Chapter 2
The Warrior

Zevran tossed back another swallow of ale, grimacing at the taste. No matter how many times he allowed Oghren to talk him into an evening at the Pearl, he never enjoyed it. The ale was sour, and Sanga's prostitutes had nothing he was interested in. Not that he was really that willing to pay for his bedmates - he'd ever been blessed with the ability to sweet-talk his way between most pairs of legs. Why pay for the cow, when the milk came free? But aside from that, he'd had no wish to tangle blankets with anyone, paid or otherwise. Not lately.

"Evening, Zevran," Silla purred, trailing one sultry hand over his shoulders. She slung herself across his lap, straddling his legs as she flashed her biggest smile. Zevran's eyes darted around the room - with this simple move, Silla had captured the attention of every worker the Pearl had.

"Silla, my sweet," Zevran chuckled. "How is your mother?"

"Oh, Zev," the girl pouted. "Don't go all brother-ish on me." Her reddened lips touched his cheek, the scent of azaleas washing over him. "Mother is well. You were sweet to send that healer."

"Think nothing of it." Zevran shifted her from his lap, but Silla clung, bringing her bosom dangerously close to his nose.

"Zev... you promised," she breathed, grazing her teeth over his ear. He grimaced, realizing that most of the inn's workers had slowed in their tasks and were watching them. Normally an audience didn't bother him, but there was more here than simple voyeurism...

"What did you bet, Silla?" he murmured, laying one obvious hand over her breast and giving a squeeze. What the girl wanted was a show. Even as his fingers lingered by the lace she'd stretched over her ample bosom, the room's attention waned, and Silla's mouth tugged into a triumphant smile.

"Just that you would kiss me," she whispered, nibbling on his jaw. "Will you? Please? You never kiss any of us."

Zevran clucked his tongue at her. "Silla, my darling..." He brushed his lips over her cheek, then bent her backward, slanting over her as his arm cradled her lower back. She curved back, her head nearly touching the floor as he skimmed his lips over her breasts. Oghren's lascivious chuckle brought an amused smile to his lips. "Do not make a bet you cannot win," he breathed, then tugged on her neckline with his teeth.

Silla scowled as he raised her up once more, huffing as she flounced off to find another customer.

"Sometimes I think they'd pay you to get ya between their legs," Oghren grumbled, draining his tankard before slamming it to the table and bellowing for a refill. Zevran chuckled. The dwarf had no clue how true that statement really was. Sanga had actually tried to hire him on as a consultant to improve her workers' skills. After the initial surprise, he'd been tempted - for about a minute. But then the thought had only exhausted him. Perhaps he was simply getting old. In Antiva, had he been offered an unlimited supply of enthusiastic men and women under the pretext of "teaching", he might never have left. This country has changed me, Zevran pondered as he sipped from his cup.

Oghren giggled, one unsteady finger pointing at a small elven lass with luxurious red hair. "Her. I'm gonna ask Sanga for her."

"Scarlet? She is a beauty." Zevran spun his cup in long, calloused fingers. In times past, he'd been forced to file the roughness from his hands, smooth them with sandstone to baby softness in the name of a part he would play. And then would come the building back up, weeks of discomfort as the callouses re-formed. Blisters and bleeding skin had been a small price to pay for survival in his world. Being small and beautiful, he'd been sent on more than a few jobs that uglier, burlier men would not have suited. It had given him an edge, one that he'd used to claw his way up in the ranks of the Crows.

I could go back, he mused, recalling the day he'd earned his second stripe - the mark of one with influence, one skilled in love and death both. Though a cleaner escape has likely never been made from the Crows... I'd be begging for the knife if I returned to Antiva now. Rinna's death had affected him deeply. Knowing what he'd done to her, realizing that he meant nothing, that no one would miss him if he died - it had robbed him of any desire to keep breathing.

But that had changed when Leliana had kept Alistair's blade from severing his head from his neck. He'd returned to life, discovered what family meant, what love could be. Rinna had been a gem, but there were other gems in the world. Leliana had taught him that.

And then she broke my heart, he thought, gripping the tankard. A grimace twisted his lips as her memory reopened wounds he thought he'd sealed shut. But this wasn't the end - not even close. If he'd learned anything from his Wardens, it was that people could heal, that life could go on. And he had no intention of letting this be the thing that ended him.

Of course, seeing the pretty bard around the castle wasn't helping any. What he really needed was something to keep him away from the palace entirely... but the guards still needed training. Once he was happy with the protection they could offer, he could go, leave this city behind and find somewhere warmer, with less dog-smell. Maybe he'd find Isabela, sail with her awhile. Surely she could use a deft pair of hands below... deck.

He'd been doing his best to stay out of Leliana's way. Since Alistair had returned, Lyra had been happily distracted, and the rulers were now settling into their new daily routine. Leliana was at loose ends... when she wasn't at the chantry, she could usually be found in the training yard, which was normally where he was. Much as he tried to ignore her, the palace walls grew smaller every day, her presence weighing on him like a millstone 'round his neck.

"Which one you want? My treat," Oghren offered, signaling Sanga. The proprietress hurried over, a bright smile on her face. The dwarf was one of her best customers.

The idea of allowing Oghren to buy him a whore, the way one man might buy another a drink - it turned Zevran's stomach. "No, my friend, but thank you. Enjoy yourself." He slid from the chair, dropping a few coins on the table to pay for the sorry excuse for ale. "Shall I return for you in a few hours, or will you be sober enough to recall the route back to the palace?"

