My apologies for the delay in posting. At the moment, I feel like I'm writing half a dozen different stories with all the changing perspectives, and it takes me a little bit to get in the groove of each chapter. Thanks to all who have favorited, alerted, and reviewed!
Zevran rolled over in a liquid motion, deliberately pulling the sheet with him. The action earned him the dismayed squeak he was looking for. In a flash of milk-white skin coated with moonlight, his companion spun out of the bed and scurried behind her dressing screens. The elf propped his head up with his hand and sighed. It was just the view he'd desired, everything...bouncing in all the right places.
"So, will you be staying this evening?" she asked from behind the screen.
"I fear I must disappoint you," he said, sighing dramatically. "I have an appointment."
Coming back into view, tying the belt of her shimmering robe as she did, she stuck her lip out. "What's so important that you'd leave me cold and all alone?"
"I should think your husband capable of keeping you warm," Zevran responded glibly, arching an eyebrow.
Her face darkened as anger tightened her lips. "Must you bring him up?"
"I did not marry him. Perhaps if you didn't want him brought up, you should have avoided that little ceremony."
"Oh, you scoundrel!" she hissed. Snatching up his clothes, she tossed them in his face. "Be gone then, if you insist on being that way."
Chuckling, Zevran obediently threw back the sheet and started pulling his pants on. He did so slowly though, carefully. Turning his back, he allowed himself a grin. The elf didn't need to see her to know that she was watching him. By the time he finally faced her, her lower lip was caught between her teeth.
"Are you sure there's an appointment?" she whispered, eyes trailing over his naked chest.
"Yes," he answered. He walked around the bed and took her chin in his fingers. Kissing her soundly, he trailed a lazy hand up her side. "I'll leave you with that...warm thought."
"Oh, you!" She playfully slapped his shoulder as he bent to get his shirt and his blades. "Do be careful," she advised as he swung a leg out the window.
"Ah, sweet lady, I know no other way to be." He slid out onto the balcony easily, then down to the alley. He pulled his shirt over his head swiftly, then strapped his knives across his back. Their weight was comforting. Raking a hand through his silver hair, he raised his eyes to check the position of the moon. Almost. He set off the down the street. Couldn't be late, after all. It would be rude.
As he walked, he took a deep breath. Though it lacked the...scent of home, Val Royeaux still held a special place in his heart. How could one not love it? She sang, did Val Royeaux, and Zevran loved her voice. And when she laughed, he wanted to laugh with her.
He arrived at the café shortly, and contented himself to disappear into the shadows across the street. It gave him a perfect view of the back street beside the establishment, and the added bonus of a view inside.
It didn't take long for him to find the man he was looking for. The company the man was keeping was...striking to say the least.
Shame he was out here. He couldn't hear her performance. Zevran always found himself spellbound by her. She was flawless. Not a single line rang false; not a hint of laughter, not an "accidental" caress. Truly, she was without peer.
He grinned. Such a different dance than the one his feet moved to. Equally beautiful, but oh so different.
There. She was getting up, pulling the man to his feet. She artfully stumbled, as if she'd had too much to drink. He steadied her, and she giggled in what he imagined would be a fantastic combination of feigned shyness and naivety. The man smiled indulgently down at her.
Taking his hand, she lead the man to the front door. As it swung open, her shining laughter filled the night. Spinning on her heel, she danced from side to side playfully. The man allowed himself to be spun around...and gradually moved closer to the café's back alley.
Zevran watched as they disappeared into the darkness. He breathed deeply once, twice, three times. He moved through the shadows, following the darkness as it filled every nook and cranny. As the deepest shadows pooled into the alley she had pulled the man into, so did Zevran ooze in.
The sounds of passionate kissing reached his ears, and he had to bit his lip to avoid laughter. He supposed there were worse things to be doing when your end came. As he approached, his feet were soundless against the stone street.
His eyes adjusted, and he could finally see their shapes. She was pressed against the wall, her voluminous skirts being hiked up. Like she'd heard a silent cue, she pushed forward in mock passion. A rough turn left the man with his back to the opening of the alley, to Zevran.
He never noticed a thing.
Smiling, wondering how he'd even done this job without her, the elf slid one of his blades out of its sheath. Schooling his face into sterner lines, crossed the distance in two swift steps.
At the same moment, she broke the kiss and turned the man with a sharp push on the shoulder. Startled, he stumbled.
He fell right into Zevran's arms, onto the blade.
The man gasped, and Zevran let his victim's weight press the knife in all the way to its hilt. He brought the man down to the ground gently before pulling his weapon out. "You angered the wrong people, my friend," he whispered into the dying man's ear.
With a final gasp the man slumped, boneless, and his blood pooled into the spaces between the stones.
Zevran stood, and winked at the woman before him. "So, Leliana, pleasant evening?"
"Ugh!" she spat, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth. "He kissed like a fish!"
Zevran burst out laughing. "I'll not inquire as to how you know the way fish kiss, my dear."
"Good. A girl has to have some mystery, doesn't she?" Reaching up, the Orlesian began pulling out the myriad of pins holding her hair back in its intricate style. Her red tresses eventually fell loose, and she scratched her scalp enthusiastically. "Ahhhh, that feels good. It's been itching all night."
"I won't pretend to know that ecstasy. My braids never bother me."
"You're truly missing out, my friend." Leliana gestured with her head toward the corpse. "Don't forget, we're to make it look like a robbery gone wrong."
"Wouldn't want to disappoint out employer."
"Not if we want the purse he promised, we don't."
