body. Not even Zevran's elven sight could measure the extent of her injuries in the dim light, as they had been quickly sealed by magic, but it was obvious that the deeper damage had been left untended, as if whoever had brought her there had decided to save their healing energy on a target more likely to survive. Being not one to abide in mindless musings over the fate of forgotten heroes, Zevran rummaged quickly through the Warden's belongings, resolved to secure some trifling, but otherwise useful items, and then strapped Kallian's body to his back. The frail shape of the elf Warden would inconspicuously wrap in the cloak, small as she was – Zevran could count on that, and on the fact that the burden wouldn't hinder his moves much. As he crawled out through the back of the tent, he kept an ear open to the noise of the full-fledged brawl that took place in the front. It appeared that it was soon to reach resolution, a little too soon for Zevran's taste, as the harsh voice of a woman obviously used to command the respect of armed men reached his ear.
"Hold your sword, ser."
"Make way, it's Ser Cauthrien" there was a whisper, and the knight's voice got through in an instant.
"This men give you trouble? I apologize on their behalf, but they are mine to restrain."
"As you please."
"You are to be flogged first in the morning with twelve lashes. Go, and if I see any of your sorry selves around the camp to-nite, I will make that double. Are you satisfied, ser?"
"Enough."
The Qunari had never been a man of many words, Zevran would give him that. Focused as he was on what was happening behind, he failed to notice that Kallian was regaining her senses, until, a few paces ahead, she started speaking in a muffled voice, not particularly articulate, like she hadn't been in full command of her tongue.
"Zev? Where's Leliana?"
The question was one that required extended explanations, and Zevran's inspiration, or lack thereof, made him noncommittally mumble something that could be anything from "see later" to "get better" or simply "bad weather". Kallian didn't seem to take notice, one way or another.
"Zev? We won. You know? We ended the Blight!..."
"I know, I know…"
"You know, Wynne struck a Stonefist in the Archdemon's shoulder, and I got the chance and jumped on its neck, at the base of the skull, ready to strike it just right. But then it swayed me down again and grabbed at me, Loghain was calling to get its attention and Leliana was shooting at its eyes like mad, and I got to shove my sword up in the roof of its mouth, and I twisted it just as it was locking its jaws. That's how I got my arm crushed."
"Beautiful, this is not a good time."
Zevran was making his way around the human tents, when he spotted three men wearing the Redcliffe coat of arms drinking and speaking loudly, with the careless bearing of people who had one too many. Itching to hear more of their talk, he crept closer, donning his hood on and over both his and Kallian's heads. She seemed curious herself, and she kept quiet.
"Not a man lost to our ranks."
"Yeah, but taking the dwarves up to Fort Drakon?"
"They are not as easily tainted as humans, or so word goes."
"Too much honor on their heads. Am I to tell my wife back home that I helped defending an Alienage?"
"As good a fight as any. And those city elves weren't half bad shots, either. "
"The dalish, I hear, held the gate. That was quite worth seeing, I bet."
"And, she called for the mages in the market district? The mages? Daft one, I'm telling you. Using mages in the open, like that."
"At least they burned some of the filth out. And the Templars say they didn't lose anyone, either."
"Well, how many of you were in Redcilffe that night when she fought with us? When we all thought we'd die and never see the light of dawn again? Not a one had fallen then, too."
The men shrugged. They hadn't been there. They had been sent to patrol the roads weeks earlier – and were among those who returned only to find their women and children slain, and their households empty. Surely, nobody had died that night – but for them that had been little comfort, seeing that rescue had come too late to really make a difference. The one who had spoken before went on, regardless.
"She'd stand ahead of us all, like a knight, fighting three rotten things at a time with those small daggers of hers… Remember her then?"
"Hey, that's Tomas!"Kallian mumbled from under Zevran's hood. "Tomas! Oy, Tomas!"
"Shh!"
"Oy! Who there?"
The men rose as one and were piercingly staring in the darkness that shrouded him.
"Over here, Tomas!"Kallian called again. Zevran froze in place. All he could think of was how to quietly put them out. He was an assassin, not a bard, and the state of exasperation he was in didn't help find a more peaceable choice.
"Do I know you? Show yourself."
This time, there was no way for the man to mistake the hooded figure from behind the tent for a shadow of the night. Kallian would be mad at this, and, in the state she was in, he didn't dare knock her out, either; Zevran's instincts screamed at the edge of his mind - kill, kill, kill... – rendering him unable to think of any other solution. At the end of his wits, he whispered scornfully in the hood:
"Pray tell, dear friend – if you were to secretly remove an injured companion from a dangerous situation which they were unaware of, and you were to be spotted by innocent by-standers whom you did not wish to slay, what would you do?"
"Misdirect them, of course!"
Of course. How hadn't he been able to see it before? How nice that Kallian could, while otherwise oblivious to the state of things. Zevran reached for his pack and retrieved a small shiny object that tingled his fingers with small flickers of electricity, sending pleasurable stings up his arm – hey, had the object just whispered to him?
"Oww. Not good. Just hold it for me." an annoyed Kallian spoke in his shoulder. "Here. You open it, like this"- the undertone tune was now audible – "and you put the ends toghether"- small lightning sparkles were forming around the bright crystal, making it glow eerily – "and you set it in place." Zevran couldn't tell which was more enticing, watching the nimble fingers of Kallian's left hand at work, or the tingling and humming and glittering of the lure trap. "There. Let it go. Let go, Zev?"
Caught in the charms of the small shiny thing, he had barely noticed that, having received no answer to his call, Tomas was coming their way slowly, with the shortsword half drawn. Zevran thumbed the hilt of his dagger under the cloak. Much to his relief, though, the man's eyes turned from the shadow that hid their presence to the glittering shape in the grass.
"Ohh, pretty…" he mumbled as he reached for the thing.
"Whaddya found, Tomas?" the other two gathered closer to admire, drawn to the enthralling murmur that had grown more powerful now, as the man named Tomas had snapped the crystal in two, and was zooming the two parts in and out, fallen deep in fascination.
Zevran was pacing away slowly, like one walking on fresh eggs and trying not to break any, when Kallian spoke again.
"Zevran…?"
"If you don't shut up this moment, I may have to slay whoever we meet next. We are fleeing camp, if you haven't noticed."
"Oh! I haven't. But I'm coughing blood."
"Wonderful."
He got in the small camp in the woods later, and delivered his precious burden to the woman standing by the fire there. She took a quick look over Kallian's body.
"Head trauma, cracked skull; broken ribs, coughing blood, crushed arm. Do you happen to have found any of that mad woman's ashes upon her?"
"Unfortunately, I'm afraid not. I have found an overpowering lure, though."