EDIT: So, this is what I get for posting at 10 pm. I noticed a slew of errors and went back to fix them.
9. Second Chances
I am going to cause Zevran serious pain. I swear it on my mother's dagger. That is, of course, unless the men on our tail do it first. Both of them are bigger that the man in Longreach, both of them are furious at my companion, and, Dear Maker, they are both fast. And enduring. They've been chasing us for five minutes, and even though my breath is starting to wheeze rather raggedly, they're still there, no farther back than when Zevran bolted from yet another tavern like my mabari after a soup bone. I still don't know exactly what happened. I know it involved a tankard of ale, a pretty woman, and a looong string of Antivan curses, but I was outside, attempting to barter for more supplies, and missed seeing exactly what happened. The two men behind us obviously blame Zev for whatever it is, and from the expression of nonchalant guilt etched across his face like another tattoo, I think they're right.
"What...did...you do?" I gasp out as we hurtle a low fence and doge the plants on the other side.
"All I did was kiss the girl, il mi amica."
"That's...all?" The raised eyebrow in my voice mirrors the expression on my face. I doubt that's all he did, for these two who look like they want to murder him-and by extension, me-to be so doggedly on our heels.
"I swear it. Ferelden men are far more protective of their women than those in Antiva."
"They...share her?" I pant as we reach the woods, the men still on our heels.
He laughs, sounding only the slightest bit out of breath. "Ah, no. That is another trait sadly limited to Antiva, in my experience...save royal mistresses."
A memory of what I could have been flits through my mind. I wouldn't want that. Part of the reason Anora holds a throne I don't really think should be hers. "Ah."
"One is her lover, and the other..." he pauses as we vault a fallen tree. "...is her brother, I believe."
"Why...does...this sort of thing...happen...so much with you?"
He grins and hauls me to my feet as I stumble. "Because I have the good fortune of drawing women like-what is your saying?-moths to a flame?"
"Can you...put out the flame?" I growl breathlessly. "That's the...third town we've...been chased out...of thanks...to you."
"Alas, no." He doesn't look too sorry as he glances back to see if the men are still behind us. "It is my curse. Sad, no?"
"Oh...YES." Despite the fact we have yet to shake our entirely too stubborn pursuers, I have to catch my breath, or I'm going to die of a heart attack. Glamorous end for the Hero of Ferelden. I duck behind a particularly huge tree and gasp for air.
"In here." I don't see the possessor of this new voice at first. It isn't Zev, and certainly isn't one of the men behind us. The vines covering what looked like a solid rock wall part to reveal a small cave and a man whose appearance would be most kindly described as somewhere between scruffy and disheveled. He grabs me and Zevran by our arms and drags us into the dark refuge. I'm too worn out to resist or protest the wisdom-or lack thereof-in trusting this man. And anyway, if he has ill designs for us, they can hardly be worse than those held by the men hot on our trail. Zevran slaps one hand over my mouth to silence my ragged breathing until our hunters thunder past.
"Thank...you." I manage to gasp quietly to our rescuer after pushing Zevran's hand away from my face.
He shrugs. "One good turn deserves another." The voice is familiar, and I realize it's the man from the tavern in Longreach. Levyn. The one who says we've met before, even if I don't remember it.
"Really? And what did I do to place you in the position of owing me a good turn?"
"Might I suggest we find another place to lay low before I answer a string of questions?" he suggests. "This cave is hardly a good place for long term hiding, and if those men are more thorough on their return trip, it's not that hard to find."
He has a point. "Alright. You know a better place?" Beside me, Zevran shifts restlessly. Whether because his seat is uncomfortable, or the idea of trusting a man we just met-as far as he knows-to hide us, I don't know.
But I'm in charge here. So we follow Levyn out of the cave as he heads for, I suppose, a better place to lay low, one where we can converse without being heard. I remember what he said about liking the fact no one notices or remembers him. This new place is probably as much for his good as for ours.
It ends up being another cave, larger, more remote, and concealed extremely well. As we crawl in through the low entrance, the hood of Levyn's cloak falls down, and I can finally see his face. He's lean. Or maybe a better term would be gaunt, if those hollow cheeks and sharply obvious cheekbones are trustworthy indications. He has extremely pale skin, dark hair, and one of the sorriest excuses for a beard I've ever seen. It's still mostly stubble, and he rubs one hand against it almost instinctively when he catches me staring at him, his eyes sheepish. Looking at him makes me absolutely positive I've met him before. I still can't remember anyone named Levyn in Redcliffe, and certainly don't remember meeting a scraggly-bearded man who looked like the type to run and hide from any kind of trouble. But I know I've met this man. It's going to drive me crazy.
"So tell me what I did that make you feel like you owe me." I settle onto the floor as I remind him of my question. Zevran sits next to me-close but not too much so.
"You spared my life when you didn't have to, probably shouldn't have, and had every reason not to."
If that wasn't enough to finally snap the image of regret-filled and incredibly resigned pale blue eyes staring at me through prison bars to the forefront of my mind, the small stream of fire he lets trickle from one scar-crossed hand to the lopsided stack of wood on the floor removes any doubts.
"Jowan?" It's a whispered question more because I can't remember if that's his real name than disbelief at running into him, of all people on the Maker's green earth, here, of all places.
