It was mid-morning when they finally reached the summit. The road fell away before them, twisting in steep switchbacks between the scrubby pine trees. Further down the valley the pines gave way to oak. Nessa could see the broken line between the trees at the bottom of the valley that must be the North Road
She glanced back. The others were just coming to a stop behind her. Zevran's forehead was beaded with sweat and his face had a grayish cast she didn't like at all. Even more worrisome, he hadn't said more than ten words since insisting vigorously in camp that morning that he was well enough to continue their journey.
"I think we should take a break," she said.
"I am fine," he said sharply.
"Did I say you weren't?" she asked, sliding her pack off her shoulders and reaching for her water flask.
Haft tried to lick one of Zevran's hands — he snatched it out of reach and glared at the dog.
"Speaking as the old man of the group, I'd be glad of a rest," said Brion, pulling off his own pack.
Nessa glanced over. Brion's color was good, his breath was even, and his eyes were bright — he didn't need a rest any more than she did. She gave him a grateful smile, and got back the shadow of a wink.
"You are none of you the least bit subtle," said Zevran, lowering himself to sit on the side of the path with a resigned expression. He pointed at the dog. "Do not think of drooling on me."
Haft gave a small whine and sat down on his haunches.
"I also doubt you are much older than I," Zevran added to Brion.
Nessa took a drink and passed her flask to Zevran before squatting down on her heels next to Haft. She rubbed the dog's ears as she considered Brion, who had sat down on top of his pack with his own water.
"I have to agree with Zevran there," she said. "You don't look thirty, surely?"
"Thirty-seven," he replied after swallowing his mouthful.
"Seriously?"
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said with a grin, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
"So your apprenticeship was twenty years ago!" she said.
"They teach Wardens to count, I see." His smile faded slightly, and he looked down to refasten the flask.
"So where did you go after that?" she asked.
"Nowhere; I stayed with Evan. You don't need to know that much to label bottles and deal with customers," he said.
"That's likely true," she answered.
"I liked Denerim," he added. "Plenty to see and do. I'd had enough of the country."
"Speaking of Denerim, we shall never reach it if we stop to chat every hour," Zevran said. He climbed slowly to his feet. "Let us be on our way."
It was late in the evening when they reached the city, two days later than planned. By the time they arrived at the palace itself it was almost full dark. Nessa stopped just outside the courtyard to give Haft a pat and a scratch behind the ears. He licked her wrist before trotting off toward the kennels on his own.
The courtyard was well lit; a cluster of guards were receiving instruction from Guard Captain Cauthrien just outside the palace doors. Nessa pulled her shoulders back with a grimace and led the way to the entrance, hoping the woman would be too busy to stop them on their way in.
Nessa respected Cauthrien; she was a fierce warrior and her loyalty was unquestionable. However, she had made it clear she'd never forgive Nessa for Loghain's death. The fact that Zevran regularly made a mockery of her security measures — disrupting her guards and showing up in places he ought not to have been — hadn't helped matters. Nessa knew that Zevran was trying to help, in a backhanded sort of way, by pointing out the flaws in palace security… but she also knew that Cauthrien would never see past his flamboyant methods and her own pride to recognize it.
The Guard Captain dismissed her men just as they'd made it halfway across the courtyard. It was too close to pretend they hadn't seen one another, even if the Captain's sense of duty would have allowed that; she turned and waited for them with a grim expression.
"Warden," she said, crisp and formal, with a very slight nod.
"Guard Captain."
"What brings you back to the castle?" she asked. It sounded like a challenge rather than a polite inquery.
"Business for the Teyrn, mostly," Nessa said. "This is Brion — he's my official escort from Fergus. We've had no chance to make arrangements for his accommodation. Would it be possible to find him a place in the barracks during our stay? I'd house him in the Warden compound, but it's full of refugees."
Nessa figured the reminder wouldn't hurt.
"Certainly," said Cauthrien through gritted teeth. "Will you be staying for long?"
Nessa shrugged. "It depends on how things go. I hope not."
The Guard Captain called to one of the men on door duty. "Take the Teyrn's man to the barracks and get him settled in. Also, find the Chamberlain and let him know the Warden and her companion are here and will need their rooms seen to."
The guard saluted.
"I'll send for you tomorrow," Nessa told Brion. "We need to meet with Fergus' steward. Just paperwork — nothing to worry about."
"Yes, my lady," he said and followed the guard into the castle.
Cauthrien cleared her throat and turned to Zevran.
"With all due respect, Ser, I must ask you to refrain from visiting the barracks during your stay. The men have much to do and can't afford to be distracted."
Zevran swept her a low bow. "Your wish is my command, my lady." His smile was suspiciously smug.
"I told you she wouldn't appreciate the loss of supplies," Nessa muttered as they made their way inside.
"Ah, but there are many places besides the barracks to gamble, are there not?"
They made their way across the front hall and up the steps to the second floor. At the top, they met Arl Eamon heading down. He was accompanied by a well-dressed human servant, who was carrying a carved walnut writing box. Nessa glanced at him, but she didn't recognize the man from her stay at Redcliffe. She bowed to the Arl.
"Warden," said Eamon warmly. "It is a pleasure to see you. And Ser Zevran as well."
"It's good to see you as well, my lord," she said. "Teagan told me you would be back in Denerim soon. I hope you are feeling well? You certainly look it."
