As the Crow Flies
Walking was tediously boring work. Pick one foot up, put it down, pick the other foot up and put it down. Onward, along dusty roads in the blazing sun. What wasn't to love about that? Joss noticed sourly that Morrigan shapeshifted into a bird whenever she got too bored and for a split second, Joss contemplated learning how to shapeshift into a bird as well but really, black wasn't her color and she wasn't sure feathers would be very becoming either.
At midday they stopped to eat and Joss made the mistake of asking to see the map. She stared at it for a long time but it made no sense to her. At all. She said as much to Alistair who launched into a dissertation on the merits of map reading. The more Alistair waved the map in her face, the more frustrated she became. Who decided on these names and where a road should or shouldn't be? And what did a crow have to do with a map? She rubbed her forehead, pushing her sweat dampened hair away from her eyes. She was an intelligent woman, she ought to be able to figure out a damned map!
They sat on a moss covered tree that had fallen with lazy abandon by the side of the broad brown road. The North Road, Alistair insisted on calling it, when clearly they were heading east. Was she the only one who saw an error in judgment by naming it the North Road? And why was he nattering on about crows?
"What does that even mean? How could anyone possibly know how a crow flies, let alone where it flies? As the crow flies?" she asked, slapping at the map again.
"Geez, you'd think you'd spent your life in a tower or something," Alistair teased, his good humor refusing to budge under her assault. "As the crow flies means in a straight line. You know…the shortest path between two points?"
"Smug little man," she hissed, feeling incredibly stupid, a rare and not altogether pleasant experience. She slapped him upside the head with a cold spell, mild enough to be irritating but not painful. He waggled his brows and she was certain he would smite her if she continued using magic on him. She returned to the map.
"And why is this called the North Road when it clearly runs east and west? And the West Road? More south than west. Who named these roads?" she continued, waving an arm at the dusty path they had been walking on just moments earlier. They were traveling east, to Denerim. They were not walking north. Or south. Or west. It made no sense to her at all.
"How do I know who named them? The North Road is so named because it's in northern Ferelden," he replied somewhat smugly.
"So why is the West Road so named? It isn't in western Ferelden. It's in southern Ferelden and it travels in a southwesterly direction. Why not the Southwestern Road? Or the Maric Memorial Byway? Or Loghain Lane?"
Wynne looked up from her sewing, something ever present with the older woman. Josslyn's hip kit contained potions, vials, a few neatly folded bandages, a poultice and a sprig of dried mint. Wynne's contained needles and pins and various colored flosses and threads. Not helpful in the event of an injury but very grandmotherly of her and extremely handy if Joss ever got a tear in her woolen stockings.
"I suggest we finish our meal and continue on," Wynne remarked, crisp and cool like an autumn morning.
Joss ignored her, turning to look at Morrigan. "Say, you're a crow, Morri. Do you fly in a straight line?"
With her golden glare focused sharply on Josslyn, Morrigan spoke with all the haughty ice of a noble lady. "I'm a raven, not a crow and 'tis none of your business how I fly," she replied with cold disdain.
Crow; raven. They were both black birds who ate dead animals by the side of the road. What did it matter? Was one more regal than the other? Somehow Joss couldn't picture that being the case. "Thanks for clearing that up," Joss said smartly and stood, shaking the bread crumbs from her robe.
"If a crow flies straight between two points why aren't we walking in a straight line to Denerim?" Joss asked, thinking she would stump Alistair with that mind-boggling logic.
"Because we'd be tromping across property owned by the banns and arls. They get really grumpy when people do that without permission. Plus, if the rumors are true, there's a civil war going on in the Bannorn. We probably don't want to walk into the middle of it," Alistair replied with just a bit too much smugness for Josslyn's liking. She hit him with another tiny little cold spell. He glared at her and raised his arms. She grinned, unrepentant.
The day was getting away from them and, while Joss would have been content to sit for the remainder of the day, they had places to go and people to see. Sitting on a log by the side of the road didn't get them any closer to Denerim. She sighed before slipping her pack onto her shoulder.
"I hate to say it but we do need to put foot to path and make haste," Joss said, quoting a line from a romance novel she had recently read about a roguish rogue and a sweet young maiden who enjoyed cheesy lines. She had loaned it to Alistair and he had yet to return it. He's probably rereading the steamy bits.
