Chapter 10
The Plan

Zevran strode through the courtyard, skipping the main hall and heading for the stables - if Leliana was back, her beast would be within.

The sweet scent of cured hay met his nostrils, his boots crunching over the wisps that blanketed the packed earth. Horses were rare in Ferelden, though most of the nobility owned a beast or three for purposes of transport, and the king's stable was no exception. Even so, only a dozen horses were currently in residence - quite possibly the largest collection of horses in all the country, many of them obtained for the honeymoon trip only months before. With Lyra's Satinalia ball approaching, the grooms would soon find themselves with more horses than they knew what to do with. Fereldans were more interested in breeding dogs than mounts, though for what reason Zevran couldn't say. Unlike a horse, a dog could eat from your table and sleep in your bed, dragging its muddy paws through the linens and smearing drool over expensive clothing... Zevran's mouth twisted, recalling the time Kestrel had stolen a pair of his pants and rolled in the dirt with them. They'd been quite ruined. Compared to a horse, who was actually useful, Zevran couldn't understand the fascination the country held with mabari.

Leliana's gray palfrey stood within her stall, attended by a young groom with a curry comb while another brought fresh water and hay. They greeted Zevran, and upon his question told him that Leliana had arrived only moments earlier. He thanked them, his heart climbing into his throat as he thought of actually seeking her out.

Things had been strained, to say the least. Avoidance had been his preferred tactic, and so when he had seen the pretty bard, the tension had been thick enough to slice. But things were different now... Yes, now I need her help, he thought with guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so quick to condemn. Every woman should be free to choose the one she loved - just as Kallian should be free to choose himself over Nelaros.

The walk through the palace passed all too quickly, and soon he stood before her door. The last time he'd been here, he'd laid his heart at her feet, only to watch her run from him with tears in her eyes. Days of depression had followed - and had he not met his pear blossom, he imagined he'd still be fighting his way out of that dark place. Taking a deep breath to calm jumping nerves, he knocked.

Chatter and laughter from within the room, and then Leliana rocked the door open, her head still turned as she spoke to the female who sat upon her bed. That bright smile faded when her chin swiveled in his direction. Less bendable than steel, her guard rose, the transformation of her face thickening his guilt. "Zevran," she said in a non-committal voice. "May I help you with something?"

"Leliana," he began. "I would very much like to speak with you."

"Zev," Lyra's voice cut in. Soft footsteps as the queen made her presence known. "Aren't you done with this?"

"Bella flor-"

"No, you don't get to be dashing today, Zevran." Lyra crossed her arms, her chin lifting. The queen had the height of a warrior, and Zevran cleared his throat as she stared down her nose at him. "You're gone all the time, none of us hear from you for days, you and Anders and Oghren show up with some kind of story from the Alienage about magic and a school, and now you appear on Leliana's doorstep, wanting to get her alone? What am I supposed to think, here? You've mistreated her enough. No one stomps on my friends that way."

"Lyra," Leliana said softly. "Perhaps you should go."

Lyra's cerulean eyes slid from himself to Leliana, her mouth pursing. "Are you sure, Leli?"

"Quite sure, ma chère." Leliana reached for her hand and squeezed. "We will catch up later."

With a last hard look at Zevran, Lyra stepped around the two of them and made her way down the hall. Zevran exhaled as she left - Lyra could be intimidating when angry. Most pregnant women couldn't pull off the level of ire she'd just managed... it was most impressive.

"What is it, Zevran?" One slim hand lingered on the doorknob in readiness. Zevran's heart twisted a bit to see just how much trust had been lost.

"First, my firebird." He placed a hand over his heart. "You deserve my most abject apologies. Lyra was correct in her scorn... I have treated you most terribly, and it pains me to know I have caused you grief."

Leliana eyed him, weighing his words, her pale blue eyes measuring. "Why did you do that to me?"

"I..." Zevran swallowed. She had a direct way of cutting to the heart of the matter, and her point-blank question was typical for her. It hardly meant he was prepared to answer, though. "I shouldn't have," he began.

"But you did," Leliana said. Her arms folded over themselves as she angled against the doorjamb. "And it was cruel. Our arrangement was not meant to be serious - you knew that. From the start - I never led you on."

"And your mind was made up from the beginning. Yet, you left with Lyra and Alistair before giving me an answer, dulce. Is my hurt less than yours?" Zevran crossed his arms in return, one eyebrow lifting. "Are you so innocent in this?"

"I did not kiss me," she shot back.

"And I did not leave me languishing for months," Zevran snapped, annoyance flaring. A fresh comment made ready to spring from his ardent tongue, but before it could land upon Leliana's ears he bit it back and swallowed. "This... gets us nowhere."

Leliana said nothing, her face a study in marble.

