11
Two Months Later
The air was crisp and stinging, skies blushing pink before they would burst into fiery orange and red. The keep was alive with lanterns and braziers, the warm glow accompanying the pre-dusk lull. The residents shuffled into the safe harbor of thick stone walls warmed by roaring fires; all but the guards on nightwatch, bundled in whatever gear they could find. Swathed in a heavy winter cloak and donned in her dragon-scale armor, the Inquisitor made her way up the winding path to Skyhold's threshold, hardly keeping her teeth from clattering.
As her troupe marched past the outer gates, the frostbitten air lashed at their faces, unbound by the walls of the sky bound castle. Etain pulled her hood tighter over her head, burying herself in the baying of the wind and her inexhaustible thoughts: ranging from the utmost desire for a warm bath to the mission briefings and the inescapable awkward run in with Cullen that was bound to happen once he returned from Crestwood. Sera cursed without filter behind her, repeatedly questioning what she had gotten herself into and why something had to nip her in the rear to volunteer for the trip in the first place. All that was followed by references to "Andraste's ass" and just how much mulled wine and mutton she was going to devour the moment her foot steeped into the tavern. Cocooned in enough cloaks to add considerable width to his frame, Dorian blundered on in paramount discontent. Iron Bull trailed close behind, stone faced and barely awake, seemingly unfazed by the cold.
After a lengthy rest in the safety of the keep following Corypheus's defeat, the Basin proved a merciless beast to tame; an unexpected frontier in the wild corners of Thedas, full of reclusive peoples and scores of odd creatures. Having dealt with the Avvar predicament and established a hold of the region, Lavellan was reluctant to leave the rugged, primeval beauty of the valley. Several dangers yet lurked in its depths, but they would have to wait for the next venture south, once the Inquisition handled more pressing concerns.
Her motions were so unthinking and mechanic, she hadn't realized she had clomped tiredly to the doors of the great hall. The rest of her group had disbanded to their own haunts. She stepped inside and shrugged out of her travel cloak, snatched up to be dried and cleaned by a scrawny youth with a gap toothed grin.
"Inquisitor." Lady Nightingale's voice drifted from the shadowed walls of the throne room as Lavellan made her way to the residential quarters, sloshing icy droplets across the floors. The spymaster stood in front of the doorway leading to Josephine's office, her delicate features kissed with the glow of the torches.
"It is good to have you back, my Lady… I'm afraid I have to pester you so soon upon your return. But, I have some important information regarding the incident a month ago…" She spoke in a soft lull. "It's quite urgent. If you please…" A delicate hand gestured toward the door behind her.
"Of course." Etain could only guess what would be so pressing that she had not the time to even remove her armor and stow away her weapons. Her limbs were weary from several weeks of trekking through treacherous, though beautiful wilderness, unfriendly encounters with the Avvar and of course the slog back to Skyhold, paths still frozen in early spring. The smell of supper and roaring hearth had her eyes wide open and alert, though her skin prickled with the fear that there had been another assassination attempt, this time claiming more lives.
Leliana led her into Josephine's office, the short hallway was a silent torture as Lavellan feared the worst. Her spine straightened and tensed uncomfortably as she tried to perish the thought.
Voices murmured from behind the second door, each reflecting off the other in a fluid din. Leliana swung the door open, sashaying into a room lit up with Josephine's velvety laughter. Etain followed her in, resisting the urge to fiddle with her gauntlets out of anticipation.
Josephine bridled her melodic laugh and turned her attention away from her guest.
"Inquisitor Lavellan, how good to have you back without incident! I… trust there were no contretemps that remained unmentioned in your reports?" The Antivan Ambassador beamed at Etain, clasping her hands together atop her desk.
Certainly no one died then. Lavellan breathed easier as she followed Leliana down the steps, the latter approaching the guest now rising from the chair before the massive desk.
"None worth the mention. Always a pleasure to see you in such high spirits, Josephine." Etain positioned herself a few inches away from the priceless rug, reluctant to expose it to the last dribbles of melting snow that trickled from the creases of her armor.
"I'm simply delighted to have caught up with a fellow Antivan… Speaking of…" Josephine gestured toward the stranger that stepped past Leliana to greet the Inquisitor.
