Zevran would normally not have allowed himself to become distracted while out in a public space like this, but he had to admit that the sight of his mage in tight-fitting leather clothing was... quite intriguing. He was a striking man even in his normal clothing, but with his hair back, his chin neatly barbered, and dressed in leathers that showed off his increasingly impressive physique instead of obscuring it... now he looked as powerful as Zevran knew him to be, and Zevran had always had a weakness for powerful men.
He wished they were going straight back to the estate, rather than off to visit Bann Teagan, as he very much wished to peel Owen out of his leathers and express to him just how delightful he found the new outfit. Or even leave him in them and peel off just enough to access the important bits...
Lost in lascivious thoughts as he was, by the time he realized they were being herded, their path subtly diverted down specific laneways, they'd already gone too far.
"Stop!" he hissed, looking around at the strangely-empty courtyard they'd been crossing. "This is a trap," he stated flatly.
An all-too-familiar laugh sounded from nearby, and Taliesin rose from where he'd been sitting, waiting, on a crate near the top of a flight of stairs leading up out of the courtyard to the next higher terrace of the hillside. "Ah, Zevran, such a pleasure to see you again. It has been far too long, my friend."
"So they sent you, Taliesin? Or did you volunteer for the job?" Zevran asked, eyes narrowing as he watched the man, posed at the top of the stairway, standing in a spot where he was brightly highlighted by a fall of late afternoon sunlight from between the buildings behind them, the bright light making the contrast of his tanned skin and black hair and leathers all the more effective. Taliesin had always had a flair for the dramatic.
Owen looked sharply at the rogue posed above them. So this was the Taliesin of whom Zevran had spoken; the man who had betrayed and so badly damaged Zevran, back in Antiva. His eyes narrowed, and his hand shifted to rest on the hilt of his sword. He glanced over at Arren and Alistair. Alistair was also focused on the man; Arren, on the other hand, was slowly turning his head, looking at something else; focusing on areas of shadow nearby, on the rooftops and windows overlooking the courtyard. More than just the one assassin in wait for them, then. Owen met his eyes, briefly, gave him a very slight nod, before returning his attention to Zevran and Taliesin, ready to move at a word.
"I volunteered, of course," Taliesin was saying. "When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself. You know, I was quite devastated when you left Antiva. And without even a word to me before you... vanished. A lesser man might be hurt enough to be unforgiving, that you fled my bed so... precipitously... after having only just returned to it. Were you disappointed because I had a cock and not a cunt, like that whore Rinna? You always enjoyed it before."
"Do not speak of her... friend," Zevran said, voice very soft, the intonation he gave to 'friend' making it clear he did not mean the word in any kindly way. "Because we were once... what we were... if you turn now and walk away, I will not kill you."
Taliesin laughed. "Ah, such fine threats! No, Zevran. That is not one of the choices available to you here. You may walk away from these... gentlemen... and rejoin me, and return to Antiva. All will be forgiven. The Masters understand that... mistakes were made. They are willing to be lenient."
"There is a catch," Owen said quietly, looking at the man, evaluating how he held himself, how he moved. A dangerous man; self-assured, and judging by what little Zevran had told him of him, one who was rightfully confident of his abilities. "There is always a catch."
Taliesin nodded approvingly to Owen. "Of course. The catch is that Zevran must prove his good will by fulfilling the contract he was sent here on," he said, and turned his gaze to where Arren and Alistair stood, hands on weapons, listening to the two assassins conversing. "There they stand, Zevran. We have only to kill them, and you are free to come home."
"And if I am not willing to kill my friends in order to return to your side, my dear Taliesin? What then?" Zevran asked, voice light, empty of anything but casual curiosity.
Taliesin grinned widely, shrugged. "Then you will still return to Antiva with me, but it will be as a prisoner, and once we arrive, an example will be made of you, your ending a nightmarish tale that will keep young Crows in line for at least a hundred years. You will be wishing for death for a very long time before it is finally granted you."