"Levyn," he corrects. "But, yes. It was Jowan."
The Maker has quite the sense of humor. The thought brings an ironic smile to touch my lips. "I wonder what you did after I let you go."
"You didn't just let me go, if I remember correctly." He smiles slightly.
"Well, I couldn't let you stay. Andraste's flaming sword, Jow-Levyn, they would have killed you. I don't care what you did to try to fix things, or how sorry you were, Eamon would have executed you. I figured if you were serious about wanting to atone for all you had done, getting you out of Redcliffe was the best way to ensure that happened."
"I'll bet you caught twenty different kinds of grief for it."
"I did indeed. So I hope whatever you've been up to since then won't make me regret it." I'm sure the challenge is as clear in my eyes as it is in my tone as I stare at him across the fire.
"Not at all." His tone is somewhere between nervous and sheepish, but he's not lying. I can tell.
"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but would you mind filling me in, my dear minx?" Zevran's interruption is as close to acidic and confused as I've ever heard his tone reach, and I remember he didn't come to Redcliffe with me. I left him guarding the camp with Leliana and Sten. I dragged Morrigan, Wynne and Alistair-of course-with me for that particular trip. And if I remember correctly, Alistair was not happy with me for just letting Jowan go.
"A blood mage, Rahna?"
"Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"
"Even a blood mage?"
I turn to Zevran and explain what happened in the castle at Redcliffe. It doesn't take long, especially since I compress all the grief Teagan and Eamon gave as much as I possible can.
"Ah, I see. Yet another unworthy soul shown mercy?" He chuckles and raises an eyebrow at Jowan. Levyn, I remind myself, then shake my head. I can't think of him as anything other than Jowan. "I'm surprised she didn't try to convince you to join us. Rahna has a weakness for recruiting those other would kill."
"The thought crossed my mind. But you forget Alistair and Wynne would probably have walked out on me had I done that," I comment tartly, looking sideways at Jowan. "Asking Alistair to travel with Morrigan was bad enough. I don't want to know what he would have said had I asked him to accept a blood mage on top of that." I shoot Jowan an awkward look. "You don't...still do that, do you?" I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea myself, if I'm perfectly honest.
He shakes his head, something approaching sadness in his eyes. "No. I don't really use magic much at all." He stares straight into the heart of the fire and mutters under his breath, "That was the plan from the start."
Something-like the pain positively swimming in his eyes-tells me there's a whole sodding lot that isn't being said. But I decide to let him off the hook, seeing as he did just save our skins. "So, what's the plan? We go our way and you go yours?"
"I was figuring on something like that, yes." He nods in assent, an expression of relief mingled with regret crossing his face.
"Unless...do you want to come with us?" It's an impulsive question, fueled mostly by what I saw flicker in his eyes.
Loneliness.
"Why? If they catch you with me..." He looks undecided, desire for company warring with his desire to not cause anymore harm to anyone.
"You'll be less likely to draw attention if you aren't traveling alone. You know men who travel alone and hide in the corner of taverns draw the gossips' attention, if no one else's. And Zevran and I are more than capable of handling ourselves." That may be the understaement of my lifetime. I see the undecided longing in his eyes. "We didn't have any particular plan, outside of wandering for the next few months. A...stabilizing presence would be more than welcome."
He raises an eyebrow, reading exactly what I intended in the graciously worded statement. "Well, who am I to refuse if you wish my company?"
I'm now traveling with an assassin and a-hopefully-former blood mage. Maker's mercy, Alistair, if you could see me now... I can't help but wonder what he would think, not when including him in any and all decisions came as naturally as breathing for the past year. He'd probably ask me if I've taken complete leave of my senses. Considering he was what kept me reasonable most of the time, the answer is pretty much yes.
Zevran shoots me a brief, mildly disbelieving look before shaking his head. I can almost see the 'What did you expect?' dancing through his mind. He knows my willingness to give second chances to those others wouldn't, Loghain and Howe being the only exceptions to that rule. I hardly expect him to be judgmental, considering that he falls in that category more easily than Jowan does. "Well, then, are we moving on?"
"Yes. I think we should get as far away from here as possible." I mean it too. Those men didn't seem the type to give up easily. They may be back. Or maybe I'm just ridiculously paranoid. The Maker only knows which.
A/N: So, there's the lead up, if not the scene I'm dying to write. I'll see about getting that done. Originally "Levyn" was only supposed to show up in the cameo I put in the last chapter. But I love Jowan too much to let it be at that(should have known that if I let him get a foot through the door he'd push his way through. I can't say no to the sad mage who ruined his life). And the idea of having him travel with Rahna and Zevran...my brain is nearly exploding from the number of possible situations-good, bad, or hilarious-that could come from this. I didn't know anything beyond Jowan either getting A) executed or B) sent back to the Tower was possible until I was reading his page on the DA wiki and noticed that if you tell him to run and you never want to see him again, he does actually do some good-which I will hopefully be able to mention in the next chapter-in a possible, and unfortunately bugged, sidequest. I positively cheered. And looked up video proof on youtube. And cheered some more. That quest is where the alias 'Levyn' comes from, too. Oh, and I apologize for the slight lack of Zev in this chapter. That will be more than remedied, I think in the next chapter.
