Goodness! Longest chapter yet! I considered splitting it in half, but I couldn't find a good cutoff point.
I use the word thunderously a lot this time around. Enjoy, read and review!
Loghain Mac Tir was the only soul in the grand entrance of the palace who knew of the Arl's treachery to the Couslands, but even without this knowledge, Rendon Howe was ill-considered by all in the hall. Howe was a greasy and sniveling man. Yet, the recently declared regent was the only man who did not grudgingly drop to his knees at the Arl's entrance. The shrunken gray haired man ignored the bowing crowd, beelining straight towards Loghain.
"Arl Howe," the former teryn turned, his brow heavy and his eyes thunderous. It was his typical appearance – the man was never pleased.
"Teryn Loghain," the Arl dipped his head in spurious respect. "I bring…disturbing news."
"More?" Loghain muttered, taking a sip from his goblet. "It seems that betraying a king and an entire nation of Grey Wardens brings more problems than I'd imagined."
"You openly admit what you've done?" Arl Howe's mouth formed into an O, his greasily smooth countenance broken for a moment.
"I've no shame. You and I are the only ones who are aware of what truly happened at Ostagar. Not even my daughter knows," Loghain shrugged. "None of these fools-" he gestured towards the crowd, "are listening, and even if they were, their death would be simple to arrange."
"You seem very sure of your position," Rendon Howe said smoothly, recovering.
"I am," Loghain replied confidently, taking a long sip.
"Then hopefully my news will not disturb you greatly," the Arl began. "But I bring tidings of survivors of Ostagar."
"Survivors?" Loghain's looked at Howe steadily.
"Yes. Grey Wardens. I am honestly not sure how they survived, ser."
The former teryn's eyes darkened as the memory of his last meeting with the king surfaced.
"I do. At the last minute, Cailan sent two of the newest recruits to the Tower of Ishal, with the mission of lighting the beacon that would 'signal' my armies to move in. Like a fool, I had agreed to his idea, assuming that the Tower of Ishal would become as overrun as the rest of the blighted battlefield. In fact, it was Bryce Cousland's daughter and some tall fool. I don't remember either of their names."
The Arl nodded evenly, a hint of joy bubbling up in his black eyes at the thought of the information he held. There was a certain delight in sharing bad news – at least for him.
"That tall fool you mention," Howe leaned in, his eyes sparking, "is more important than you make him sound."
"Just tell me the point," Loghain scowled. "I'm getting tired of your greasy games, Howe."
"The man who survived," Arl Howe paused for a last desperate attempt at drama, "is the son of Maric. And a serving girl from the castle. He survived, and he has a claim to the throne."
Loghain slammed his glass down on the table, shattering it into thick, sharp pieces that crashed to the entry hall ground. He growled and shook his hand free of the remaining glass, spraying drops of blood and wine. The Arl watched it calmly, delighting in his reaction.
"Damn Maric and his infinite prostitutes. The survivor," Loghain hissed through clenched teeth, "must be killed. Immediately. He cannot be a threat."
"I've already begun to take care of that, ser," Howe turned as the wide doors to the hall opened. "Here is his now, in fact."
Loghain watched the newcomer carefully, his eyes easily picking out the Antivan Crow insignia stamped into the hilts of the daggers strapped to the man's back. He was clearly from Antiva, then. That was evident in the classic Antivan features that stood out on his face – the rounded lips and the naturally bronzed skin. However, they were somewhat mired by his high cheekbones and slim, angular jaw – traits that drew Loghain to the conclusion regarding the newcomer's elvish descent even before his pointed ears were revealed.
"This is the elf I have hired for the job," the Arl gestured towards the Antivan. "He is a Crow, and as I'm sure you know, they're quite famous for their…effectiveness. His name is-"
"I know who the Crows are, Howe. I need not be introduced." Loghain interrupted, turning to the blonde elf. "You will complete your mission, and return to me as quickly. Understand?"
"I understand," the assassin nodded, his voice accented heavily.
The Arl and the assassin turned to leave, but Loghain stopped them with his next sentence.
"Howe."
"Yes, ser?"
"The woman who survived is Bryce Cousland's daughter," he began. "I met her…She is fiery. She will be coming after you soon enough. And I would fear her arrival."