Garbed in simple hardened leather armor, the elven man folded into a graceful bow before Etain. He may have passed for a hunter, or perhaps one of Leliana's scouts, obscured by a plain cloak. His hair was the color of sun bleached hazy afternoon skies, and braided neatly along either side of his tapered ears, tidily tied at the back of his skull. It accentuated the sharp lines of his jaw and the warm glow of his olive skin. His hand reached out for her.
"The infamous Lady Inquisitor Lavellan," his tone was rich and deep, marked by the distinct Antivan accent. She stood momentarily taken aback at the exuberance of his greeting, then placed her gloved hand into his. Reflexively, his fingers curled around hers, his grip light yet assured. The man placed a ceremonial kiss upon her hand, his tawny eyes harboring a smirk as he straightened up.
"I am fortunate to finally meet such a regal character. If only it were under more… lighthearted… circumstances." He practically purred through the gleaming smile adorning his full lips, the strange yet simple tattoo on the left side of his face warping. Etain bristled internally as she listened to his words. Her forays into every corner of this half of Thedas had taught her many things well; particularly that the suave, flattering, well spoken man was the most dangerous.
"Leliana, it is truly criminal what you all have created here. A most powerful organization ran by three ravishing beauties. As if a smoldering Antivan flower deadly with her quill and tongue, and you a Fereldan belle lethal with blade and arrow as much as your secrets weren't enough… you go and find this one."
Leliana read the mild annoyance on Lavellan's face and cut the man's fawning introduction short. "I know we all could stand and listen to cajolery all day, but perhaps we should get onto business. Afterall, our Inquisitor is no doubt weary from the ascent."
"Of course, my dear friend." He chuckled, the cursory smile directed toward Leliana seemed to carry more significance than a casual smile aught to have. He turned his attention back to the Inquisitor, now undoing the buckles of her bracers, her eyes no warmer than when she came in.
"Zevran Arainai, at your service, my Lady."
For a brief moment, the only sound was the crackle in the fireplace. Somehow I doubt you're here at my service. Etain let the silence drag on for a moment longer, eyeing him in scrutiny.
"What do I owe the pleasure for, exactly?" The name sounded vaguely familiar, though she could not place it.
"I have word of several contracts out for your life, Inquisitor."
Etain let out a small laugh. "Yes, well the title comes with several drawbacks."
"And on your Spymaster. All for the more chaos to ensue… Three assassins. Here in Skyhold." He glossed over her remark. "Two of whom are my own partners. And three Crows are due to arrive over the course of the next few weeks."
Lavellan's gaze shifted to Leliana, who seemed to know the information already. She gave a subtle nod and nothing more.
"Six assassins… Quite the claim… You understand my reluctance to simply accept this as truth?" Lavellan took one slow, hostile step closer to the Antivan.
It only made him grin smugly. "A lifetime ago I was under the employ of the Crows. Not to occupy all of your precious time with stories of my turbulent and rich history, I went my separate way. The Crows continued their reign, I built my own." The man made a gesture waving away his past proceedings and folded his arms across his chest.
"I've heard much of the Inquisition as it bloomed into the power it is today, and had even delved into a small contract with you regarding Lord Enzo. Your winsome spymaster and I had collaborated on several minor 'projects' here and there… Pardon me, I digress." He assessed the elven woman before him, noting everything from her stance, to each of her weapons, to the way she wore her armor, how long she maintained eye contact, which foot she tended to balance more weight on. Attentive mages often made for tricky marks, ones requiring stealthy, swift and - considering their healing and barrier abilities - utterly lethal action. This one, it seemed, was also capable of both range and melee attack. No surprise he supposed, considering her occupation. She had to be versatile to protect her high-priced life.
"As it so happens, the Inquisition shed the blood of a Venatori agent who happened to be of a magisterial bloodline. Long story short, my company was contracted to make up for the murder with the death of your Spymaster."
Lavellan's posture tensed, and her limbs fought the urge to grip her sword. Yet all that her sense of self-preservation and doubt produced was a tilt of her head to the side.
"If your company was contracted for the assassination of one of my advisors, why accept it, only to seek her out and tell her everything?" She was too tired and hungry for the games. He wanted something, and he must have some value to the Inquisition for Leliana to grant him audience.
