Chapter One.
"You stand near the sink,
while you're mixing a drink.
You think you don't want to pass out,
where your roommates will find you again."
Bright Eyes - a line allows progress a circle does not.
Misame felt all the pain and desire to die again. Her face was burnt by the blue flame of the arch demon, but she managed to keep her concentration. Her hands flew wildly above her head, and she felt the last of the lyriums power draining from her. The demon seemed to scream in agony as both she and Morrigan hit it with electric bolts at the same time. And then suddenly she was moving, running towards the demon with all her speed, past the few remaining dwarves, past Zevran who was twirling his dagger and longsword above his head at tremendous speed, past Alistair, a look of sheer determination on his face as he hit the beast with his shield. She unsheathed Spellweaver and saw her opening. Running the blade from the demon's chin to the bottom of its neck, she felt the tough skin of the beast tear against her momentum as she was covered in it's blood and blight. The demon crashed next to her, almost hitting her with the wall of muscle. As she was about to pierce the dragon's skull with her sword she felt a restraining hand on hers, and someone softly speak her name. The world jolted and spun. The fade blurred into a mess of red and purple. She heard her name again. She awoke.
Zevran stood in her bed chambers softly stroking her hair and cooing her name in his thick, lush accent. She sat bolt up-right and realised her fitful dreams had been just as physical in the real world as they had in the fade. The sheets stuck to her sweat drenched skin and wrapped around herself to the point where it pained her to sit up. Morning light slashed through the small glass window, right into her face and she squinted against it.
"Ah, my dear, it would appear you have been dreaming again, no?" She rubbed her eyes, confused, and looked at the elf.
"How did you get in here?" she questioned groggily. Zevran's eyes crackled with mirth.
"I have been training my lock-picking skills. All the better to rescue distressed beauties from their nasty subconscious." His hand ran down from her messy red curls to the smooth ivory whiteness of her cheek and then her neck and she suddenly became aware of her nakedness. She swatted him away and started to untangle herself from her sheets.
"So, tell me, my sleeping lovely. What is it that disturbs your dreams this time? Is it the arch demon or the ex-templar?" She turned her head sharply to look at him, her green eyes narrowed as she spoke,
"If you want to be useful pass me a bottle of lyrium, they are in the bottom draw in the cabinet behind you."
"Ah, my lady, that drawer is locked..."
"Something to keep you occupied whilst I get changed, my lecherous friend." He smiled at her lewdly, but quickly set to work on the meaningless task. He had felt her wrath in the form of flame bursting out of her fingertips before, and he was not likely to provoke it again.
Whilst his back was turned she slipped on her small clothes and a simple mages robe that she used for training. She suddenly remembered what today's events were going to entail, and a small moan escaped her lips.
"My sweet, I know I am desirable, but you must save your moans for later. People will talk." He smiled at her. He had made quick work on her cabinet lock and was now looking at a vast array of lyrium potions before him. "Woah, that is quite a collection! Is there currently a shortage of lyrium or something because..."
"Shut up Zev and pass me two, greater." Zevran shrugged, he was not one to comment on over indulgence but he began to feel the pangs of concern for the beautiful mage.
She drank them both quickly, and then looked her companion in the eye.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this Zev, I mean, I know you said you wanted to stay at my side, but you really don't need to do this..."
"Ahh my pretty flower, do not worry about me. I want to be a Grey Warden. Though,yes, my life span will be much less, I assure myself that the women will be a lot more easy, and the pay far better than that of an Antivan Crow."
"If you are sure."
"I have never been more sure about anything. Except perhaps my desire to slip into your bed and fight your nightmares with my passion." He raised an eyebrow, but her face was impassive. His lewdness had not been able to bring either a smile nor a blush to her cheeks since...
"Let's get some breakfast then, my Antivan friends, and prepare for the task ahead of us."
Zevran followed behind the warden, his concern growing with every step they took. He had heard what Alistair had told her that night, but he never believed it could still hurt her this much. Up until then he thought nothing could crumble their courageous and seemingly fearless leader. He shook the thought away, and instead concentrated on the shape and movement of her hips in that tight fitting robe.