Zevran nodded, face impassive. "I see. You leave me little choice then."
Taliesin nodded, and grinned. He seemed certain he knew which choice Zevran would take.
Zevran turned and looked at Arren. "I am sorry, my Warden," he said, and shrugged. "We will have to kill them all."
Taliesin's face darkened. "That is not one of your choices," he said flatly, and signalled with one hand. Crows stepped out of the shadows, emerged from hiding behind crates, bushes, in doorways, rose from behind dormers and chimneys on roofs. "Reconsider, Zevran," Taliesin said, harshly. "It is not yet too late."
Zevran shook his head. "You are going to lose, Taliesin. You are going to lose badly. You should have stayed in Antiva," he said, voice calm and utterly certain.
Taliesin scowled, signalled again, and the Crows exploded into motion, closing in on the four men and two dogs.
And just as explosively scattered back, as the force of Owen's magic blasted out, pushing them away.
Taliesin might have thought the force he'd arranged was more than sufficient to deal with four men and two dogs, taken by surprise. And it might have been, had he not allowed them time to prepare themselves for attack. Or had he known that one dog and one man were both mages, or that mabari warhounds were much more effective warriors than any Antivan dog would be.
It was still a fierce fight, but Arren and his companions were all superlative fighters, the co-ordination between them well-honed by their travels together, and unfavourable odds was what they were most used to fighting against. Owen saw the beginnings of doubt in Taliesin's face near the end of the fight, as he saw how many of his Crows were already down and dead, the two wardens seemingly untouched, Zevran cutting his way through a group of lesser Crows toward him.
He did not turn and flee; Owen had to give him that, as he followed on Zevran's heels, guarding the slighter man's back as they moved closer to the ebon-haired assassin.
The last Crows fell; only Taliesin still stood. He looked at Arren and Alistair advancing toward him, at Owen looming behind Zevran, then faced Zevran again. "Perhaps I should have stayed in Antiva after all," he said, feigning calm. "You've clearly found quite impressive protectors, my friend. Do you fuck them each in turn, or all at once?" he sneered.
Zevran shook his head, almost sorrowfully, and then slit his throat. Taliesin blinked, once, then slowly dropped down to his knees on the cobblestoned street, not crying out or struggling as his life drained out of him, air bubbling out of his ruined throat as he slumped face-down onto the stones, a final shudder passing through him before he lay motionless in death.
Only then did Zevran start shaking, his bloodied dagger falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to bounce off the cobbles at his feet, staring down at Taliesin's corpse. "He let me do that," he said, voice husky. "He could have kept fighting, or even fled. But he let me kill him, at the end." He blinked, turning away from the corpse to look up at Owen. "Why did he do that?" he asked, sounding lost and afraid.
Owen shook his head. "I don't know," he said, then went down on one knee, ignoring the gore coating the cobblestones, to put himself at a better height for hugging Zevran. "It's over," he told him, softly. "He can never hurt you again."
Zevran nodded, and just leaned against him, shaking still, not putting his own arms around Owen, but still accepting what comfort the mage could give him.
Arren looked around uneasily. "We should get out of here," he said softly. "I hope that was all the Crows we'll have to worry about for some time to come, but I don't like being on ground they led us to."
Zevran nodded after a minute, looked around. "You are wise to be wary. There are undoubtedly traps still around, and some of them may be nastily lethal. Many of the Crows will have nasty things concealed on their persons, as well. We should go, quickly and quietly, and send word to your friend Sergeant Kylon that this area will need a careful cleansing."
Arren nodded. "Lead us out of this mess, Zevran," he said. "I trust your eye for traps more than I trust my own, here in the city."
Zevran picked his way carefully away from the carnage, the other following him carefully.
"All right," Arren said once they were clear of it. "Back to the market. We'll find Sergeant Kylon first."
"Send word to Bann Teagan," Zevran suggested. "I suspect that the note that you received was not from him, but merely used to lure us into their trap."
