This chapter is going to sound very familiar to any of you who've read Vanity. That story was lifted directly from this chapter, though there have been some changes since I published the short version.


The autumn afternoon had grown quite warm. Zevran filled the time as they walked by telling Brion stories of their travels across Ferelden fighting the darkspawn and of his past as an Antivan Crow. He certainly took some artistic liberties, but Nessa noticed that the changes he made tended to make the tale amusing more than anything else. She shouldn't be surprised, really; most of the stories he'd told her about his time as a Crow had seemed to paint him in a bumbling and harmless light. She hadn't been fooled; at least not for long.

They left the stream behind as the road made an abrupt turn uphill. It grew progressively steeper as they made their way inland. Once they had crossed this range of hills, the track they were on would meet back up with the North Road. Nessa thought they might make it to the summit just before it was time to stop and camp for the night, if they kept up their current brisk pace.

Haft took off after something that rustled in the underbrush; quail maybe, or grouse. She called after him but he ignored her, and she shrugged. He'd catch up after he had his snack.

They continued walking. It was hot; Nessa was sorry now she hadn't bathed with Zevran in the pool this morning; modesty be damned. And arguments be damned too. She snuck a surreptitious glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Was he still annoyed at her? His normal veneer of playful banter made it difficult to tell. She hadn't meant what she'd said, not really… it had just sort of slipped out. All this 'true king' nonsense had put Alistair on her mind, that was all.

It had just occurred to her that the woods around them had grown suspiciously quiet when they made their way around a series of large rocks and saw two men standing in the roadway.

"What did I tell you?" said the shorter one. "I said she hadn't gotten ahead of us, and here she is."

"Can I help you with something?" Nessa asked neutrally. She felt the air move behind her; Zevran was no longer at her shoulder. On her other side, Brion took a step closer.

"There she goes again," the man said. "Always asking questions, isn't she? Asking questions and saying things better left unsaid."

"No one in Meath seemed very interested in what I had to say," she replied. It was better to keep him talking, she figured, to give Zevran time for whatever it was he'd vanished to do.

"Well now, and that's what happens when a stranger comes along and expects trust without giving anything in return. Mayhap no one believed a word you said."

Nessa frowned. "You were in the tavern," she said at last. "At the table in the back."

"She's not half as dumb as she looks, is she?" said the second man.

There was a yelp from somewhere behind her, and then a thrashing of branches. It seemed Zevran had pulled someone out of a tree. She glanced back to check. The fellow lay sprawled out on the trail behind them — his neck looked broken, though she wasn't sure if it had happened because of the impact or before.

The men in front of her bellowed, and several arrows went whizzing by from somewhere off to her right, twanging into the tree. Zevran was already gone; he'd vanished back into the underbrush. Based on the number of arrows, there were at least five of them… not counting the dead one.

She reached back to work at the knots which held her shield to her pack, her fingers fumbling as she kept her eyes forward. Flames, she thought. A few months ago she would have had it free in a matter of seconds; she was out of practice.

"Call off your elf," snarled the shorter man, raising his sword and pointing it toward her chin.

Nessa gave up on the shield and drew her sword.

"He is not my elf," she growled, and lunged forward.

She drew her eating knife with her off hand so she wouldn't be entirely one sided. This had never been her favorite way to fight, and it put her at a disadvantage against two men. Normally, she would have smashed one out of the way with her shield and attacked the other, but that wasn't going to work now. She managed to dodge a blow from the taller fellow's short sword, and caught the blade with her guard. He anticipated her next move, though, and her quick twist failed to disarm him.

Brion had pulled back and strung his bow, but he wavered, unsure of where to aim. The swordsmen were too close to Nessa to get a clear shot, so he circled off to the right in an attempt to pick off the archers in the brush behind them.

Someone darted out from the trees, and tried to use Nessa's pack to pull her down. She couldn't shrug out of it while fighting the men in front of her, so she took a few rapid steps back to try to set him off balance. This only resulted in him weighing her down further as he stumbled.

Zevran shot out from the underbrush. He sprang upon the man and slit his throat. The dead weight slid free of Nessa's shoulders, and she was able to focus her attention back on the blades swinging at her front.

A moment later, there was a fierce barking as Haft came suddenly streaking around the corner. He barreled one of her opponents to the ground.

"Where the flames have you been?" she panted.

Without waiting for an answer — which was just as well, since the dog wasn't likely to give her one — she fell on her remaining attacker with renewed fury.

Brion drew his dagger and leapt to Haft's aid, cutting the man's throat while the dog held him down. Nessa finally took out the leader, then whirled to Zevran's defense. The archers he'd been fighting in the trees had followed him, and he was now flanked by two youths armed with long knives. She engaged the closer man and let him focus his attention on the other.