"The contract was accepted without my authorization. Circumventing leadership defeats the purpose of a guild, no?" The mischievous laughter in his tone did not diminish, despite the circumstances. "As such, I am here to properly deal with insubordinates, and in turn do you a courtesy."
Lavellan found little of his words reassuring. Why would he tell her the truth? She entertained the idea of locking him away in one of those particularly drafty cells below.
"No such thing as simple courtesy." She rested her hands on her hips. "Why would the Crows be headed here? Leliana, are they not some of your contacts? I thought they were a placated threat to us?"
"They are, Inquisitor. At least in the outright. The Crows are a large and powerful association, defectors are possible - though highly unlikely… They would not benefit from the loss of the Inquisition as a silent cooperator. And I'd like to think that losing me would prove a nuisance as well. Something is amiss… If their assassins were to succeed, it would spell the end of the cooperation between the Crows and the Inquisition, as well as create at least a temporary hindrance in the Inquisition's and their own efficiency."
"They aren't here for any of you." The elven man intervened, a subtle mockery in his tone. "They are here for the three assassins. Myself included."
Leliana glided two steps toward the fire, hands clasping behind her in thought. Stark blue eyes swept over Etain and the elven assassin between them.
"So the Crows have sent their own to deal with a threat to the Inquisition. Why not send a message?" Lavellan mused, still toying with the prison cell idea.
Josephine stepped forward, pausing next to Leliana. "Perhaps the Crows wish to do the Inquisition a favor, in hopes of garnishing even further support, trust, perhaps brokering a further trading of information…"
The visitor spoke up. "I cannot attest to what their reasoning is. But I fear my luck has run out. My old rivals have caught wind of my whereabouts, and the lucrative contract that is assigned out to my humble team. I suppose there is no dignified way for me to beg for bit of help from the mighty Inquisition."
"There is not. I'm more tempted to throw you into Skyhold's cells and let the Crows deal with you." Lavellan's tone was casually nonchalant, despite the threat of her words.
"We have already covered your tracks once, Zevran. We cannot afford to have the Crows against us. There is little we can do if they already have word of your location without sabotaging our position in all of this." Leliana added.
"Yet that little is more than enough." Zevran was determined, arms still folded over his chest. "The three of you are more than capable of playing games. So play along. I will point your spies and guards in the proper direction, they dispatch the assassins-"
"Including you?" Lavellan interrupted, an amused inflection to her tone.
"Not per se." The damned simper remained on his full lips. "Though there has to be a third body, no?"
Lavellan let her surprise show this time. She had a hard time believing what she had just heard; the absurdity of what he was suggesting rendered her momentarily speechless.
Leliana read her expression loud and clear, motioning to Zevran to give them a moment. Her gloved fingers curled around Lavellan's hand and tugged past the door toward the war room.
"Inquisitor." She turned to face her. "I'm sure we agree this man is here for personal interests-"
"Plain as day… Why should we believe him? How can we trust him?"
"I know this man, I have spent many a month painstakingly traveling and fighting alongside him during the Fifth Blight." Leliana didn't elaborate further, but there was a sheen of nostalgia in her eyes.
Etain, on the other hand, felt strange hearing about her spymaster's encounters ten years ago. Her mind involuntarily dug up memories of her own life a decade prior, hardly seventeen. It made her wonder how odd it must have been for Leliana, and many others, to have an Inquisitor some years younger than themselves. Then again, Celene became Empress at sixteen.
"Besides… His company took the contract - whoever may have sent it - to kill me a month past, and now you, Inquisitor. The other two are still in the keep. He is the only one to know what they look like, what they are doing. His guild-mates think he is working along with them. So in truth, Zevran is a double agent. This is a valuable opportunity. Take out the immediate threat, and he can lead us to his employer - to those behind all these occurrences in the Palace and Skyhold… Which in turn could be used to to our advantage with the Orlesians."
"And what of the Crows?"
"You let me worry about the Crows. Josephine and I can find a way to force them into cooperation without full knowledge of our actions. For now, all I can suggest is watch your back, Inquisitor, and play along. What do you say?"
Etain inhaled, smelling the freshly repaired walls and windows of the hallway. She held Leliana's gaze, thinking, mulling over her options. She knew well enough she had little choice but let the mess play out. Refuse the man, and he has no reason not to go through with the contract and reap the rewards.