"I came to say I'm sorry," Zevran said, his arms dropping to his sides. "I was wrong. But, Leliana, can you claim that you were right?"

Slowly, the icy facade melted, her shoulders loosening as her posture relaxed. "No, I don't suppose I can." A wry smile teased the corners of her mouth, and she shifted her weight. "So... things are fine between us?"

"I would very much like to have my friend Leliana back." Zevran donned a charming smile, well aware of the affect it usually had on female members of any race.

Perhaps it worked, or perhaps Leliana simply decided to forgive him. Either way, her beautiful face twinkled as she slid a hand into his, white teeth flashing her happy grin. "Come in, Zev. I've missed you so much!"

"So, this Kallian..." Leliana tucked her ankles beneath her on the bed, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear as she adjusted. "She is beautiful, non?"

"As the morning breeze." Zevran leaned back upon his palms, crossing his ankles from his perch on the other side of the blanket. "She is the song within my blood, the melody that my heart beats to, and the note I wish to sing for all my days."

"Zev," Leliana crossed her hands over her neck, looking utterly enchanted. "That's so poetic!"

He chuckled, enjoying Leliana's natural romanticism. "And for some reason, she seems to care for me as well."

"Well, it just proves that she's very, very smart," Leliana grinned. "So? When is the ceremony? Has she managed to trap you into it?"

"Ahh... yes," Zevran hedged. "See, here's the thing. She is... engaged to someone else."

Leliana quirked a brow. "Zevran, that's not nice."

"Perhaps. But hear me out. It wasn't something that was planned... you see, she was betrothed without her consent or knowledge. Her father arrived home and informed her that she was to be married to a man she'd never met, and bundled to Highever with the next shipment of sheep and beans." Zevran frowned, the gall of it still turning his stomach. "Tell me that is nice."

"Alienage culture is what it is - it has been so for ages," Leliana said slowly, one finger tracing the coverlet. "So, what are you plotting - to run away with her before the wedding and lose yourself in some foreign country somewhere?"

Zevran said nothing, simply chewing the inside of his cheek as Leliana studied his face. After a moment, the bard nodded. "You're serious... and you have a plan."

"One that involves you, my firebird... tell me, are lay sisters able to officiate weddings?"

It had taken a bit of wheedling, but in the end he'd won out - Leliana had agreed to perform the ceremony on the day of the Satinalia ball. He planned to be there, as well - it would hardly look right if he wasn't. Kallian would be gone, however, and the following day, he would leave Denerim to meet her.

Before he could report back to Cyrion and the others, though, he had to speak with the monarchs. Much as he ached to take care of Vaughan on his own, doing so would cause no end of political grief for the two of them, and besides which they needed to know about the difficulties the elves faced. If he knew they would continue to make improvements after he and Kallian had gone, he'd sleep easier at night. Seeing the plight of his ancestral race had awakened a protective streak in him.

Alistair was in the yard, sparring with Pascal, the Warden Commander. The two of them swung crude practice blades, stripped of the heavy leather practice armor in favor of light linen padding. Such was their skill that neither could land a blow, dancing back and forth across the dirt. Zevran hitched one leg up to lean upon the wooden fencing that surrounded the ring, grinning down at the newest Warden - a dwarf named Larkin, who lounged against the fence close by. "They are excellent at what they do, no?"

She shrugged. "Too proper, both of 'em. In Orzammar, that style only lives in the ring. In the tunnels? No rules." Since coming to the surface, the dwarf girl had gained a bit more color, and in the sun her red-gold hair gleamed with fire. "See there?" she gestured to the warriors. "King Alistair coulda kicked the commander just then - tripped him up - ended him with one thrust after he wen' down. But he didn' even see that opening."

Zevran chuckled. "You are correct. Knowing an enemy's weakness - it is the secret to defeating them."

Larkin offered him a shy smile, but said nothing else. The fact that she'd spoken at all had surprised Zevran - in all the times he'd seen her in the yard, she'd been silent. At first, he'd even wondered if she belonged to the order of Silent Sisters, who showed their devotion to an ancient deity by cutting out their own tongues. Silly, in his opinion... tongues were such useful things.

He sucked in a breath - the guards! They were too proper. He'd been hovering around this same realization, cursing the training they'd had all their lives, training that relied on rules and fair play. Larkin's words, coupled with the clear demonstration of Alistair and Pascal...

A cheer went up as Alistair tripped over his own feet, tumbling into the dirt and getting a faceful of grit. Pascal's blade touched the edge of his neck, and the king rolled to his back with a rueful grin. "Well done, sir," he panted as Pascal pulled the blade back and offered him a hand up. "Don't tell my wife."

Lyra's voice shouted from across the ring. "You're getting lazy, Alistair!"

"She says this is lazy..." Alistair grumbled, one sleeve mopping his forehead, the linen smearing with perspiration and dirt. He taunted back, "Easy for an archer to say."