Looking around at her companions, she spied Jowan, who was remarkably quiet as he sat eating the last of his dry biscuits and grapes. Joss wondered if he would ever forgive himself. His shoulders drooped and his pale eyes refused to meet anyone's gaze. Wynne certainly hadn't helped. When the old healer had seen him the night before, she had rained a lecture down on him to rival any spring thunderstorm. Joss had finally yanked Wynne aside.
"You are not in charge here. You are not even second or third in command. You are here by my good graces so I suggest you save your lectures until I give you permission to give them. Don't expect that will be in this lifetime."
Wynne hadn't appreciated that bit of news. "He is a blood mage, he consorts with demons."
"And you, Wynne, consort with a spirit. How much of your anger or vanity or conceit will it take for the spirit to become a demon, do you suppose? I'm glad to have your healing abilities but don't think for even a minute that I won't cut you down should your spirit become less than friendly," Joss had replied with more venom than she would have liked. Venom only added to the poisonous relationship they already had.
Wynne's face had paled and her nostrils had flared but she'd held her tongue, much to Josslyn's surprise. Wynne had never been known for her ability to refrain from adding her own comments to any situation. With a shrug, Joss had gone back to her bedroll and slammed her eyes shut. It was going to be a very long Blight at the rate things were going.
The group was mostly quiet as they walked along the road. She could hear Cathair murmuring softly to Jowan but other than the occasional snort from Jowan in reply, it was relatively quiet. Joss tried to listen to the conversation but, short of cupping her ear and slowing her steps to eavesdrop, she couldn't understand a word that was spoken. And after the previous evening's debacle with Greagoir she wasn't about to cup her ear and claim she couldn't hear.
Evidently, not all crows flew. Late in the afternoon they came across a weeping woman who begged for help. Joss was immediately irritated. Could no-one in the entire land help themselves? Did everyone assume the Archdemon would just hang around and wait for her to gather together an army to fight it? But Alistair flashed his best puppy eyes at her and so off they went, following the distraught woman down a narrow lane. Right into a trap.
The tree should have crushed her but Joss felt Jowan's spell wrap around her and hurl her out of the way. She landed with a bone jarring, breath departing thunk. He was right behind her and landed in the dirt next to her. Dirt was not edible. It was never meant to be and Joss sat up, sputtering. Which made the dirt faintly muddy. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and stood, readying a ferocious tempest over the group of thugs. Of course Alistair got caught in it as well. He was not happy. At. All. Joss thought he looked kind of cute with his hair standing on end from the electrical charge in the air.
Highwaymen? Bandits? Loghain's bounty hunters? Just ill tempered travelers? Joss could understand if they were the latter. She wasn't in a happy mood either. Her blisters had decided to have twins. Whoever they were, Joss wanted to talk to one of them, to chew them out if nothing else.
"Keep someone alive!" she called over the roar of her storm. Best find out just why they felt compelled to attack a perfectly nice Grey Warden intent on ending the Blight.
Alistair nodded in acknowledgement and reached down, lifting an elf off the ground and tossing him toward Joss, who had heard of dwarf tossing but never elf tossing. She watched with a bemused expression as the attractive elf hit the ground at her feet. His eyes were closed but Joss nudged him with her boot and he stirred. Realizing he wasn't dead, she went back to casting, ignoring the man for the time being.
When the last bandit had fled or was dead, Joss knelt down beside the blonde elf and poured a fair amount of water over his face. He sputtered and his eyes opened, blinking rapidly.
"I am not dead?" he asked with a thick accent. Not Orlesian, but Joss had no idea where he was from. "I rather thought I would wake up that way."
"Not yet. Soon, should you make me angry," Joss promised brightly, prodding him in the ribs. He winced as he sat up.
"Ah, torture first. I think I like your style, my lovely Warden," he remarked with a leer. Ah, so he knew who he had attacked. That meant he wasn't just a grouchy traveler.
"Good, then you won't mind my restraining you," she replied, nodding to Randal. Randal moved forward, handing Joss a roughly woven rope, guaranteed to chafe and rub.