Misame had been glad to stay in Denerim. Most of her companions were at least waiting for the wedding celebrations tomorrow, and though the thought of attending them sickened her to her stomach, she was glad of the merriment of others, deciding to use it to fill up the gaping whole inside her heart. Arl Howle's estate had been granted to the Grey Wardens, and although there were only two left in Ferelden, she has quickly made it into a suitable training ground for aspiring warriors and rouges. After the defeat of the darkspawn horde there was much work that needed to be done but she had found that her new status of Hero of Ferelden had sent people flocking to the Arls old estate, begging to be allowed to repay her for her sacrifice, a few even begging to be trained as Grey Wardens. She had yet to turn a single person away, and the house was now over crowded with eager men and women, cleaning, rebuilding, cooking and training. The grand hall of the house had been set out with six long lines of tables, and one shorter one to the left. There was still a gaping whole in the ceiling, but the lack of rain had made it unimportant.
The familiar faces at the table that she walked to lifted her spirits as they did every morning. Leliana was deep in conversation with Oghren about tomorrows wedding, Sten sat stony faced, as always, playing with his porridge as if it had caused him some sort of offence. Sithis, her faithful mabari war hound was curled up underneath the table at Sten's feet. She sat in a vacant seat next to Leliana and as she did so her thoughts crept to Morrigan. She had found an unlikely friendship with the fellow mage and missed her now more than ever knowing that the apsotate's hatred of Alistair would certainly of helped soothe her heartache. So saddened by these thoughts was she that the change in conversational tone and topic breezed over her head. The sudden silence of her companions jerked her from her thoughts.
"Sorry, I was a million miles away."
"I was just wondering if any of the trainees will be taking part in your secret ritual today?" Leliana repeated. Misame had thought of the question long and hard the previous night, and discussed it with each of them, valuing their opinion on the matter as much as her own.
"No, I have decided to wait until the wardens from Orlais make it to Denerim. They know more than I do about the matter."
"But surely there is still a need for Grey Wardens? Ferelden is defenceless if the darkspawn rally..." Leliana began but dropped her train of thought. "Is this ritual that dangerous?"
"You know I can't tell you anything Leliana." The bard shrugged and turned back to her lumpy porridge. Misame could sense the disapproval of her decision among her friends, but she did not mind. She remembered so vividly her own joining and would not allow the same fate that befell Ser Jory to come to any of the trainees, knowing that they were driven to her gate's more by the epic tales of her conquest than any real desire to become Grey Wardens. The conversation returned back to tomorrows wedding.
"So, who is going to escort you tomorrow Misame? Everyday I am hounded by letters from the nobility asking the same question. It seems to be the height of court gossip!" Leliana smiled at her. "I heard that even the Teryn of Highever has asked for your company. He is a very handsome young man, indeed." The mage felt the now familiar nausea rise through her body and she pushed her breakfast away. Zevran gave Leliana a warning look, which the bard did not notice. She continued her girlish prattle. "But personally I think the best choice would be Bann Teagan. Did you see the way he looked at you when we saved Redcliffe. I think he is smitten, and such a charmer." Leliana glanced at Misame's face, taking in her grim and set features. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Come now, my friend, you must get over Alistair. What better way to do it than surround yourself with handsome, powerful men who want nothing but to whisk you off your feet."
Misame knew what she said was the truth, but she could not imagine herself with any other man. Try as she might to picture another man holding her, laughing with her, kissing her, making love to her, their faces always seem to morph into the strong, handsome features of her templar. But he was not her's or a templar any more. She blanked her mind as she met Leliana's intent gaze.
"You are right, as always." She sighed, "Send a messenger to Bann Teagan, telling him I will be honoured to accompany him to tomorrows...celebrations." Leliana let off a delighted sequel and jumped up from her chair, running off no doubt to tell the Bann herself. Him and the whole of Ferelden, she thought.
