For about the tenth time the words on the page began to blur together, and Alistair closed the book in defeat. Interested as he was in a book on arcane symbology (he'd been trying to figure out what the script on the dragon statue Cadryn had found was), the thing was dry, and after so many days of being cooped up... Alistair stared down at his leg, propped up on a plush ottoman. He was more or less confined to one floor of the palace, since if Wynne caught him attempting stairs he would probably end up tied to a bed, and it was maddening.
The door opened, and Cassius rose from the floor next to his chair, padded over curiously. Thusly, Bann Teagan got about as far as, "This is the last place-" before he had to contend with a face full of happy mabari. Alistair laughed as Teagan at first tried to convince the mabari to get off him, then adopted a different tactic—but wrestling the hound only encouraged it, so when he finally got up Teagan's fine clothing was a mess of slobber, and his hair similarly mussed.
Alistair was wiping away tears of mirth at this point, and choked out, "You were about to say?"
"I've never pegged you for much interest in books," Teagan said, nodding to the volume now draped across the near arm of Alistair's chair, "so when Leliana told me you were here, I didn't believe her at first."
"I'm hiding," Alistair confessed. "Speaking of which, shut the door, would you? I can't be seen. Maids, nurses, visiting noblewomen—they're all throwing themselves at me."
Teagan gave him something of a suspicious smile. "And this is bad why?"
"Don't get me wrong—it was nice, at first. Then they got competitive. I had to pull two girls apart from ripping each other's hair out. That's not nearly as bad as some of the fights they've had over who gets to have me—I've learned five new words and phrases for 'gentlewoman of questionable virtue' today alone, and heard someone say those exact words, mind you. About their own mother."
"Ah." Teagan found himself a chair and shifted it to face Alistair. "I imagine that would take some of the charm out of it."
"Just think," Alistair said, starting forward in his chair, "about what it will be like when we leave the palace! I'm more likely to be trampled to death in a stampede than to actually bed one of these women!"
"Speaking of leaving the palace, Eamon is wondering what you and the other warden will be doing, after this."
"So you didn't just come to see how I was doing?" Alistair couldn't keep the disappointment from his voice.
"In part. Eamon's been busy, so he sent me to check on you and ask about a few things. I think the answer to his first question, then, will be 'Miserable, but well enough'." Teagan leaned back in the chair, settling in for what was likely to be a long conversation. "So?"
"It's not up to me," Alistair said, and he began running one hand nervously across the arm of the chair. "Cadryn is the Warden Commander for Ferelden. What we do is entirely up to him."
"So you have no speculation at all? Assuming he chooses to remain Commander."
Leave it to Teagan to touch on one of his greatest fears. Alistair looked away, focusing on the light filtering through the study's high windows, the dust suspended in each shaft. Late afternoon, he thought, by the golden quality to the light. "What else would he do? He's more Warden than mage. And just because the Blight is ended doesn't remove the threat of Darkspawn. He took an oath, and I'm certain he'll honor it. The only person who could talk him out of it is Zevran, and I've recently come to the conclusion that he's more lost than anyone I've ever met. So there's no danger, there."
Teagan gave a slow nod, which Alistair glimpsed from the corner of one eye. "I'm certain the Chantry will be enthused about a mage as Warden Commander. If you need us, we will be ready to back you up, in a political sense."
"That's reassuring." Alistair exhaled heavily, not quite a sigh. That hadn't occurred to him before, and he was glad Teagan brought it up now.
For a brief moment neither of them spoke, and in the silence Alistair took a moment to appreciate the scent of the study. He'd never been the bookish type, but there was something comforting about the scent of so many in one place. A sort of timelessness. Then Teagan said, "What's wrong with him?"
"Cadryn?" Alistair had been waiting for this one. "Aside from the ribs and and being a few pints lighter. You mean why no one gets in to see him."
"There are rumors," Teagan explained. "I'd see them dispelled, if possible."