"Mmmm, I rather prefer the softer methods, but I am willing enough to try something more Fereldan," the elf said, his leer becoming even more suggestive.
At least he has a sense of the ridiculous, Joss thought with a barely contained grin. "Yes, well, I'm fresh out of velvet lined cuffs and feather boas," she said, quickly wrapping the rope around his wrists. Which struck her as ludicrous. She unwound the rope and tossed it aside before casting a ward on the ground in front of him.
"You are welcome to try to escape but that ward will toss you into the ravine back there. And none too gently."
"You are not what I expected," the elf said with a broad grin. He let his eyes wander freely from her toes to her nose, stopping at certain points in between for a deeper perusal. She quirked a brow at him.
"What were you expecting? A woman in silks plying a tapestry needle?"
"Hmmm, there is a picture worth admiring. But no."
Joss raised a brow and tapped her foot, the obvious signal that she was waiting impatiently for more information. The elf did not keep her waiting long.
"He told me to look for a slack-jawed, whiny man with dirty blonde hair and an older, drab woman with red hair, who was smarter than she looked." There was something familiar about that phrase. She frowned. Loghain Mac Tir. Lightning. Ah yes, she remembered her first night at Ostagar. He really did carry a grudge too far.
"What? I do not have a slack jaw!" Alistair complained in outrage and then looked at Joss. "Do I?"
She'd never seen a man with a firmer jaw than Alistair but he was missing the point. She smiled reassuringly. "And I don't have red hair so obviously this elf attacked the wrong people."
With a chuckle, the elf shook his head. "If you are the Wardens, I made no mistake. Believe me, Zevran Arainai does not make mistakes." And he said that with a straight face even though Joss and Alistair had captured him. Didn't he consider that a mistake?
"However, the man who hired me, for a great deal of gold I might add, was obviously not a very observant man. Anyone can see your hair is auburn, and there is nothing drab about you, my lovely Warden."
Ah, flattery. The universal currency. Joss smiled. "Yet you are still in trouble," she replied quietly.
"Of course. I suppose you wish to know who hired me and then you'll do something truly grizzly with me, yes? Perhaps painful too," he added roguishly.
"That depends on what you have to say, little man," Joss retorted. He winced.
"Ah, a sharp tongue. Loghain did not warn me of that."
Chuckling now, Joss sat down beside him. "So, who are you and why does Loghain want us dead? I can understand him being a bit irritated with us, but to hire an assassin? I can't imagine that tightwad hiring anyone for any amount of coin," she said and the elf laughed again.
"Believe me, my dear woman, he paid quite handsomely. I, of course, am now in the awkward position of having failed to kill you. Unless you are willing to allow this now?" Zevran asked hopefully.
"Sure, why not? Alistair, be a good man and hand Zevran Arainai your sword. He can finish the job and be on his merry way," Joss responded with a chuckle.
Alistair snorted, his hand resting on his hilt. "Are you sure? I mean, stopping the Blight is going to be just that much harder if we're both dead."
It was Josslyn's turn to snort. When had Alistair developed a sense of fun and a bit of starch? She liked this new side of him and gave him a wink. "So? We'll be dead, what will it matter to us?"
"This is hardly the time for humor," Wynne snapped waspishly.
"True. We have an assassin in our midst. What will you do if we let you go?" Joss asked the elf with the golden hair and golden brown eyes. He really was gorgeous in a dangerous way. He was also as smooth as polished marble. And probably twice as slick, Joss thought wryly.
"Go? You wish to let me go?" he asked, eyes widening in surprise. "Why not allow me to travel with you? I will quite happily warm you bed, feed you grapes or even fight for you, if you feel it is necessary."
"I don't really like grapes, I have Styx to warm my bed and why would you want to fight for me? Weren't you intent on killing me just minutes ago?" Joss asked dibelievingly, raising a brow.
"Styx is a very lucky man. Perhaps I shall challenge him to a duel, a fight for you, no? What woman can resist men fighting over the honor of bedding her?" Zevran asked with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Styx would chew you up and spit you out before you could unsheathe your…weapon," Joss replied with a small smile. Styx growled, moving over to sniff at the elf and bare his teeth in a very unfriendly smile.