"Not my fault this is all I can do right now," Lyra countered cheerfully. "If Wynne allowed me to use a blade, I'd kick your ass."

"Come springtime, you're on," he challenged as a page trotted out a bucket of water to the overheated monarch. Chill though the weather was, both the king and the Warden Commander had worked up a hard sweat.

With a parting smile at Larkin, Zevran hopped the fence, jogging out to the king. "Alistair. Have you a moment?"

"Yes, most definitely. Save me from more of this," Alistair chuckled. "It looks bad if Pascal beats me more than once a day." He drank deeply of the dipper the page handed him, his breath coming easier as he came down from the high of battle. "Just me, or Lyra as well?"

"Perhaps it would be best to speak with both of you."

Alistair called to his wife, who loosed a final arrow and slung her bow over one shoulder, handing off the quiver of practice bolts to a fellow trainee. "Zevran! Good talk with Leliana?" Her demanding eyes bored into his.

"Very good," he said sincerely. "Much needed. Something I should have done far sooner."

Lyra nodded, pleased warmth filling her face. Slipping her fingers into her husband's, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. "Does duty call?"

"That depends." Alistair curled an arm around her waist as he turned back to Zevran. "This is probably more than a casual social visit, right? Lyra, look how serious he is."

Lyra pursed her mouth. "I dunno. It's hard to tell - we see so little of him of late." One sculpted eyebrow rose. "Are you going to tell us what's been going on, or..."

Zevran heaved a sigh, not relishing the thought of the explanation he owed them. "Not here. Your office?"

"Give me a few minutes to clean up," Alistair said.

Half an hour later, the three of them sat in Alistair and Lyra's office with the door closed against prying ears. In as few words as possible, Zevran outlined the situation for them - how he'd rented a room in a building in the Alienage in order to escape Leliana's constant presence, how he'd met Kallian Tabris, the troubles with Vaughan Kendalls, and how he wanted to spirit her out of town before she was tied to a marriage she would hate for the rest of her life.

Lyra nodded, intensity written on her face as her fingers twined with her husband's. "No woman should have to marry against her will. I'm glad you're taking her away."

Alistair puffed his cheeks. "Maybe so, but..." He shifted, uncomfortable. "You know if you'd actually been engaged to Thomas Howe when we met, I'd never have..."

One corner of Lyra's mouth quirked. "Privileges of being a noble brat. I kicked and screamed enough that I was never engaged to anyone before you. If I wasn't a Cousland, though, what I wanted wouldn't have mattered, and I can guarantee you that Kallian feels completely trapped."

Unease flitted across the king's face, perhaps at the idea that Zevran was essentially breaking up a marriage, but he nodded. "So, you found someone. That's excellent, Zev."

"What it means is I am leaving Denerim," Zevran continued, reaching his point. "But the elves... they will need help after Kallian and I have gone."

"It's been on our list," Lyra put in. "But you've actually been in there - lived it, so to speak. What needs doing?"

"The school, for one," Zevran crossed his ankles as he leaned on the desk. "Not many of them can read or write - most can count, simply because they are so very poor, every copper is precious, and none are willing to let their employers cheat them. For two, allow them to carry weapons. And on that subject - Vaughan. He must be prevented from the depravities he wishes to commit."

"Definitely," Lyra agreed. "We'll arrange a meeting with both him and his father, Arl Urien."

"The elves can be trained to weapon use - open the position of guard or soldier to them. There is no reason why the elves cannot defend their homeland alongside their human brethren."

"It's an archaic law, anyway," Alistair mused. "Though I suppose if you have a class of people you want beneath you, you should do everything possible to keep them beneath you, right?" He reached for vellum and a quill. "I'll write this up, but give me a few days to see about the proper processes - I haven't changed any laws yet." He chuckled. "Eamon'll have kittens."

"What else, Zevran?" Lyra had reached for her own quill, preparing to make a list of his recommendations.

"Elves should be allowed to own businesses, make deals for themselves - in short, they should be granted the same rights and freedoms as humans. Simple, no? The school in the Alienage is a good start, but it would be better if the elves were simply allowed to attend one of the Chantry schools, just as all of Denerim's children do." Zevran paused, wondering if any such thing would ever be accepted by the eldest generation of Alienage dwellers. Change would take a few generations, most likely... but the school in the Alienage would ensure that the current generation grew up better educated than their parents.

Lyra scrawled notes upon her vellum. "These are basic rights... This is the kind of change we wanted to be able to enact, Alistair." She set down her quill, reaching for her husband's hand, a fierce look shining from her blue eyes. "This is why we took the throne from Anora."

"And glad I am," Zevran chuckled. "Now, unless you need to hear more from me, I have a wedding to arrange before I can steal away the bride."