This time Alistair did fully sigh. "He's burnt out. At least, that's what Wynne and the First Enchanter said. Killing the Archdemon should've killed him, but instead he just served as a conduit for the Archdemon's essence, and his body and soul treated it like a particularly powerful spell." Alistair gave a sort of dismissive gesture with one hand. "I only understand it as well as I do because of my Templar training, and that I've been hanging around a very well-educated mage for the past year. The First Enchanter could give you all the boring details, but what it really means is that he can't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Which is kind of frightening most of the time." Alistair smiled at the memory, and found the strength to look Teagan in the face again. "We've been keeping an eye on him, by turns, and last time I was with him he felt well enough to eat. So he's telling me a story about this friend of his, the one who turned out to be a blood mage, and just as he's getting to the good part he dozes off, mid-sentence, with a mug of broth in hand." Alistair mimed holding such a thing. "I barely caught it in time."
Teagan was clearly not as amused as Alistair, and the almost-Templar thought perhaps it was the mention of Jowan—Isolde's sacrifice was a sore spot for him as well, and he had only partially forgiven Cadryn for the decisions leading up to it. "The rumors are baseless, then," the Bann said. "That's a great relief."
Alistair couldn't stop one hand from reaching up to touch the pendant through his shirt. "I'd like to speak to Eamon, some time soon."
"I'll tell him," Teagan said. "And I should be getting back to him—he'll work himself to death if I let him."
ooooooo
A week and a half out from the Archdemon's defeat Anora decided the celebratory ceremony could no longer wait. Alistair confided to the group (save Cadryn), gathered for dinner, "She just wants us out of here."
Toward the end of the meal Leliana leaned in to Zevran and said, "I will regret asking you this, surely, but I need another pair of eyes with a good sense for color and form when the tailor comes by. Would you mind?"
The elf grinned wide. "Leliana, my dear, I will be the very soul of propriety."
"I was afraid you would say something like that. Please, Zevran?"
"Zev, please. And yes, I will take this task most seriously."
That was how he ended up sitting in one of the parlors with Leliana standing on top of a foot stool in her underthings, three women fussing over fabrics and fittings. While it was an excellent excuse to see her exquisite body, the whole ordeal was honestly boring. He had expected no less.
Leliana, however, was thoroughly enjoying herself. It had been years since she'd had any such luxury, and while the dress would not be extravagant, it would still be beautiful. Though Zevran was obviously bored, he was still great company, teasing her with his usual jibes and flirtations. She could appreciate them now as friendly banter, knowing that while Zevran might be serious in his pursuit, he would never lay a hand on her without first consulting Cadryn. And it was reassuring to have him back to normal, not the half-mad thing he'd been between the Archdemon's defeat and Cadryn waking. She had not realized how attached she was until losing him for a few days.
Leliana prodded him into having something made as well, surprisingly difficult considering how vain Zevran seemed. He rattled off his measurements from memory, citing his injury as an impediment to being measured, and made a few specifications Leliana didn't overhear, too busy finalizing her own order.
"Shoes, next," she said. "I've enjoyed your company, would you mind coming along?"
"I have a few things I need to tend to as well," the elf said, "in more or less the same direction. Assuming the market is in some semblance of order now."
"The soldiers still in town helped out with it, I hear. The dwarves and Eamon's men, anyway—the Dalish may have done a bit around the Alienage, but I heard very little news from there."
"A pity," Zevran said. "Keep an ear out, if you can—I understand Cadryn knew that elven girl, the redhead, and that elven fellow we found in the Arl's dungeon, from somewhere."
"Shianni? She was just charming, don't you think?" Leliana made a point of walking just in front of Zevran until they were out of the palace, opening doors, and obviously coddling him over his injury. He did not protest, and she thought, for a moment, looked relieved.
"If you go for that bitchy thing, yes." Leliana punched him playfully in his right arm, and Zevran laughed. "Though I must confess, I have developed a weakness for redheads since coming into your company."