"Zevran, meet Styx," she added and her smile grew when the elf paled underneath his tanned skin. Still, with aplomb to spare, he reached out and rubbed Styx between the eyes.
"A pleasure, Styx. Should you ever tire of sleeping at the Warden's side, rest assured I shall be pleased to do so."
Styx let out a playful "woof" at that and proceeded to lick Zevran's face with great enthusiasm. So much for my great protector, Joss thought with wryly. She'd never heard of anyone being licked to death by a mabari.
"Fine, swear you won't try to kill me and you're welcome to come along and help us on our great quest to save mankind," Joss said but before Zevran the Assassin could swear such an oath, Alistair grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the group surrounding the elf.
"Are you insane? You want to bring this assassin, the one who was going to kill us, along?" Alistair asked, much aggrieved. His voice was so loud and high that Joss was left to wonder why he had dragged her away from the others in the first place. People in Denerim could probably hear his shouting. "Because, you know, he could be lying to lull us into a false sense of security just to stab us in the back when we aren't looking."
Joss stared at him, trying very hard not to laugh. She heard Zevran sigh. "Had I been able to overhear your whispering, I am sure I would be offended," he remarked. Joss ignored him but it wasn't easy to suppress the laughter welling up in her.
"Alistair, we have a sister of the chantry who can put an arrow between a man's eyes from one hundred paces but has visions from the Maker and isn't exactly paddling her canoe with both oars. In fact, she's paddling them with a blue satin shoe and a hairbrush while chanting the canticles.
"And then we have a kindly old woman, white haired and sweet, who is actually an old crone housing a spirit. A spirit, I might add, that could go rogue at any time, with very little effort. And the woman carries darning materials in place of medical supplies in her kit but claims to be a healer.
"We have a blood mage who was afraid he would be made tranquil because he couldn't learn normal mage spells so he talked a demon into teaching him how to cast really, really nasty spells and yet is still likely to be made tranquil, if not killed outright, for being a maleficar. He is afraid of his own shadow but not afraid to consort with demons.
"And we have an apostate shapeshifter whose mother is not a Witch of the Wilds but the Witch of the Wilds. Maker only knows why she was so willing to send her daughter with us but I can guarantee Morri isn't along to bake brownies for us.
"So yes, the assassin seems the sanest of the lot, at least at the moment. He comes with us and if he tries anything, he'll have a matching tattoo on the other side of his face. One put there by my fire spell."
Oddly, Alistair didn't continue protesting. He shrugged and said, "Okay, but if he decides to fulfill the contract he has with Loghain I'm going to say I told you so."
As they would both be dead if Zevran decided to fulfill his contract, Joss didn't bother to argue with him. "Fair enough."
They made their way back to the group and she offered Zevran her hand. He held it too long, caressing it lightly before bending at the waist and proclaiming his loyalty to her. She wondered how long it would take for her to regret her decision. He was already best friends with Styx and well on his way to charming the spirit out of Wynne. She wondered if he had any idea how close he came to the truth with the magical bosom remark he'd made to Wynne while waiting to hear what would happen to him.
"So, where are you from Zevran Arainai? Certainly not from around here."
"I am an Antivan Crow," he replied with great national pride. "Naturally I come from Antiva, as all Antivan Crows do."
Oh great, another crow. "And do you fly straight?" she asked with a sassy grin.
"Straight, bent, whatever the situation calls for. I am quite talented in that regard, my lovely Warden," he purred in his thickly accented and highly suggestive voice. "Do you have a preference?" he leered.
Smooth as polished marble and twice as slick; just as she'd thought. But she was laughing as they continued traveling east on the North Road. And then it struck her. Forcefully. Right in the stomach. She wasn't interested in him. At all. Oh sure, to pal around with but not in a "lets go to bed and screw each other blind" way.
Normally she would have exchanged a litany of sexual innuendo with him by now. He was a master at it and she had been considered quite accomplished in that area as well. Yet now she found she wasn't interested. Oh Maker's left nut! She was…she was turning monogamous! Joss nearly stumbled and tripped over her own feet as the thought struck her.
Damn it all, next she would imagine herself in love. Of all the fool notions.
"Zevran, I think maybe you should kill me after all," Joss sighed disconsolately as they continued along the dusty road.