Haft gave a sharp bark and darted off into the underbrush. From the crashing sounds, the last archer was making a run for it. Well, Haft would catch him. Brion shot Nessa's man in the back, dropping him where he stood.

By the time Nessa had disengaged her weapons, Zevran was already searching the bodies for valuables. She let out a deep breath and bent down to wipe her sword clean on the dead man's shirt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran straighten, then suddenly stumble.

"Zev?" she asked. "What is it?"

He had a hand clasped tightly to his side, not quite successfully covering a growing red stain on his shirt.

"My vanity. I do believe it has been struck a critical blow."

"I don't think vanity bleeds," she countered, sliding off her pack as she headed towards him. She dropped it at his feet, yanked open the ties, and pulled out the first aid kit before kneeling beside him and tugging gently at his shirt. "Let me see."

He carefully eased his hand away and pulled up his reddened shirt. A shallow slice along his flank showed where he hadn't quite moved quickly enough.

"Dagger?" she asked, reaching for a clean cloth. "You really need to do a better job watching your back, assassin."

"Well," he countered, sounding a bit breathless, "on occasion it is difficult to keep track of both our backs at the same time."

She shot him a dirty look and began wiping away some of the blood.

"Brion," she called, "bring me one of their water flasks."

"I thought for sure that fool would have you down," said Zevran. "You charge into battle like a mother bear. Nary a thought for what might be around you." He hissed through his teeth as the cloth caught against torn skin. "It's similar to the way you pry for information, it seems. Luckily, it is a beautiful back, and watching it gives me great pleasure."

"You are impossible," she said automatically, still probing the cut. She took the flask from Brion's hand without looking up. "I don't like how this looks. It's clotting already and starting to swell. I wish Wynne were here."

"There is poison, I think," he said, lightly sniffing the fingers that had been holding his side. He touched one quickly and delicately to his tongue. "Hmm. Bring me my kit?"

Nessa lurched to her feet swearing, grabbed Zevran's pack and dug into it for the padded leather wallet that held the tools of an assassin's trade.

"Be gentle with that," he interjected. "Break any of those vials and we will both be poisoned. Hand it here."

He took the wallet gently from her and untied the complex-looking knots with one hand. He folded back several layers of wool padding to reveal a set of tiny bottles, each carefully nestled in their own leather pocket and marked with a different colored rune.

"What was that you were saying?" he continued. "Ah, yes, Wynne. I miss her as well. Many are the nights I have cried into my pillow longing for her magical bosom."

His expression didn't match his lighthearted tone as his fingers hovered over the little vials, and he selected two before tucking back the wool and wrapping the wallet up securely.

"How comforted I would be to shed my lonely tears upon it this very moment," he said as he gingerly knelt down and slid the wallet back into his pack. "But as she is not here, I suppose we must do without."

He added in a different tone, "I need you to wash out the wound with spirits, as it will be difficult for me to reach."

Nessa grimaced sympathetically. Brion had already retrieved the bottle, and held it out to her.

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him. "We're going to be here awhile — can you do some cleanup?"

Brion nodded, and set about dragging the bodies off into the woods.

Nessa unscrewed the cap.

"This is going to hurt like dragon fire," she warned.

Zevran's lips twitched. "I know."

He pulled his shirt off carefully, and leaned forward. Nessa held the bloodstained cloth below the wound to control the flow and poured. He didn't make a sound as she drenched the whole area, though his muscles tightened and he panted slightly. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.

"Now," he grunted, handing her a vial, "three drops of this into a cup of water, and wash it again. Quickly as you can. I may..." and he stopped to grimace. "There is a chance I will be sick."

Nessa couldn't tell if his pained expression was nausea or embarrassment.

"I will try to wait until you've finished bandaging," he continued while she created the washing solution, "but you should be prepared. And perhaps you should take this so I do not break it," he said, handing her the second vial. "Do not lose it, do not put it somewhere it will get stepped on, and do not get confused about which vial is which."

A cold chill ran down her spine. Zevran never let anyone handle his tools, ever, to say nothing of his precious vials of deadly and priceless fluids. Now he was voluntarily handing them over? He must be in worse shape than she'd realized. She gingerly set the bottle with the orange rune on the other side of his pack, a careful distance away from the green one, and began to wash out the cut a second time.

He almost made it, but not quite. Nessa had finished the cleaning, and was unfolding a new piece of cloth to create a bandage when the elf dropped to his hands and lost his breakfast in the grass.

"Sorry," he panted after, not looking at her. He slowly sat back onto his heels, and Nessa handed him her own water flask.

"What's a little vomit between friends? Especially after everything we've been through," she said soothingly. But her insides were going cold with tension; Zevran was unusually pale and drenched in sweat. And he was still holding the flask as if uncertain what to do with it.

"That's plain water, safe to drink," she told him gently.