"Not as if I have any other option now, do I?"
"You did mention the prison cells."
"That is what I should do, to be safe."
"We are never safe, and never will be. May as well take the risk and get two birds with one stone." A leer remained on the Spymaster's face and a devious note danced in her tone. "Do you remember asking me about being trained as a Bard? Well, here's a test. You're apt at parts of it enough already, so let us refine your skills."
Lavellan didn't know whether Leliana was fooling around or not. The red-headed spymaster shrugged at Lavellan's silent assent, parting with one last word of advice.
"If all else fails… dead men can tell no lies."
The knapsack smacked against the table hard enough to rattle the mugs and plates at the opposite end. The flaxen haired elf scrunched her small nose and glowered at the bag of loot in thought, pulling at the sleeve of her wool sweater in thought.
"You're cheating."' Dire disappointment splayed itself across Sera's freckled face as she forcefully sat herself down at the table once more, unyielding to the end. Dorian glanced over the plunders Sera was betting with and dealt the cards once more, a smug grin plastered on his face.
"You and the ham fisted oaf." She snarled, gathering her cards up in a huff and glaring daggers at Bull. The Qunari stopped counting the coins he had won from the elf in the previous round and mirrored the glare. Despite the chill outside, the man sat bare chested as ever.
"Careful there, buttercup. Catchy nicknames are my thing." Varric chortled as he gathered up his own hand, revealing no glimpse of what it held.
"Better listen to the dwarf, toothpick." Bull grumbled behind folded gargantuan arms, guarding his recent winnings.
"Hey." Varric protested as he rearranged the cards in his sturdy, sure fingers. "Be nice to the Lady."
Dorian snorted and immediately cleared his throat, suddenly very focused on the deck of cards.
"Pillock." Sera hissed through her teeth.
"Play nice kids, or I'll put you all in one tent when we set out. I'd like to hear what nicknames you'll come up with after that." Lavellan continued to slice at the remnants of the apple in her hand, feet perched on the back of Dorian's chair. "Don't deal me in yet, I'll fetch the drinks."
"Ha. None of you would want to be in that tent with what'll be going on at night. Unless you care to join in." Bull announced as if discussing some harmless, innocent proposition. Dorian's hands dropped the cards face down and he glared at Bull as if he were a bear woken in the middle of winter.
"For a former Ben-Hassrath agent you have a shocking lack of discretion."
"Well it WAS a joke until you made it something else with your offense. Way to go, big guy."
Breaking the awkwardness, Lavellan heaved herself up off the chair with an exhale, straightening the shirt beneath her leather bodice. "Well, I'll be back. Behave."
"Grab the fancy-pants ones from upstairs." Sera mumbled, sinking her teeth into a berry pastry, before adding farcically, "If you please, your Inquisitorialness."
Lavellan slipped the knife to the strap on her boot and nodded before idly sauntering over to the stairs. The disagreements about the best card strategy commenced, made all the more colorful with Sera's ever-striking choice of vocabulary. The prattling was soon overtaken by Maryden's dulcet song.
Upstairs, a young recruit and apprentice braved a private moment in the dim corners of the tavern. A few laughing voices drifted from across the building, somewhere out of Lavellan's sight. She rounded the corner with a whistle, startling the youths; the two nearly tipped over their chairs, faces flushed. Awkward and stumped, they nodded and scattered in different directions. Etain simply smiled, briefly reminded of her own risky encounters and the fear of being caught sharing a kiss, hands wandering curiously over her accomplice, somewhere in the shadows of the trees. She continued on toward Sera's newly acquired stash of bottles. The impulsive elf was running out of space for her loot inside her small room, and evidently took over the nearest table.
Lavellan eyed the random assortment of bottles, casks and recently polished tavern goblets. Choosing a sealed glass bottle, she poured a cautious portion into one of the goblets, a little voice in the back of her head praying for it not to be poisoned. She surveyed and sniffed at the dark liquid within. I was hoping for a fruity white. Etain allowed for a careful sip, turning and leaning against the table. Her eyes drifted over the cheery and flushed patrons of the inn, in various stages of ale and wine fueled joviality and inhibition. She was suddenly glad of the lack of spirits out in the field.