"Right, back to business," she addressed the remainder of her allies. They looked at her expectantly. "Sten and Oghren you will take over the training of the recruits today. I want them to spar with each other. Then each of them will face both of you separately. I had hoped by now they would be training in groups, but they are not ready yet. Push them hard today and reward them with a day to themselves tomorrow." Oghren and Sten nodded at her, and she once again felt an overwhelming gratitude to them for staying this short while. There was yet to be any mage recruits and though she was a trained Arcane Warrior, her sword skills were intrinsic to her use of magic. She scolded herself for not yet making the trip the Circle Tower in the hunt for new recruits and remembered how she had been sorely tempted to be there rather than at the wedding. Leliana had changed her mind, insisting that attending tomorrow would help her on the road to recovery. As Oghren and Sten left the now emptying hall, to round up the troops, a page dressed in the purple of the royal livery appeared at the end of the table. She looked at him questioningly, and he handed her a note, sealed with red wax, the Theirin coat of arms imprinted onto it. Her heart jumped into her throat, and her face drained of blood. Zevran dismissed the page, as she tore open the letter, hoping, praying that Alistair had changed his mind. Her heart sank back into place as she read the letter, and it was replaced with a bitter bile of scorn and hatred. The letter was brief and to the point;
To Grey Warden Misame,
I shall be attending Zevran's joining, I shall be there after midday.
Alistair.
She was outraged and hurt that the familiar hand could speak so coldly. Her anger overspilled into physical rage, and the letter erupted into burning hot flames in her hand, the now hot wax ran down her arm. Zevran reacted faster than she did, dousing the fire before it singed the table clothe. He vaulted the table and landed primly next to her, taking her scolded arm in his hand and examining it. Misame did not react to any of this, a mixture of adrenaline and fury coursed through her veins blocking out the pain.
"I take it that the letter was from the hated templar?" Zevran queried as he tried to physically coerce her into leaving her seat for the make shift healing room. She refused to budge. Her teeth gritted, she looked Zeveran in the eye.
"It seems that you shall be having a royal joining my friend." The rouges face twisted into a bemused half smile.
"Well I suppose I should be honoured that such an important noble could take time out of his busy schedule for a lowly assassin." The sarcasm in his voice shook her out of her state and she let out a whimper of pain, clutching at her burnt hand. She stood and allowed Zevran to steer her out of the hall.
Zevran insisted on applying the ice balm to her hand, peeling off pieces of burnt wax with a dexterous and soft touch. She stopped him applying a bandage however, and instead cast an inept healing spell that lifted her physical pain.
"I don't understand why he's coming," she fumed when the process was done. "He has no good reason to be here. I don't need him any more." Zevran arched an eyebrow, but bit his tongue. It was not that he thought the mage was not capable of looking after herself, she had proved to him time and time again that her diminutive frame and soft features were merely exterior. He had seen her slay strong men and hideous darkspawn with barely a flick of her fingers. He had heard her at night though, unknowingly screaming out the templar's name, begging him to take her back, bargaining with the fade Alistair, pleading for just one more night in his arms. "He thinks he can just break my heart and then wonder back here as if nothing has happened, without even asking my permission. With no question about how I think or feel, who does he think he is?" her shouts reverberated around the small room and unadorned room.
"You know I have grave doubts about the templar's ability to think at all" Zevran licked his lips and fanned the flame of her anger. "Maybe the idea of Kingship has gone to his head but it is more likely that he sees it as his duty as a Grey Warden."
"He is not a Grey Warden anymore, we don't hold titles, or have lands. There is just honour and duty."
"I must say you don't advertise it very well to possible recruits," Zevran's eyes winked with mirth.
"Oh Zev, I didn't mean it like..."
He laughed, "I know you didn't, my dear. I made up my mind that day we were ambushed by my old friends, The Crows, the way you protected me so vigorously and with such passion. I realised that I owed you my life and I will spend the rest of it serving you," he moved his face closer to hers so she could feel his breathe, "in any way you desire," he purred. Misame rolled her eyes and went to stand, but the elf had his hands firmly on the arms of the chair. She half thought that he was about to kiss her, she would not put it past the sneaky elf, but he merely held her gaze and whispered,
"You are stronger than he will ever be, ma beauté courageuse." She felt his hand graze her arm as he moved backwards, sending unexpected sparks throughout her body. Attempting to shrug it off she delved into her pocket and felt the reassuring coolness of the lesser lyrium potion she kept on her in case of emergency. She uncorked it expertly and downed the bottle, feeling a warm sense of power serge over her. She closed her eyes, relishing the increasingly fleeting sensation that the potion offered her, every part of her coursed with energy and she relaxed into it, her sadness and anger dulled. Her eyes opened and she felt ready to face the man she loved, and the possibility of losing another friend.