Leliana smiled, something teasing and faintly lascivious about it. "You mean since coming into Cadryn's company."
"Do not sell yourself short, Leliana. Your own charms are not inconsiderable." So they passed the walk to what remained of the market in Zevran's flirtation and Leliana giggling or turning his comments back on their other companions. And it was... nice. Very unlike days past, when Zevran was a useful nuisance at best. And their conversation turned, as they entered the market, now a mix of buildings beyond help and freshly-constructed or clearly repaired structures, from the playful jabs.
"So if he knows Shianni, does that mean he's from Denerim?"
Zevran shrugged with one shoulder. "It is all he will say about his life before the Circle—he is from Denerim. I have tried to ask a few times, but it is clearly something that pains him to discuss. And he is not an easy man to upset."
Leliana slowed her pace a little as they neared her destination, wanting to finish the conversation. "I have only seen him distraught a handful of times, and never by words alone."
"Hah! You weren't at the Landsmeet. I knew he had the capacity for darkness, but seeing him face Loghain... There is much about the Warden neither of us knows, and we may never."
With a small, nervous laugh, Leliana asked, "That doesn't upset you?"
"I do not claim to own him," Zevran responded lightly. "He is free to do as he wishes, and I will not tie him down. So why should a secret or two upset me?"
"And yet you marked him." Leliana realized her mistake immediately in the change of Zevran's expression, a flash of anger before a careful mask of calm amusement settled into place. "Perhaps we should find his family for him? Even if I hated mine, I would want to know if they had lived or died after such a thing."
"Perhaps," he said, voice still light. "It would not hurt to have the information, then let him do what he pleases with it. And here we are." The building was little damaged, but through the large window it was obvious the store was sharing space with another, less fortunate merchant. "I have an errand to run for Cadryn, which will not take me long. We will meet back here soon, yes?"
"Yes." Leliana stopped in the doorway, turned just enough to look at Zevran, an unconsciously alluring position. "You've changed, Zev. I don't know when it happened, but I like it." She hurried in before he could respond.
That was the very last thing he expected, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it, aside from flattered and bemused. He made a quick decision to tend to Cadryn's bizarre errand last, so Leliana would not see his other stop, and made for the very last place he wanted to be in Denerim.
He found Cesar helping the little Orlesian woman erect a tent where her stall in the pavilion had been, the big Antivan making soft chatter with her in the local tongue. From the gentle blush on the woman's cheeks and the frequency of her soft giggles, Cesar was making some headway, and Zevran didn't want to interrupt—but he needed to. "Cesar!"
The big man turned, looking down at him with a sort of confused smile. "The rumors are true," he said in Antivan. "You killed Taliesen, then?"
"No, the Warden killed Taliesen. I merely helped." Zevran nodded to his injured shoulder, where the bandages were visible over his collar. "And the Archdemon, as well. Just in case the Crows think I'm worth their time."
"That's none of my business, friend. I have little stock in the Crows, so long as they keep buying from me. But Ignacio will have to tell them you live."
"Let them come," Zevran made a slight, swift jerk upward with his chin. "I will be ready."
"Surely you did not come here to brag. You have business?"
Zevran told him, and Cesar's pleasant demeanor fell. "Are you sure?"
"I would not be asking for it otherwise. I know they keep track of how many grams pass from hand to hand."
"I have enough for two doses." Cesar led Zevran over to the tent that was now his stall, and opened a chest under the table, blocking all view with his body, pulled out a smaller box which looked nondescript and turned out to be an elaborate puzzle box. "And that is all that will pass into Ferelden for years to come, save on a Crow's blade."
And so Zevran left with about as much money as he'd entered Ferelden, but it would be well worth it—he needed perhaps a fraction of what Cesar had sold him, but if the Crows ever did come to collect him, they would be in for a very nasty surprise. Cadryn's note was dropped off at the specified location, a bakery on the upper end of the market, thankfully intact, and Zevran returned to meet Leliana.