Arren nodded, and scribbled a note of his own, sending it off with a runner as soon as they drew close enough to the market for him to find one. By the time they'd located Sergeant Kylon, and discretely informed him of the slaughter in the distant courtyard, and why it would need careful handling to safely remove and dispose of the bodies, the runner returned, with a note from Bann Teagan, this one sealed with a daub of wax impressed with the Bann's signet. Arren read it, then nodded at Zevran. "Good call. He said he sent us no such note, and is taking advantage of his response to our enquiry to invite us all to his townhouse for lunch tomorrow," Arren said, amused. "Assuming we intend to remain in the city, and not just head right out again."
"I'm for staying a few days," Alistair spoke up. "We've not had a real rest since before coming to Denerim, what with all the running around the Arl and Queen have had us doing."
"Seconded," Owen said quietly, meeting Arren's eyes then glancing pointedly at Zevran, who was still looking pale and shaken after their encounter with the Crows.
Arren nodded. "Right. That sounds like a plan to me. All right, let's get back to the estate; it's almost time for dinner."
It was a quiet dinner; Arl Eamon was dining at the castle with the Queen and many of the other nobles, so Arren's group had the Arl's dining room to themselves, and had a pleasantly convivial dinner with all of them seated at one table together. Zevran was very quiet during the meal, but apart from that seemed almost his normal self.
"If we're going to stay in the city for a while before moving on again, we should probably consider finding lodgings of our own, rather than imposing on the Arl's hospitality any further," Arren said quietly as they were finishing their meals. "We're a sizable group, and while he's been quite generous with his hospitality while we were of use to him, I'd rather not outstay our welcome with him, especially when we've disappointed some of his plans."
"Not making me King, you mean?" Alistair asked, looking up from feeding Briar a choice tidbit of roast.
"Among other things, yes," Arren agreed, smiling warmly at the other warden. "It's going to take the nobles some time to sort out the mess left in the wake of the deaths of both Teryn Loghain and Arl Howe. I think we can safely expect that we'll be staying on in the city for at least another week, possibly two, before things begin to move. Tomorrow we can begin looking around for an inn or boarding house able to take us all on for at least a week."
After the meal they retired to their quarters. Owen checked in on Tria again; awake, and being fed by Mara. She didn't speak, but frowned thoughtfully at Owen, recognizing him again he thought, before Mara distracted her with another spoonful of stew. It was going to take a while to restore her to real health, but at least she was clean, free of parasites, and getting proper food and rest now; her body should recover soon enough. He just hoped her mind would follow.
He returned to his room to find Zevran sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space, still wearing the same armour he'd had on earlier. He'd pulled himself together after killing Taliesin, managed to seem normal enough through the course of the meal... but Owen was not surprised to find him distraught now he had the privacy to be so. The assassin didn't even seem to notice him until he knelt down before him, putting his hands on his shoulders.
"Owen," the elf said, acknowledging his presence, but nothing more.
Owen gently touched his face. "Zevran..." he began, then broke off. He leaned forward, and kissed the assassin gently on the forehead. "Come, you need a bath. We both do."
Zevran nodded, and stood up, following Owen docilely to their bathing chamber. Owen drew a bath, stripping off his own new armour and his rather mussed clothing underneath – he'd have to get a proper gambeson to wear under it – then stripped down Zevran as well, who'd made no move to undress himself.
Their bath was quiet, with no play, just Owen washing himself and Zevran, the elf seeming listless in the wake of the day's events. It was only later, when they were both dried and dressed, curled up in bed together, that Zevran finally seemed to become aware of his surroundings again. His arms stole around Owen's neck, and he pressed his face into the larger man's shoulder, silent tears soaking into Owen's nightshirt.
"I hated him so much," he whispered.
Owen nodded.
"And loved him so much," he added, the words barely voiced at all.
"I know," Owen said softly, and hugged him close, while the assassin finally let out the pain he'd been holding in since Taliesin had stepped into their path earlier that day.