Additional note to the previous chapter:

Anders did indeed start hitting things with his fists in my playthrough. I decided I simply had to use that.

And Velanna … I wonder, did anyone here play bloodlines? If so, did you realise who had the same voice there?

As for this chapter:

This is as good as a song-chapter. Spiracle is by Soap&Skin, I recommend to read it with the song in mind, you can find it on Youtube. Just this once I had the title before the chapter, so it's meant to be ;)

Chapter 11

Spiracle
Zevran

The moment Sigrun had entered the keep, Zevran had turned his horse and made haste to the city of Amaranthine. He did indeed want to talk to the hunters once again, but even more so he hoped to find that mage again. For the umpteenth time he listened into himself for anything, any change for the worse, any uneasiness of body or mind but found nothing. He convinced himself that this would most likely mean that it was nothing, but this was not a situation he could be overly careful in.

He reached the city in record time. As he crashed to the chantry, jumping off the back of his horse before it had quite halted and racing up the stairs as fast as he could, he saw himself as a boy, scared that he might die because he was coughing blood after a beating. It was all he could do not to run to the Revered Mother and clutch at the hem of her robe until she brought him a healer as he would have done back then. Instead he walked as calmly as he could towards the next person who looked in charge - the templar he had met earlier - and cleared his throat.

'Ah, the assassin,' the templar said. 'I might have a new job for you. There are rumours of a wanted apostate running loose here. This time we would prefer to get him alive.'

'I need a healer,' Zevran told her rather than answering. 'I might, at least.'

'You might?' the templar asked, looking him over. 'You look perfectly healthy.'

'I might be infected with the darkspawn taint,' he continued. 'Or not, I do not know, and I do not wish to wait until I do.'

'That is … not good,' the templar said, scratching her head. 'Ines isn't here any more, nor Wynne. You see, the more experienced mages have all gone to Cumberland. But there's a young thing, just past apprenticeship. Come, I'll bring you to the confessional.'

'I'm not dying!' Zevran protested.

'No, but it's more quiet there,' the templar explained. 'We do not want a panic, do we?'

Zevran allowed her to lead him to one of the cells. It was larger than he had expected, but then again, this was a very famous chantry. Perhaps everything was a little more pompous here. Again, he remembered his childhood. He had gone to the chantry sometimes. The Crows hadn't liked that, but this one thing they had allowed their apprentices. He had never dared tell anyone what he was going to be, not even the sisters. He supposed that this was a good thing, because now he felt sure he had been under constant observation, and if he had said anything he shouldn't have, he would have been flayed or worse.

He didn't have to wait long. A young beautiful woman entered and crouched before him. 'Give me your hands,' she said gently. Her voice was a little husky despite her young age, and it sent a jolt up Zevran's spine. He reached towards her, and she took his hands in hers, closing her eyes, looking as though she were listening very intently. He never knew how long she held on to him like this, but finally her eyes opened and she looked up at his face. 'You had contact with the taint, I feel that,' she said in her breathy voice. 'But it wasn't enough to infect you. Still it was wise to come here.' Zevran swallowed.

'Thank you,' he said, relief coursing through every fibre of his body. The vision of a maddened dwarf in the deep roads faded. The mage was still holding his hands.

'What did you do, may I ask?' the mage inquired, looking slightly awed. 'You cannot be one of the Grey, or you wouldn't think you need help.'

'I went to a chasm leading into the deep roads,' Zevran told her. 'And yes, I knew what I was getting myself into.' A small grin stole onto his face. She was so close, too close in this confined space. Suddenly the confessional was actually quite small.

'You did!' she said admiringly. 'How brave of you!'

'Either that, or foolish,' Zevran replied. His throat was dry. 'But it wasn't the first time I was faced with them. You get used to the sight and the smell, and that makes it easier.'

'Still,' she muttered. 'I could never do this.' Zevran had never seen an adult woman look so innocent - and she certainly wasn't a child. The soft swell of her breasts told that as clearly as her scent, so female, and so close. And suddenly his lips were on hers, and she let out a surprised gasp but didn't pull away. He pulled his hands out of hers and pressed her groin to his, all thought gone as he felt her heat through his robe. He was hard in an instant and wanted desperately to be inside her … It had been so long, so long. 'Ser … this is a confessional,' she breathed against his mouth but nibbled his lower lip all the same.