Waiting to see if she would croak and stumble to the floor in a fizzing death, Lavellan yielded to a few minutes of moderate privacy and stillness, filled with her abundance of thoughts. The wine was strong, with a semisweet burn, and thankfully no fatal side effects, so far. Her fingers drummed against the table, and her gaze made its way to the opposite landing.
She had been spotted some time ago, as a curious patron slipped across the wooden floors toward her. She groaned.
For three days now, the elven assassin blended in seamlessly with Leliana's spies and general throng of people buzzing about the keep. On several occasions Zevran spoke of general pleasantries and inquired as to the Inquisition's success in defeating Corypheus and re-establishing order in chaotic Thedas. Amiable enough, he shared some of his history and travels, though nothing too revealing. He was easy to talk to - as easy as it can be to talk to an assassin - witty and charming, as any good infiltrator should be; perhaps he was gauging her abilities and intellect much as she was appraising his.
Lavellan leered at him venomously, taking another delicate sip from her goblet. He drifted toward her silently, light on his feet as no trustworthy man should be.
"A lovely evening to you, Inquisitor."
"I trust your stay has been agreeable?" Etain remained motionless. Dressed in a simple black shirt and leather jerkin, hair tied at the back of his skull, Zevran looked unobtrusive enough from a distance. Yet up close he seemed anything but.
"May I?" Long olive toned fingers curled around hers, plucking the glass from her grasp before she could voice her answer. Etain's eyes followed him, tactfully only partially hiding her irritation. He appraised the designs of the goblet first, before briefly glancing at the liquid within. Then without breaking eye contact with her, the assassin tasted the contents of the goblet.
"A flavorful Antivan red? Were you thinking - pray, even expecting me?" His accented tone was velvet against her skin, sending her sense of self preservation on edge.
"Had that been true, I would have something much more potent in my glass." She mirrored his trifling tone with as coy a smirk as she could manage while providing a biting retort. "Or perhaps in yours…"
His eyebrows furled as he mimicked offense.
"Tsk, tsk. A viper, this one." He finished whatever remained in the chalice, before setting it down on the desk.
The corner of Etain's lip remained upturned. Oh? I must be, compared to the deftly swayed damsels you leave in your wake.
The man brought his striking gaze back onto her, eyes reminiscent of a prowling tiger. "A small goblet, a wine carefully poured and enjoyed thoughtfully… You've fled the crowd for this dreary corner, sitting alone, musing in silence. Do you drink to calm your nerves, Inquisitor?"
Lavellan uncrossed her arms, hands coming to a rest against the edge of the desk. She answered him with a snide smile. She hoped her facade was enough to distract the man from her speeding heart.
"It was, after all, you who warned me of infiltrators in my keep, waiting for the perfect moment to end my so-hotly-contested existence." She braced her arms against the table and sat back, crossing her legs in the process. "Can't blame me for the restlessness now, can you? Especially considering your purpose for being here."
He beamed that radiant, yet completely deceptive smile. A hand reached for Lavellan's foot, fingers meandering along the leather of her boot. He paused and looked at her, not quite asking for permission.
Her teeth crushed against each other, but her face remained stoic. She played off her apprehension as a reluctant curiosity, wondering what he was doing. His golden eyes never left her face as his fingers briskly pulled the small dagger from beneath the leather clasps. It danced in his fingers with flashes of metallic light.
"You are a mage…?"
"A very careful one." She could feel the energy quiver in her muscles, ready to be released in a lethal burst. She hoped he wouldn't push his luck enough to search the rest of her wardrobe for hidden articles of self defense. She imagined he would be a little stumped with the hilts without blades strapped to the back of her bodice. He'd never get the chance, as he would likely be maimed or unconscious by then anyway.
"As for that, I wouldn't be so sure." The dagger found its way back to her boot. "Rumor has it the Herald of Andraste isn't as devout as she aught to be, considering her status." His hand continued to play up over the fabric covering her leg, fingers lightly tracing the contours of her knee.
Did he know about the temple? No, that was impossible. Her eyes smoldered a little darker, debating whether or not she should to cut his little farce short. His aim was to get into her head, for any number of reasons. This was his game, and she wasn't about to let him elicit any sort of reaction from her. She ignored the notion that he may have simply implied her lack of piety and faith in the Maker. Paranoia had grown to be her best friend of late.
