Warning! This chapter contains both implied rape (as per the city elf origin) and a description of someone being assassinated. If this sort of thing offends you...well, don't read about a city elf and her professional assassin lover.
Also, this story (and indeed most of my stories) contain "Easter Eggs", lines from movies and books, song titles, etc. Bonus points for spotting them!
Lena had dreams sometimes about Shianni, how she found her on the ground in Bann Vaughn's bedroom. The moment their eyes met, and she didn't have to ask what had happened. Shianni was family, and family was all an elf in Denerim had.
Duncan had tried to teach her temperance, and she genuinely appreciated his quiet lessons about controlling one's emotions even in the heat of battle, even when the Darkspawn blood in her own veins pulled her along like some thundering beast into near-madness. But the only time bloodlust had driven her to near-madness had nothing to do with the Darkspawn.
When she and her family were taken by the Bann and his friends to be used and discarded on a whim, she had felt a white-hot rage that not even the man's own death had calmed. There was a bigger, more important target. A man who for years had ground the Alienage to dust under his boot.
The Arl of Denerim.
Lena had not forgotten about him.
-
Sunset. Zevran supervised her dressing and putting on gear like a proud mother helping her child on the first day off to the academy. She wore a simple peasant gown and apron, and a cloth headwrap to hide her ears. He wore minimal armor, and only leather. Zevran had outfitted her with an impressive collection of knives and other armaments. They were weapons of last resort, but, as Zevran said, "When you get locked into a serious weapons collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can."
They left The Pearl, again, no one seemed particularly interested in their presence there. The night was moonless and Lena led the way to the Estate.
On the way, they stopped a farmer pushing a wheelbarrow full of hay.
"Excuse me, Sir. I would like to purchase your wheelbarrow."
He scowled at her. "And who are you, exactly?"
"I am someone with 10 sovereigns to spend on a wheelbarrow."
"Use it in good health, stranger!"
Now was the difficult part.
-
They crossed the threshold of the Arl's massive estate, Zevran with in his dark cloak and she in her peasant's clothes. They looked like some of the many workers on the Arl's estate. He pushed the wheelbarrow and she followed, eyes down. One of the things that her mother had told her time and time again was that people will not notice that you are out of place unless you act like you are.
They stopped behind the castle, by the stables. They had yet to see a single person. Unexpectedly, Zevran kissed her firmly and lingeringly.
"This is where we part, my Lena." He whispered.
She smiled, feeling her blood begin to race. With an experienced assassin like Zevran by her side, things seemed simple. But now, she was on her own.
"I know that you will make me proud, and I am not an easily-impressed person."
She looked up at him for a long moment, at his strange honeyed eyes and lopsided smile, hoping for the first time that she would survive long enough to see peace again.
Then she turned and entered the estate.
-
Lena entered through the scullery, but thankfully, no one was doing the washing at this hour of the night. Huge copper pots and pans were stacked in piles side-by-side with dishes and goblets. She had only been in the Arl's estate once before, but like every elf in Denerim, she was well-familiar with the layout of the servant's quarters in any castle. The well was in the scullery, so the laundry room must also be nearby. She tried a few doors before she found it.
So far she had been incredibly lucky. There were no servants about to notice that she wasn't a familiar face. That might work against her later.
She found a basket of clean sheets, and stuffed her equipment into it, covering it with fabric. The she went to find the Arl.
-
Outside, Zevran waited. He didn't mind playing second fiddle, as it were. Lena's Mark was someone who had hurt her personally, and personal spite was a fantastic motivator. He didn't want to get in the way of that. Zevran pretended to muck out the stables, counting silently to himself.
She should be climbing the stairs now.
She'd sketched out what layout of the estate she could remember, but she'd admitted that her memory was probably hazy. She'd been charging to the rescue of her cousin's honor, and also slaughtering her way through the Arl's guards, and that did distract one from floor-plans.
On the top floor now, looking under doors for light.
Oh my Lena, he thought, unable to help a glance up at the one lit window above.
-
A set of guards passed her, and she thought for a moment that her heart would beat right out of her chest. But no. They were talking amongst themselves, and noticed her only long enough to look down her cleavage. She averted her eyes like she'd been trained to do in the presence of the Arl's men.
But now she was only the top floor. It wouldn't be long now. Candles were lit in the master suite; she saw it from outside.
She slowed her gait deliberately, trying to make her grip on the laundry look casual, casting her eyes downward.
Then, she saw it, a tiny sliver of light from beneath the door.
Her hands were tingling, and her breath came faster. This was the point of no return. They could leave, rejoin their party, and never speak of this again. Then she thought of the Alienage, and how desperately she never wanted to see Shianni on the floor again in her dreams.
The door opened noiselessly, and there he was, sitting at his desk. In her imaginings, he had been taller.
He looked up, a middle-aged balding human in his pajama's. He wasn't much like what she was used to killing. For moment their eyes locked before she averted her gaze. She closed the door with her foot.
"What are you doing up here at this hour, girl?" He didn't bother to turn away from his desk.
Lena didn't dare speak. Like most elves, Ferel was her second language. Her speech was perfect, but a careful ear could still pick up an accent.
She dropped her laundry basket.
"I'm not in the mood this evening for a woman, and I'm certainly not going to pay for one."
Her steps brought her to stand behind him, Zevran's lesson's snapping through her brain rapid-fire. Close off the blood but not the air, knee in the back for leverage, watch for gouging and flailing.
As her arm closed around his throat in a perfect blood-choke, she did not feel the satisfaction that she assumed she would. Actually, she felt nothing. She was not so much murdering a man as an idea. Lena's mother could not be un-murdered, and Shianni could not be un-raped. Her young life spent under the Arl's boot could not ever be changed, but the future was wide open.
The Arl flailed around briefly, trying to rise, tearing at her bare arms for the few seconds that he remained conscious. She didn't feel it.
Zevran was right. Some people just needed to die.
-
Some bored guards had passed on their rounds, but no one takes too much notice of a man in the stables with a pitchfork full of horseshit. It had been a very long time now, and uncharacteristically, anxiety was mounting. This woman was making him feel all sorts of things he wasn't used to.
The window swung open silently above him, and it was the best sight he had ever seen. Lena's face appeared. She was flushed and breathless, but smiling. Her hands shook on the sill.
Silently, he brought his wheelbarrow over, and awaited what was left of the Arl.
-
With a very long rope and proper application of leverage and friction (in this case, involving a few loops around a heavy curtain rod), it is possible for a small person to lower a very heavy weight down the side of a building. This is where her equipment came in handy.
When the Arl's body was safely in the wheelbarrow and buried in hay, Zevran took the other end of the rope and lowered her down. They stuffed her rope and equipment into the wheelbarrow as well, and started on their way.
Lena didn't seem to breathe until they re-entered the city. She pulled the cloak tighter around herself and sighed, turning to look up at him. Something passed between them. If possible, he'd just developed more respect for her, and she could tell.
Lena blushed. Everything that had happened between them, and a simple look was enough to make her embarrassed. She was a strange woman indeed.