'You want this, don't you?' he asked her, bucking his hip against hers. The mage gave a soft moan in reply. She looked at his face and a grin stole onto her face.

'Are you Dalish?' she whispered. 'I hear they have salves that make women succumb to a man in under a minute.' She traced the slightly faded leaf on his cheek and cocked her head. 'I'd like to see if you have more of those.' And suddenly, before him was not this mage, a stranger, but Núria, caressing his cheek and wanting to see him. His body screamed to push her image away, to take advantage of this opportunity like he always had, but he couldn't. The blood that had collected in his loins returned to his head, fuelling his brain rather than his virility, and he pulled away, panting and flushed.

'I … apologise,' he breathed. 'I cannot … I shouldn't have crossed that line. Thank you for your help.' The mage blinked.

'Did I … say something?' she asked, and Zevran huffed.

'No,' he said gently. 'You didn't do anything wrong. Goodbye.' With that, he fled into the nave.

'Wait!' a voice called after him before he could leave. 'Would you look for the apostate?' Zevran turned to face the templar.

'Yes,' he said, shrugging off all remaining confusion. 'What will you pay me for catching him?'

'Twenty if he is alive, ten if you have to kill him,' she said coolly. 'Be careful, he might be a blood mage.' Zevran simply nodded and walked out. It took him a while to realise that he hadn't even asked where to look. A very soft voice asked him what gave him the right to judge Núria after this.

His common sense directed him to the market district. It was easiest to remain unseen when you were in the middle of a crowd, after all. Rather than mages, however, Zevran found templars who were behaving somewhat oddly. One of them was unlocking a door, while another cast furtive glances at the people doing their shopping. Zevran watched them with a slight frown and sat on the side of the road leading out of the market. He only left when it grew dark.

His hostess still had his room, and the two hunters were also still in place. They were very eager to know what he had found, and he informed them quite willingly of all the gruesome details. He hoped that even if that wouldn't stop the hunters from spreading their tale further, it might at least make travellers rethink visiting. The two hunters gaped at him as he told them of the strange creatures that didn't look quite like darkspawn and the broodmothers, although he forgot mentioning that those at least had been destroyed. Let the people think the threat was undiminished, he thought.

Zevran revisited the door where the templars had disappeared regularly, but he never saw anyone. He heard sounds from within, however, and could only assume that they were waiting for someone. As far as he knew templars, he thought it would be a mage, and most likely the one he had been asked to take, too. When, a few days later, he saw Nathaniel Howe, a very horrible looking man, and the mage he had watched with Núria enter the city, he wondered if this could be a coincidence.

Zevran kept close to the trio. His suspicion was that they, or Howe, for that matter, might plot against their commander. That did not seem the case, however. The third man made the Antivan curious. He looked extremely ill, as though he had some kind of disease that would sooner or later kill him. Only when he looked at the stranger's eyes it struck him that somehow this was not the case. The man was dead on his feet. His eyes were broken, the skin looked like that of a days old corpse. And given time, Zevran was sure he would smell like that, too.

Howe and Anders found their way to the market, where the noble left with what seemed to be his sister, while Anders moved towards where the templars seemed to have taken residence. He glanced right and left, opened the door, and slipped in. Zevran leaned against the door from outside and waited, straining his ears to hear what was happening in there.

It took a while before there was any sound at all. Then, there was muffled talking, followed by the distinct sound of a battle. He entered soundlessly.

The mage was standing in the middle of three templars, fighting for his life it seemed. One of the templars suddenly screeched and flung herself onto one of her companions, who was so perplexed he didn't react in time. Before she was on the other, however, the templar did something, and the spell broke. With a shout, she ran at the mage, but even though he stood before her, her weapons couldn't reach him. Zevran sneaked up to the second templar who had lifted the spell on his companion and cut his throat from behind. The gurgling noise of her companion made the last remaining templar turn and look at Zevran. 'Greetings,' he said. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, but there are a few answers I can get only from this mage.' The woman stared at him and blinked. 'Could I persuade you to just leave?'

