Chapter 1: Waning Moon
Outside Redcliffe
"Are you all right?" Alistair's face carried an expression of genuine concern, but even so Lynx felt irritation rise inside her the moment he opened his mouth. "I mean, you look sort of pale and tired and-"
Of course I'm not all right. Stupid shem! I've lost my home, my family, my future. I have to spend the rest of my life among your kind. How could I possibly be 'all right'? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but of course she didn't say them aloud. "I'm fine. Just exhausted from the nightmares."
"Poor you." Alistair nodded. "I remember all too well. It will get better, you know."
Lynx swallowed. He was really trying to be nice. Maybe she could talk to him, after all. "I'm also a bit lonely," she ventured.
"Lonely?" Alistair's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Why would you be lonely? You've got all of us, haven't you?" His expansive gesture took in Wynne, Leliana, Sten and Morrigan, as well as the slobbering dog.
Or maybe not. "Yes but…" Lynx hesitated, but then decided to give it one more shot. "None of you are elvhen, you know. I miss my own people. I wish I could talk to one of them now and again."
"Ah." Understanding dawned on Alistair's features. "But there were lots of elves at the Tower. Couldn't you have talked to them?"
Lynx closed her eyes, trying to hide her revulsion. The elven mages at Kinloch had been… worse than humans, in a way. So strange, so alien, so utterly removed from her people's beliefs and traditions, without vallaslin, without memories of their Clan or their family, ignorant of the Creators. Stinking of shem magic, too. Even Morrigan was more bearable than them.
Alistair was still looking at her expectantly, and she sighed. "It's not the same."
He nodded, but she could plainly see he didn't get it. But at least he left her to her thoughts as they continued down the road toward Redcliffe Village. Lynx much preferred silence to talking. It was easier that way, far easier to hide her sorrow behind an impassive expression, far easier to numb the pain in her soul. She'd gotten a lot of practice at that since Ostagar, and now she hardly felt it anymore. She hardly felt anything anymore.
"It's not far to Redcliffe now." Alistair's voice was warm and gentle, as if he regretted interrupting her train of thought. "I'm sure Arl Eamon will be able to help us."
Lynx just nodded. She didn't care, one way or another. After Duncan's death, when they had made it out of the Korcari Wilds, Alistair had suggested the Arl might be able to help them. And maybe he was right. How would she know? What did a Dalish elf know about human politics? How could she possibly be expected to sort out a Blight? Lynx had no idea what had possessed Duncan to pick her for this task. She could hardly imagine a less suitable candidate.
"How long until we reach the village?" She glanced up at Alistair. Creators, why does he have to be so tall?
"An hour, maybe two. We'll be there before nightfall, at any rate." Alistair smiled, whistling for Chewie, their mabari, who had strayed off the road. "I'm curious to see the place, actually. It's where I grew up."
Lynx was about to reply when the dog began to growl. A finely dressed woman was coming toward them, hands raised imploringly. The sun stood low in the sky to the west, and Lynx had to squint to make out details, but behind the woman she thought she could see the silhouette of an overturned wagon at the side of the road.
"Help! Please help me!" The woman's voice sounded desperate, but something about her made Lynx' skin crawl.
Alistair kept walking, eager to help out a fellow traveller, and she felt she had to hold him back, warn him somehow, but before she could say a word, she heard a characteristic twanging noise.
"Alistair! Arrows!" Finally she found her voice again.
To his credit, he didn't hesitate for a moment. In one smooth movement, he raised his shield above his head and drew his sword. Three arrows whizzed past the woman and buried themselves in the wood, piercing the painted griffon. From somewhere, the woman produced a staff and began to intone a spell.
Lynx cursed inaudibly and notched her first arrow. Next to her, Leliana did the same. Sten was already thundering past them, sword in hand, and Wynne and Morrigan were responding with incantations of their own. Lynx spared a moment to thank the Gods for all the hours of battle training Alistair had insisted on. They really paid off now.
Even so, it was a close call. The mage went down quickly, struck by a massive blow from Sten's sword. That was a blessing, since her spells could have done serious harm. The bowmen weren't much of a problem either – both Lynx and Leliana were far more skilled than their foes. But Sten was taken out early when he stepped into a particularly nasty leg-hold trap, and Alistair only narrowly avoided the same fate.
In the end, their biggest problem was one man. He kept fighting long after the others went down, his two daggers whirling too fast for the eye to follow as he feinted, withdrew and attacked at lightning speed. For the longest time, he managed to evade Alistair's blows, laughing as he did so, as if he was having the time of his life. It was only thanks to a well-placed freezing spell from Morrigan that they finally managed to pin him down.
Alistair quickly tied his wrists behind his back, holding him to the ground with one knee pressed to his spine. Lynx lowered her bow and stepped closer. For the first time in weeks, she felt a stirring of curiosity.
The first thing she saw of him was his hair, long and shimmering like spun gold in the late afternoon sun, tousled despite the careful braiding. Between the long strands, there was the unmistakable shape of a pointed ear. An elf! Her heart beat faster, or maybe that was just leftover excitement from the battle. When he raised his head to face her, she held her breath for a moment. He was… not what she had expected.
His skin was much darker than hers, a rich, golden brown, and a distinctive tattoo adorned the left side of his face: two parallel lines running all the way from his temple down to his cheek, as if a large cat had marked him with its claws. His lips, full and sensual, were still blue from the cold, but he managed a small smile at the sight of her. His light-brown eyes met hers, clear and wary, but without a trace of fear. He's not afraid of death.