Nessa hadn't known him well before the blight; perhaps her impression of him as a grim, humorless man had been due to the times. The smile he gave her now changed his whole face — she could see a glimpse of the man young Lady Isolde must have fallen in love with so many years ago. She found herself smiling back.
"I am much improved, thank you. Of course, my health is not quite the same as it was," Eamon said. His face darkened for a moment, but the expression passed so quickly she might almost have imagined it.
"But for the most part," he continued, "I was simply over-tired from the battle so soon after my other… illness."
"I dragged you straight out of bed into the middle of a civil war," she replied. "We were all impressed by your fortitude. But I'm glad you're feeling more like yourself at last. And how is Lady Isolde? Is she here in Denerim?"
"No. No, I left her to oversee Redcliffe. She never did like to travel."
Nessa hoped Isolde would do a better job of taking care of Redcliffe than she had done the last time she'd been left in charge.
"I don't know if you are aware," said Eamon, "that the queen is having a small dinner party for some of her more trusted associates this evening? I am on my way there now. I'm sure you would be welcome. I could speak to her about it, if you wish?"
"I couldn't think of intruding without a proper invitation," Nessa said quickly.
"You are one of the queen's closest friends. She would hardly expect you to stand on ceremony."
"Please, don't trouble yourself," Nessa said, starting to feel a bit trapped. "We've been on the road for days… we've just arrived in Denerim literally this moment." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "To be honest what I really want is a hot bath."
Eamon chuckled. "Even the queen herself is unlikely to blame you for that. Very well — I'll extend your greetings and apologies."
"Thank you. I'll speak with her myself tomorrow if she has time." She stepped to the side, clearing way for Eamon to pass down the steps. "Please don't let us keep you; I don't want to make you late for dinner."
"Then I wish you a good evening," he said, bowing slightly and continuing down the stairs.
Nessa walked down the hall towards her rooms, lost in thought.
"You shake your head, my Warden."
"It's nothing," she said. She'd been thinking that if only Eamon had shared more of those charming smiles with Alistair things might have been different. Alistair had never complained… but during the blight, Eamon had made plans with Nessa as though his foster son were not even present. She'd seen how withdrawn and unhappy it made Alistair look. Maybe if he hadn't already been feeling left out and defensive…
But it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. On the other hand, she doubted Zevran would believe her 'nothing.'
"I'm glad after everything that's happened Eamon can still be glad to see me," she said instead.
"It is rather surprising."
His agreement was a little too emphatic for her taste. She frowned at him, but he kept his eyes straight ahead and his expression mild.
"I know he understood intellectually," she said. "The Chantry teaches that once a mage becomes an abomination, they are lost. But still, his only son. It must be very hard. I hope…" Her brow wrinkled in concern. "I hope he doesn't take it out on Isolde. She only did what she felt she had to. It was for the best. I don't mean hiding that Connor was a mage; that was really stupid. But what she did afterward, to — to free him from the demon."
"Mmm," agreed Zevran.
She gave him a sharp look. "You aren't listening, are you? And I thought you were tired. Why haven't you gone downstairs to your own room?"
"I thought perhaps we might have a little talk first," he said.
She bit her lip. Something was still not right. Usually Zevran was always on; always watching, always chattering, always performing. He claimed he was only tired from the aftereffects of the poison; but without his usual energy he seemed so much sadder. She'd thought it was just a slow recovery but… maybe it was something else? He wasn't unhappy with her, was he?
She was so occupied with these thoughts that she almost walked past her own room.
"Allow me," said Zevran.
He opened the door slowly, but made no move to step inside. When she started to move, he held up a hand to stop her. After another moment's pause, he took two steps forward before pausing again. When nothing happened, he moved the rest of the way in, stepping cautiously, his head gliding back and forth like a snake's. Once he had scanned the sitting room, he moved into the bedroom, prowling around the furniture and peering into corners, his eyes darting quickly back and forth. Next, he examined the windows, running quick fingers over the latch and sill of each. Nessa watched him, brows drawn together.
Finally he returned to where she stood, and swept her a bow.
"All is safe and secure. If anyone has been here, they were very, very careful."
"You were worried about me," she said with surprise.
"You worry me constantly, bella," he said, in a voice laden with suggestion.
She shrugged off the innuendo impatiently and slid her pack off her shoulders, dumping it in the corner. "So this what you wanted, then? To check my rooms?"
He stepped to the corridor and glanced out, then he closed the door firmly before answering.
"Mostly, yes," he said in a low voice. "But there is one thing more. You asked for my opinion some days back. I will offer it now. Anora has considerable power: the castle, a loyal guard, friends like you and me."
Nessa nodded.
"Alistair has some power from his name, and his deeds and so forth. But not nearly enough to displace Anora on his own. It is likely someone else is thinking to link his power to theirs in order to take down the queen." He spread his hands. "I do not know who it might be — whether it is someone from elsewhere who wishes to add Ferelden to their rule, or someone closer to home. In either case… you need to be very careful. You are the queen's strongest ally — it may well be you they come after first."
"Do you think that's why those men attacked us?"
"I doubt very much they knew who we were. But as for whoever sent them… it is a possibility. I do not speak so to alarm you…"
"I'm not alarmed," she cut in. "I'm angry."
"Yes. That is precisely what I worry about." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Try to step softly, if you can. I know it is not your preferred mode of problem solving, but it is the one most likely to keep us all alive; including the queen. Now," he finished crisply, "I shall have a word in Brion's ear before I retire myself. Sleep well, my Warden."
He bowed to her, and let himself out.