"Nah, go home," Oghren grumbled, but offered his hand to Zevran. "Don't get too broody, elf."

Zevran chuckled as he shook Oghren's hand, then slipped out the tavern doors before he could witness the dwarf leering at Scarlet. If what he'd heard was true, Oghren had yet to actually have sex with any of the prostitutes - he liked to cuddle, apparently. Though Zevran would die before he'd reveal the blustering warrior's supposed weaknesses.

The night was cold, with a hint of frost in the air that bit his cheeks. It wouldn't be much longer before he needed more than a light cloak to venture out into the evening.

Zevran wandered, not willing to go back to the palace just yet... his friends were likely gathered in the small parlor that adjoined Alistair and Lyra's room, listening to Leliana play her lute. His heart twanged, wishing he dared join in the homey scene, but watching her play, seeing the light shimmer on her hair and her delicate fingers make love to the strings... no. He couldn't do it. Maybe eventually, but not now.

His feet carried him over the bridge, and though he seemed not to be paying attention, he was more than aware of the small nightlife that occurred around him. When he heard the tell-tale thump of boots on stone, he slipped into a shadow, wrapping the darkness around him and holding his breath. The night's watch tromped by, unaware that a rogue elf observed them from a sheltering doorway. After nearly being tossed into the Alienage on one unfortunate occasion, Zevran had learned not to let them see him. It simply made things easier.

Once the guards had gone, he continued his rambling walk, his feet leading him of their own volition to a spot he'd discovered earlier in the week. A particular building, whose owner delighted in stacking empty crates against the side wall... Zevran shook his head, wondering if the shopkeeper knew just how easy he was making it for potential thieves to access his roof.

Nimble as a mountain goat, Zevran climbed, scaling the path to the flattened roof with ease. Seconds later, he had an unobstructed view of the city, his breath pluming into the chilled night air as he settled back against the wall.

Being alone was the very thing he craved, and it was with a sigh of relief that he stared up at the moon, allowing himself the privilege of wallowing in his misery. The heartache... well, it ached, and he worried the feeling like a sore tooth. Shoving the feelings down did nothing to cure them. So, he inspected them instead, held each one up to the light and analyzed it, hoping this would be the way to force Leliana from his heart. It might have been two hours, or possibly longer, but Zevran had fallen into a doze when the sound of a scream jolted his chin from his chest.

Giving his head a quick shake, he launched himself at the low wall that surrounded the rooftop, seeking the source of the scream. Intense eyes scanned the city, coming to settle upon the alienage and the budding conflict therein. His building butted right up against the elven section of the city, and he could see everything with perfect ease.

He squinted, as if doing so would sharpen his hearing - the words being said were difficult to make out. From what he could see, however, a young, redheaded lass had been cornered by two much larger creatures - males, he assumed. And from their height, they didn't look to be elven.

Zevran scanned the ground, looking for a good place to land. Though he didn't relish the idea of jumping from this height, he'd pulled it off in the past, and it would be faster than climbing down and circling the city to enter the Alienage in the traditional way. He'd just settled on his route and had tensed to spring, when a new voice halted him in his tracks.

Her words were faint with no wind to carry them, but the voice caroled high and clear as a bell, confident and challenging. Zevran's eyes widened, his head whipping toward the sound even as the redhead's attackers also looked toward the newcomer.

Lithe, tall for her kind, adorned in worn leathers, she held a battle-ready pose in the light of the moon. The sword she gripped was nothing special, and yet she posed with the agility of a talented warrior, unafraid of death because death never came close. A faint breeze happened by, bringing the redhead's shriek to his ears. "Kallian!"

The men pulled daggers and rushed her, and Zevran's breath caught at the clash of blades that filled the silent night. She pivoted, whirling and striking, quick as a snake and twice as slippery. The redhead cowered, slanting against a wall as her hand fell against a gray, weathered plank that had come loose. Scrabbling, she wrenched it free and dove into the fray, shrieking like a banshee as she swung her improvised weapon. The redhead had no skill to speak of, but her wild swings at least gave the men pause. Her rescuer shouted, then planted a boot into one of the male chests, sending him stumbling.

The one who'd been kicked struggled to his feet just in time to see his companion run through on the mystery woman's blade. Words were exchanged, again, too low for Zevran to hear. The man hauled his bleeding companion up, then spat at her feet before limping from the Alienage.

The moment they'd gone, the redhead collapsed into her friend's arms, and after a moment, the two scurried off into the night.

Zevran blinked, stunned at what he'd just witnessed. He'd been so enthralled he'd completely forgotten his plan to rush to their rescue. The warrior woman had been more than capable of caring for herself - the memory of her name embedded, branding into his mind. Kallian.

If what he understood was true, no alienage elf was permitted to carry steel - those who did would die upon their own blades. He frowned, wondering if Alistair knew about that archaic law. How had the woman become such a magnificent fighter, if her people were not permitted the use of weaponry?

She'd risked her life to save her friend, in more ways than one - she might have been reported to the authorities simply for daring to brandish a sword. And then, she'd simply let the humans go - though she had worn a helmet, Zevran didn't hold out hope that she wouldn't be recognized. It would have been wiser to simply finish them.

With this thought, he shimmied down from the rooftop, intent on finding the two low-lifes and stopping their breath.