And surely, killing him would be the sensible course of action, after such an attack. Lynx wanted to question him first, though, and he answered readily enough.
Zevran Arainai. An unfamiliar name, with a foreign sound to it, and yet, when he gave it in his rich, purring voice with the heavy accent, Lynx felt a shiver run down her back, as if she'd heard it before. He was an Antivan Crow, he said, a paid killer looking to end her life and Alistair's, at Teyrn Loghain's behest.
"We've heard enough, Warden." Leliana's voice, cool and reasonable. "I doubt he'll tell us more. I've had dealings with Crow assassins before, and they are highly dangerous. Let me-"
The bard was already stepping forward, dagger in hand, when the prisoner cried out, his eyes seeking out Lynx' face. "Wait. Please."
"Do you plan on talking your way out of this, assassin?" Morrigan's voice was dripping with contempt.
He ignored her, still focussed on Lynx. "I understand why you would want to kill me. But I believe there is another option."
Lynx was intrigued, almost against her will. "Go on." Morrigan rolled her eyes and Alistair raised his head with an angry huff, but she motioned for them to be silent. "I want to hear what he has to say."
"It's very simple." The assassin smiled disarmingly. "I failed at killing you, thus my life is forfeit. Either you will kill me, or the Crows will."
"That sounds about right so far." Leliana's eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
Again, Zevran ignored everyone except for Lynx, his eyes never leaving hers. "Let me serve you instead. You seem as if you could protect me from my former masters."
"Even if I could… You're very quick to betray them," Lynx pointed out. "How do I know you won't do the same to me?"
"Good question." He nodded. "This is different, however. Joining the Crows was never my choice. I was sold to them, when I was but a child. Can you blame me if I don't want to die for them?"
Zevran held his breath as he watched his captor's face.
She was not at all what he had expected when he'd signed the contract. A lot younger, for one thing, a delicate waif of a girl, with pale skin and dark, haunted eyes. If he hadn't seen her handle her bow during the fight, he'd have been inclined to dismiss her as harmless. But she was skilled, impressively so, and she had her tattoos, so she had to be older than she looked. Howe and his master also failed to mention she's Dalish. Not that it would have made a difference to him. Sentimentality wasn't something an assassin could afford.
"No. I guess I can't blame you." She had a curious voice, hoarse and muted, and she was looking at Zevran as if she could see straight into his soul. She couldn't, of course, and good for her. Not even he himself would be willing to face its darkest corners. "So, what's in it for me if I accept your services?"
"Oh, I am skilled at many things. Stealing, fighting, lock-picking…" Which was stretching the truth a bit, but he could deal with simple locks. He let his grin turn mildly suggestive. "I could even warm your bed, if you wish."
A faint blush crept onto those pale cheeks. "You- No, I couldn't possibly… That wouldn't be right." She sounded stiff and uncomfortable, and for the first time, she avoided his gaze.
He chuckled softly. "Your choice. But I'm sure there are other things I could do for you. If you want me, I'm your man, without reservations."
"Will you swear to that?" She reached for her dagger.
"Lynx!" The big warrior at her side sounded incredulous. "Do you honestly intend to let him live? How can you possibly think that's a good idea?"
"You were the one who wanted me to take the lead, Alistair. If you're serious about that, you'll have to accept my decisions." Her eyes took on a far-away look for a moment, but then she was back with them. "Well, will you swear?"
"I swear." Zevran didn't hesitate for a moment. This was his chance, his only chance, and he didn't want to die, not now when things had suddenly turned so interesting. "I pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it."
Lynx nodded and cut through his bonds. Her hands were cool on his wrists, her touch light, but even so he felt it as if her fingertips had been burned into his skin. Carefully, he rubbed his hands to get the blood circulating again. The warrior – Alistair - still kept one hand on his sword grip.
"Well, well." The tall, beautiful mage seemed almost amused. "Our very own assassin. Who knows, he might even turn out to be useful. Still, we'd better be careful with our food from now on. He could easily poison us all."
"I could, yes." Zevran glanced briefly at her. "But I won't. You will see that I take this oath seriously." He dropped to his knee in front of Lynx. "Warden. I'm yours to command."
She almost blushed again, but when she spoke, she sounded firm and determined. "Give him his weapons back, Alistair."
"Lynx!" Alistair raised his hands in mock desperation. "This is madness. Let me at least hold on to his daggers until we know him better."
She shrugged gracefully. "Either we trust him or we don't. You think he doesn't know a thousand ways to kill us without weapons?"
"True," the redheaded woman muttered under her breath. "There's no way to render a Crow harmless."
"I accept your oath, Zevran Arainai. I trust in your word." Lynx fixed him again with those large, dark eyes. "And if I'm wrong, may the Gods help us all. Now, how is Sten? Can you do anything for him, Wynne?" She turned to Alistair. "If we hurry, we may still be able to make it to Redcliffe today. We can walk by the light of the moon if need be."
Zevran followed her with his eyes as she made her way over to the wounded Qunari. He wasn't sure what to make of his new mistress. She wasn't easy to read, that one, not even for him. Behind that cool mask, he could sense suffering and pain, bordering on despair, but at the same time there was an incredible strength, a fierce determination not to give in. Not broken, not yet.
Still, she would need all the help she could get to survive. And Zevran found, to his surprise, that he was more than ready to do his part. Two hours ago, his existence had been meaningless and he'd have welcomed death. Now he had suddenly discovered something he cared about. The Crows won't have her, and neither will Loghain. Not while I live.
Huggles and thanks to my wonderful beta suilven!