"I believe whatever the people want me to believe. I think the way people believe I think. I dress, I eat, I drink, I sleep the way they wish to think I do. No matter what the truth may be. There will always be rumors, the ones most convenient and most sponsored will prevail."
"My, my, what an eloquent way to dance around a simple question." A warm palm radiated heat as it spread out across her leg. She allowed for a coy shrug of her shoulders and a reticent smile.
"What would you have said, Zevran? What do you believe?"
"Turn my own inquiries back to me? That seems such a simple tactic for the Inquisitor…" His voice was a fine whiskey, dark and deep with a burning heat.
"My, my what an eloquent way to dance around a simple question…" She hissed.
Etain downplayed the bristling of her nerves, sustaining the game of coy competition. Granted, she would never be able to mimic that simpering stare of his. Perhaps I'm only irritating my would be assassin. Maybe luck will be on my side and he would make it a quick death.
"Whatever god or gods you believe in, they all represent one thing- death, something everyone fears in one way or another… Reverence, avoidance, repentance. Justice. All aspects of death- physical, social, spiritual, whatever you please." Zevran closed the already uncomfortably small gap between them, his palm nonchalantly twisting for a firmer, more assured rest at the top of her thigh. "I believe in the Maker. I believe in Death. And most of all, I believe in living in the moment."
Lavellan clung to her smile, her eyebrows arching up in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. She had seen enough of this inveigling flatterer over the last few days to piece together his gambit. Sly and intelligent. Nauseatingly charming, weaving an easy path for his blades. He was hiding something. She shifted and her foot gently pressed into the center of his chest, softly pushing him back to a more formal distance.
"My hospitality can only go so far." She cooed, crossing her legs once more. His arms unfurled to display humility, a flirtatiously apologetic expression twisting his sun kissed features.
"My sweet Lady, I would never dare offend your honor, nor push the boundaries of your hospitality."
Lavellan barely curbed a scoff, remaining immobile. By me, you mean the Inquisition and all the benefits it would bring your association. Either from my assassination, or from my commendation.
"'My' and 'Sweet' are not particularly the words I would use." Lavellan annunciated the terms in question, already internally cross with whatever flattery he would have in store for that one. But she played her part.
That mischievous grin seemed permanent on his comely face. His tattoo warped with the smile, drawing even more focus to the burning embers of his eyes.
"Out with the formalities, hmm? Astute, unyielding viper." The way he said it, it was almost a compliment.
Oh, unyielding, is it? And what exactly is it you want me to yield? She thought, but kept it to herself. Etain smiled and tilted her head to the other side, eyes swiftly gliding over the souls below. They were being watched out of the periphery, surely.
"Which would make you…" Feigning thoughtfulness, she squinted her eyes. "A mouse wandering too close?"
"I'd venture to say a coyote. Or perhaps even a sly fox." His eyes were simmering with subdued malice and outward seduction.
"Vipers are poisonous. In the end it may not make much difference between a mouse and a fox."
He nodded once and leaned against the column, sinewy arms crossed over his chest. "Ah, but the odds are that much more in my favor, no?"
Lavellan pushed off of the table, gracefully picking up the bottle in the process. She sauntered toward the stairs, stopping directly to his side.
Their eyes level, her lips pulled into a sinister, bewitching smile. "Not for a lone fox in a snake pit. For I most certainly am not the only snake here."
He let out a soft laugh. "Well then, I must say… You've grown far from a little red fennec…"
All the color flushed from her face, smile receding into a grimace. Fear and unease tickled her ribs, her breath caught in her lungs. She could do nothing but gape at him, unable to hide the astonishment from her eyes. She may as well have seen her father's ghost, it would make no matter. Her hair had been much redder then. That awful, inapt nickname hadn't been uttered since the night he was murdered.
Satisfied with her reaction, Zevran's eyes blazed with devious triumph. "I know more about you than you realize, Inquisitor."
She swallowed the bile she felt rising to her throat. "As any half-decent assassin should."
"Yes, I'd dare to say I'm quite a bit beyond 'half-decent'." He cocked his head to the other side.
"Careful, stranger… lest you bite off more than you can chew." Not waiting for a response, she left to rejoin her company.