"You are correct as always, Loghain. Would you take care of her as well?" the Arl turned to the elf.
"For an added fee," he smirked.
The road to Redcliffe was difficult enough – darkspawn, bandits, sharp rocks - without the thoughts of Alistair's impending confession looming over his mind. Esme had her own fears about returning to Redcliffe as well, though hers were much more political than personal. She had only heard word of Arl Eamon's condition through hushed tones, but from what she had been able to decipher his situation was desperate. So desperate, in fact, that his own knights had left to seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes – something Esme believed did not exist but Leliana worshipped thoroughly.
Yet they carried on through the rough paths, carving a winding road from Lothering to Ostagar. The tense air that had manifested itself early on in their travels had dissipated with the red-haired bard in the party. Alistair and Esme had taken to her quickly, and their threesome was swiftly built, while Morrigan and Sten watched on, both alike in their countenances but neither willing to admit it. Leliana was the balancing act between Esme's calm and Alistair's energy, and as a group of three they did quite well together.
All of the excitement could almost make Alistair and Esme forget their sudden proximity to Redcliffe. Almost.
As Esme led the group of five into the final valley before Redcliffe, her heart nearly stopped as a bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout. She drew her weapons quickly, blood pumping. Alistair was at her side in a minute, his sword drawn and his face tense. Before they could investigate, however, a bloodied woman appeared through the fog. The source of the screams?
"Thank the Maker you're here!" she shouted, gasping for air. "There are bandits – they attacked our cart! Help us, please!'
Alistair looked at Esme with a face that clearly said more bandits? Really?
"Lead the way," Esme fought off a small smirk at Alistair's expression, her anxiety fading. Bandits she could handle.
But as the woman led them towards the broken cart, something changed. Her shoulders became less tensed and she stopped gasping for breath. Suddenly, she turned, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Esme….." Leliana murmured. "We need to get out of here."
Before Esme could hurriedly agree, a tall, lithe man stepped from behind the cart. He was clearly an elf, and her eyes picked out the daggers he had strapped to his back. She tensed her hold on her own.
"Assasins," Morrigan was saying. "We must get out of here!"
"The Grey Wardens die here!" the elf shouted, a heavy accent glaring through.
With a hand gesture, he seemed to draw into focus what must've been fifteen or twenty men, appearing at each and every angle around the group of five. Panic coursed through her veins.
We're trapped.
From his perch on the valley's topside, an assassin fired a flaming arrow that was easily deflected by Alistair's shield. She realized quickly her team was waiting for her order, and she inwardly cursed her lack of battleground training.
"Attack!" Esme shouted awkwardly, and the valley plunged into battle. Morrigan instantly backed away from the fray, beginning to pick off victims from afar, while the others dove in, each seeking out their own assassin to defeat.
An elf rushed Esme, and she stepped out of range easily, stabbing where the elf should've landed. But only empty air found the blade of her dagger, and she whirled around quick enough to sidestep what would've been a killing blow. She wasn't used to fighting quick rogues like herself – only clumsy darkspawn. The elf stabbed at her waist, and she deflected it with the blade of her dagger, before twisting and sinking her left blade in his stomach. She let the assassin fall before seeking out Alistair. He was doing well with two elves on each side, deftly blocking left and right with his massive shield. Leliana was as equally matched as Esme was, holding her own against an elf twice her size. Sten was handling three elves at once, throwing them off guard with his greatsword, while Morrigan was simply picking off the men from afar. Esme grinned wildly, wiping the blood from her face. Surprisingly, the battle was going well.
An arrow bounced off the armor around her knee, and she growled, turning towards the source and rushing them. A few neat swings later and they were toppled. Her eyes scanned the battlefield once more. Where was that blighted leader?
There he was. The coward was watching the fight almost idly, sending arrows flying almost randomly, but they landed perfectly, finding the weakened or injured spots of her companions. Her heart pounded as she approached him quietly, slipping around the broken cart. Esme emerged, her daggers ready to strike, but the elf was no longer there.
"Looking for me?"
The accented voice came from behind her, and she whirled around, blocking a blow to her waist. Not to be deterred, he withdrew his blades and twisted around her, staying low and tense. He thrust once more, and she sidestepped, leaping in for a shot that was quickly fought off. The elf let out a feral growl, then dove at Esme, his daggers flying. For a while, the two were locked in combat, one perfectly and equally matched with the other. Every shot was blocked, every twist followed, every maneuver countered. No edge could be gained with either side – it began to become a game of exhaustion.