He nodded and washed out his mouth. Nessa bandaged his side and helped him slide on a clean shirt.

He held out a shaking hand. "Orange rune," he said roughly. She retrieved the bottle quickly, and passed it over.

"This will knock me out for some time, while my body processes what poison we could not wash away. I'll only have a minute or so to get settled, so be thinking about where you want me." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as pulled out the cork and wiped the tip his finger across its underside. "Promise not to take advantage of me until I am conscious. I should deeply regret to miss it."

He slid the finger across his tongue, sucking carefully. Deliberately, he used his clean fingers to re-cork the bottle before lurching unsteadily to his feet. Nessa took his arm and helped him to a tree a few feet away. She unfolded her cloak for a blanket, and helped settle him down onto it.

"Leave bottles... put them away myself. Dangerous," he murmured with closed eyes.

"I won't touch them," she promised.

He didn't move. In fact, he didn't move again for several hours. It gave Nessa a lot of time to think.


Nessa had started a small fire, and was making fry bread. She and Brion had set up camp, and then he and Haft had set out to do some hunting. She wasn't entirely sure if they were hunting meat for dinner or stragglers from the fight; she hadn't asked.

But she was hungry and antsy and needed something to do. They would likely be back soon anyway. She combined flour and water from her flask, heated a bit of their precious supply of lard in the spider pan over the flames, and poured the thin dough on top of it. She was sealing and wrapping the lard jar when she heard movement.

"Is that bread I smell?" Zevran's voice was husky from his long sleep.

Nessa stowed away the jar in her pack and went to sit on her heels beside him. "It is. Do you feel like you could eat something?"

"Perhaps? I believe I should try," he grunted, trying to sit upright.

Nessa helped him up.

"How are you feeling?"

"As hungover as if I'd been drinking from Oghren's stash. An opportunity I would like to say I passed on when I had the chance."

She grunted sympathetically. "I'd better check on your bandages."

"Best not to unwrap anything just yet," he cautioned.

She nodded. "Let me just make sure everything's in the right place. I'm better at causing injuries than caring for them."

She pulled at his shirt, and he winced as it caught on the wrappings. "Sorry," she murmured, "and sorry my hands are cold." She pushed gently at the edges of the bandage with her fingertips, then frowned and cautiously laid her wrist against his back. "Everything's in place… but you're burning up."

"So is the bread," he observed mildly.

"Flames!" She jumped up and snatched at the fork beside the fire, poking into the bread and turning it over. She frowned at it. "I think it will be edible. We had worse when Alistair was cooking."

Zevran shuddered delicately, then winced as the motion jostled his wound. "Don't remind me."

After giving it a few seconds for the top to set slightly, Nessa flipped the bread out onto one of their tin dishes. She tended the remaining batter with more care. Once it was all cooked, she cut the bread into slices and joined Zevran on her cloak for a quick meal, eating together out of the single dish to save on washing. She took the burned pieces for herself, but couldn't help noticing that Zevran addressed himself to the food more like a man who knew he ought to eat than one who was hungry.

By the time they finished, she thought his color was better. She piled some of their extra clothing on top of him with instructions to bundle up. She wrapped the remaining bread for Brion in a towel to keep warm, wiped out the spider pan and put everything away before coming back to rejoin Zevran on her cloak.

Zevran had tidied up his potions kit and was examining his torn shirt.

"It's definitely dead," he said mournfully.

"Your shirt?" asked Nessa.

"My vanity," he sighed.

Nessa pursed her lips. How could he still be making jokes at such a time? And why was it so hard not to laugh?

"I don't see how you can be so heartless," he continued pitifully. "This is a very serious situation."

She snorted.

"It is!" he insisted. "First I blamed the too quiet forest on the dog, and allowed us to be ambushed. Then I tore my shirt, disgraced myself in battle, allowed myself to be poisoned both accidentally and deliberately, was sick before a beautiful woman, and finally, to add insult to injury, the beautiful woman didn't even take the trouble to ravish me while I was out cold."

Nessa giggled. She couldn't help it.

"Then, I pour my heart out to her in the hopes of sympathy, and she only sees fit to laugh at me." He shook his head sadly. "The world is indeed cruel."

She flopped down beside him and laughed. Once she started, she couldn't stop, tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes. He smiled down at her, looking pleased with himself.

Eventually she caught her breath, wiped her eyes, and sat up.

"In all seriousness, Zev, I was really worried. I fight in armor so people can't stick me with a poisoned dagger. Watch your own damn back." She poked him in the chest. "Don't force me to go back to giving you orders."

He grinned delightedly and opened his mouth to retort.

She quickly said, "Shut up," and pulled him into a hug.

He chuckled into her ear and hugged her back.

"And if you say a word about my breasts I will find that poisoned dagger and stab you again myself."