"Indeed." Zevran bent low to rifle through the man's pocket. Emptying them quickly (there wasn't much there), he straightened again. "Finished."
Leliana sighed, and put her hands on her hips. "Maker only knows how you survived without me." Leaning over, she plucked a ring from the man's finger. "We certainly won't get paid if we don't have the proof stipulated by the contract, hmm?"
Zevran fell to his knees before her, hands folded over his heart. "My darling crimson-haired flower! Whatever would I do without you?"
"I suspect you'd make a whole lot less money, for starters," she giggled.
Her amusement delighted him, as it always did, and served to spur him further. Reaching out, her grabbed her hand and showered it with kisses. "I'd be dead in a gutter, surely."
"That, too," she agreed. "Come now, on your feet."
The elf obediently rose, then gestured for her to wait. Slinking toward the mouth of the alley, he glanced around to be sure there was no one to mark their exits.
Muffled thumps came from behind him. He whirled swiftly, badly startled, knives in both hands with no recollection of pulling them from their cases.
Between he and Leliana were two hulking, feathered-
"Zevran," she whispered, and even in the darkness he could see the color had drained from her face. "They're... They're...Lorelai's"
The elf swore luridly, and returned his blades to their sheaths. Damnable creatures. They should be thanking the Maker for the bard's quick words. He'd been about to separate their wrinkled heads from their feathered shoulders.
He started toward them, closing the distance despite their fierce glares. Perhaps that son of Maric had finally gotten his Queen pregnant. Zevran snorted to himself. It was about damned time. One would think the man didn't like this wife very much, it having taken this long-
His feet ground to a stop, and a shiver raced down his spine.
How he knew, he couldn't be sure. But he was suddenly certain the birds bore no such happy tidings. The messages on their legs, the whiteness of the paper standing out starkly against the night, were bad. Bad enough to turn Val Royeaux's throaty, urban laughter to a grating cackle. Bad enough to turn the pale moonlight icy against his skin.
"You feel it, too," Leliana said, swallowing hard.
"Yes," he replied.
"Quick, the notes!" she commanded as she rushed forward.
Zevran didn't need to be told twice. He snatched at the bird closest to him, but it hissed angrily and darted away. Normally, his control on his emotions was iron-clad, but at that moment, he felt a burst of anger so violent he wanted to wrap his hands around the vulture's neck. "Maker help you, you carrion-eating, filthy-"
"Zev, you've got the wrong one," Leliana said patiently, keeping her head more than Zevran was. "See, remember the colors?" One pale finger pointed to the creature's banded leg. It was shining a brighter red than the rapidly cooling blood of their target.
The red-banded vulture hopped toward Leliana, shooting a disgusted look over its shoulder at Zevran. The one with the green band came towards him, if possible looking at him with more disgust than the other.
As he reached for the message on its outstretched leg, he was surprised to see his hand shaking. Or maybe he wasn't surprised, at all.
The paper felt stiff between his fingers as he unrolled it. The letters were sharp and jagged, ink had bled and blotted in strange spots. In several places, the quill had almost torn a hole straight through. He hadn't even read it yet, and the feeling of unease had increased threefold.
Zevran. Lorelai needs you. I need you. Please come.
Alistair had never particularly warmed to him. Perhaps it had to do with the whole ambush in the forest thing. Strange, really, considering Lorelai had gotten over it. Eventually, she'd even found it funny. He remembered nights by the camp fire, when she would imitate his arch words from that day, and blatantly laugh at his failed attempt to kill them. All the while, Alistair would glower and clean his armor.
Zevran smiled at the memory, but the metallic bite of fear in his mouth made it fade quickly.
For the Warden King to send a message like this, to him of all people...things were dire, indeed.
As he read the words a second time, he heard Leliana gasp. As he read the words a third time, in his peripheral vision he saw the bard's hand come up slowly, as if in a dream, to cover her mouth in horror.
He knew not the words on her page, but they'd struck the same fear into her heart as his words had in his.
"When do we leave?" he whispered.
"Now. We'll go to the dock," she answered without hesitation. "Catch the first ship."
"Nothing will leave tonight," he tried to reason.
"I don't care!" she snapped. "I'll raid the brothels and throw the first captain I find out on his drunken ass if I have to!"
"We'll go home first, grab the things we need," the elf responded, ignoring for the moment her version of a "plan". Just moments ago, it had Leliana in control. Now their positions had reversed. They'd always been that way: the more frayed one became, the more soothing the other became in turn. One of the reasons they were such a good team. "The purse?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Maker damn the purse!"
"Just checking."
"Plan to leave a note for your..lady?" she asked, a strained giggle pushing its way passed her lips.
"Plan to leave a note for your beau?" he countered.
"He's not my beau."
"She's not my lady." He shrugged. "They don't need any notes. They'll live."
"Yes." Leliana was staring fixedly at her vulture. "Some paper." She gestured at him impatiently when he didn't respond immediately. "We have to let him know we're coming. He must be nearly out of his mind-"
As the assassin handed her the paper, he had a moment of burning curiosity. What had her message said? Did she know exactly what was going on, or had it been just as cryptic as his? The breath to ask was on his tongue before he swallowed it back. His brought him pain enough. Maker only knew what that former Chantry orphan would reveal to a former Chantry sister.
"Take this back to Denerim," she was saying to the birds. "Go together. Tell him we're coming."
The birds obediently clawed their way into the night air, vanishing over the edge of the nearest building in a matter of moments.
"To the apartment?" he asked, holding his arm out for her courteously.
Despite her agitation, she took it with a wan smile. "Then to Denerim, to help our friends."