Until Alistair arrived, with him having been trying to escape the main battle ever since he had seen Esme attack the leader. It became two against one, and though the elf fought remarkably well, the ex-templar's strength eventually outweighed the assassin's speed. The Antivan ducked to escape a killing blow from Esme's right hand, but took the edge of Alistair's shield to his face. The elf dropped to the dusty ground, blood seeping from his forehead.
Around the small fight, the battle had ended. Sten, Morrigan and Leliana approached the Grey Wardens wearily – all three of them completely covered in blood, mostly not their own. Sten was grasping his arm, and Esme turned to see blood dripping through.
"Are you all right?" she asked, tilting her head in concern.
"I'm more concerned about what we're going to do to him," Sten jerked his head in the direction of the assassin leader, who was very much alive.
"I am not going to beg for my life, if that's what you're asking," the Antivan spat blood.
"I think you'll do whatever we ask you to," Alistair said lightly.
"You must be keeping me alive for some reason," the elf pointed out.
"Don't push your luck," Esme hissed. "You're alive, but we could easily remedy that condition. Keep that in mind."
"Oh, you're an aggressive little minx," the Antivan laughed weakly, then added, "Lovely, too."
Alistair's brow drew together as Esme tensed her jaw. He was extremely good-looking, she noted grudgingly, with his obviously elvish and Antivan features combined pleasantly. Shoulder length blonde hair was tucked behind his pointed ears, and a tattoo like hers covered the right side of his face, stretching from his high cheekbones to his slim jaw.
"If you're going to ask me questions," the elf began, "I might as well save you some time and get straight to the point."
"Go on," Esme said through gritted teeth.
"My name is Zevran," he paused, "Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying you-" the elf raised a hand to point at Alistair, "and you." He nodded at Esme. "Though you were added to the job as an afterthought."
"An afterthought?" she asked, kneeling down beside the elf. Alistair stood behind her protectively.
"A dark-haired man informed the man who hired me of something that was most disturbing to him. Something to do with a man named Bryce Cousland. Anyhow, the dark-haired man believes you're-" he smirked, "fiery. He believed you would come after the oily man eventually, so for an extra two hundred sovereigns, I was assigned to kill you as well."
Her eyes smoldered at her father's name. Grief no longer came to her at his mention – only a rushing hatred and incoherent anger. The rage coursed through her now and Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, heat carving its way through her veins. She didn't want sympathy. She wanted revenge.
"I-am-not-fiery," she choked, finding that the only topic she could respond to without screaming.
"So you say," Zevran spread his hands open. "Yet your eyes could be described as such at this moment."
Esme's brows drew together, and she glared at the elf in such a way that silenced him immediately.
"Who hired you?" Alistair asked angrily.
"A man named Rendon Howe, I believe."
Her eyes flared, and she gripped the hilt of her dagger tightly.
"But my purpose was to serve another. A rather taciturn man in the capital – Loghain, if I recall correctly." Zevran paused, watching as the entire group before him exchanged glances. "I see that name is familiar to you all. Anyhow, I was assigned with killing both of you, which I have failed at."
"Fortunately."
"I would believe so, if I were in your shoes. But sadly, I am not. Which leaves me the unpleasant situation of dealing with the circumstances."
"The circumstances?"
"The circumstances," he nodded. "They are between this Loghain and the Crows, and then, the Crows and myself. And it will most likely end in just the Crows, as I will no longer be around to consider them soon after the Crows are informed of my failure."
Esme nodded, delving deep in to thought. This man could be useful. He knew of Arl Howe's location. He knew where the man had been, and how to contact him. Alistair watched her warily.
"When were you next going to see the man who hired you?"
"If I had succeeded, never. I was to return to Antiva, and the Crows would have informed your Loghain and the other man … Howe."
She hissed angrily.
"But do you know how to contact Howe?"
"I know of his most recent location and the address of his estate, but I cannot say much besides that."
Esme looked at Alistair, her normally calm eyes full of emotion. His heart wrenched for her, but if she was thinking what he thought she was thinking….
"Esme," he said softly.
She looked at her feet, her cheeks reddening. When the Grey Warden met his eyes again, her green orbs were guarded carefully. He sighed, looking back down at the injured elf, who had watched the entire exchange with his eyebrows cocked.
"What will the Crows do to you, once they've discovered you've failed?" Esme asked carefully.
"I will be killed," Zevran shrugged simply. "My life is forfeit now. I will most likely be dead by dawn. But the thing is…" he paused. "I rather like living. And it seems to me that I have information you desire."
Alistair tensed.
"We are not taking the assassin with us," he said loudly. Esme just shot him a look.
"Yes, yes. However, the situation remains the same. I have information this lovely woman desires. Simultaneously, I have skills that the rest of you do not. Let me serve you. Let me assist you in whatever adventure is being undertaken."
Esme rubbed her face tiredly.
"How do we know you won't finish the job?"
"I happen to be a very loyal person!" Zevran protested, and Alistair snorted. "Up until the point where I am expected to die for failing. That's not a fault, is it? Unless you are the type to expect the same. In which case, I suppose I do not come very well-recommended."
Her lips curved into a hesitant smile at his comment. The assassin's eyes lit up at the reprieve of her stormy countenance.
"Besides, even if I did kill you know, I would still be killed for betraying them in the first place. So, your deaths would not win me much."
Esme paused.
"So, what do you say?" Zevran asked tentatively. "Shall I be joining you?"
"I say you must think I'm royally stupid."
"I believe you are royally tough to kill," Zevran shrugged, laughing. "And utterly gorgeous."
Alistair stepped forward harshly at that comment, his eyes narrowing at the slight blush that was creeping up Esme's neck.
"Okay, okay, hold on," he held up a hand. "We cannot seriously be considering taking an assassin along. An assassin, who, about fifteen minutes ago, was trying to slip a blade through our ribs!"
Esme quickly grabbed his arm and guided him away from the rest of the group, who had fallen into their own discussions of the elf.
"Alistair, please," she said quietly. "This elf could help me. He could help me find Arl Howe."
"He only knows the man's last location," Alistair responded, feeling like he was fighting a losing battle. "That's all. And he might not even know that. He could be lying, for all we know."
"It's better than what I have now – which is nothing," she looked down at her boots.
"I understand your motivation, Esme, I really do. But what's to stop him from killing us tomorrow morning?"
"You heard him," she replied, meeting his eyes earnestly. He bit his lip. "Besides, he has skills none of us do. He could help us, with, you know, everything. With his connections-"
"-Assassin-y connections."
A grin slowly spread across her face. If Alistair was making jokes, then he was done arguing.
"Killing him would just be a waste," she finished.
"Esme Cousland," he shook his head. "You are going to be the death of me. First an apostate, then a murderer, and now an assassin. I hesitate to wonder what's going to be next."
"Thank you," Esme smiled at him, her eyes warm, then turned on her heel and knelt by the assassin.
"What do you want in return?" she asked simply, and Zevran's hazel eyes lit up once more.
"Well, to be alive, for one. It would please me and make me marginally more useful to you, I believe. And if, in the future, you decide you have no desire for me any longer, then I only ask my release. Other than that, I am your humble servant. Is that fair?"
"Yes," she said. "And in return for us saving your life, you will tell me everything you know of Arl Howe and Loghain. You will also swear fealty to us – as in, no finishing the job."
"I will do all of that," Zevran nodded easily. "May I ask your name?"
"Esme Cousland," the woman replied, and Zevran's eyes darkened, understanding dawning on him at the mention of her last name.
"Then, Esme Cousland, I swear fealty to you and your companions. I am yours, completely and utterly."
"Then I accept your offer," she said, standing and offering a hand to the elf. The assassin got to his feet slowly, cupping his hand around his forehead to stop the sudden flow of blood.
"Leliana, will you work on healing him?" Esme asked, and the red-haired bard nodded, smiling hesitantly at the elf.
The last of the Cousland line then wandered off with Morrigan to collect whatever she could from the bodies nearby, and Alistair's jaw tensed as he noticed the way Zevran's eyes appreciatively followed her retreating form. The Grey Warden absolutely despised the tone the assassin's voice had taken on as he had promised his fealty. I am yours.