'You die,' she said angrily. 'Along with him.'

'What a pity,' Zevran sighed. She lashed out in his direction, but a spell caught her and she stumbled. Zevran simply stuck out his arm and let his dagger glide between the plates of her armour. He looked at the mage. 'And now, I would like to know whose hide I saved.'

'Anders,' he replied breathlessly. 'Thank you, ser … They led me into a trap. I thought they had my phylactery here. I wanted to destroy it so they cannot find me any more.'

'So … Anders,' Zevran began. 'Who exactly is this man you're travelling with? The dead one, I mean.'

'Can we talk elsewhere?' Anders asked, looking around nervously. 'Just in case they send more of them.'

'I doubt it,' Zevran said lightly. 'And if they do, I can handle them, I suppose. We stay. Answer my question.' Anders blinked at him.

'I … this is none of your business,' he said roughly and moved towards the exit. Zevran grabbed his arm, very aware that this might be a dangerous course of action.

'You are a blood mage,' he announced and Anders stared at him. 'I'm not a templar, but I saw what you did. You're a maleficar travelling with a traitor's son and a walking corpse. What is it you intend to do?'

'I intend to leave,' Anders said sharply. 'Unhand me, or you will regret it.'

'Watch your mouth, or you'll regret something too,' Zevran snarled. 'Like bedding the Warden Commander.' Anders blanched. 'So why are you not at Vigil's Keep, and why are you travelling with a demon?'

'A spirit,' Anders corrected him. 'He's not a demon. He … had an accident. Long story. And Howe is the son of a traitor, but so far he has been loyal. And I … Maker, you must be Zevran. I never got to … She … you're punishing her for something she didn't do.'

'Which leaves the question why you are not at the keep,' Zevran reminded him.

'Núria is holding court,' the mage explained. 'And she has a number of letters to answer and a couple to read. And those were between me and another mage, so it's not an easy read for someone with no knowledge of magic. You won't do her a favour if you kill me, she needs my help in this.'

'Coward,' Zevran muttered. 'You're still a blood mage.'

'She allowed me!' Anders said emphatically. 'And … what should I do, let them take me? They'd kill me or make me tranquil! And honestly, I don't know which is worse.'

'I agreed to deliver you,' Zevran informed him. 'Give me one reason why I shouldn't.'

'I'll pay you more than they,' Anders suggested.

'Tsk, tsk,' Zevran made. 'It doesn't work like that. Do you think I have no honour?' Anders swallowed.

'Look, the wardens need help,' he said. 'We are currently six, one of us is technically already dead as you well noticed. There isn't a blight, but something else. The darkspawn are … changing, they can think, and there are two … parties of them fighting each other, and wherever their forces collide, everyone dies.'

'True,' Zevran said. 'But would losing a coward be so horrible? You'll bolt if you see darkspawn, I bet.' Anders glared at him.

'I'm not made to kill,' he said, 'but I can fight. And I am not a coward, whatever you may think. I followed the commander into the Blackmarsh and a cave full of darkspawn. And just for your information, I have no intention to … to seduce her. This one accident was awkward enough, thank you very much.'

'So you think she isn't attractive?' Zevran asked, putting on a glare. Anders flinched.

'No … no, that's not what I'm …' he stuttered to a halt. 'You're baiting me, right?' Zevran rolled his eyes and turned to leave. 'You … you didn't send assassins after her, did you?' Zevran froze and turned back to look at the mage.

'Now why would I do that?' he asked. Anders shrugged.

'I don't know,' he said. 'Because … some nobles were opposing her, and they had Crows to help them.'

'She thinks I sent them?' Zevran asked flatly, and the mage nodded. 'Well … I … no.' He felt like someone had put him in too tight plate mail. 'But if someone wants her dead you shouldn't be here. Take the others and leave. And keep her safe.'

'Why don't you just go back?' Anders asked angrily. 'She'd bounce around the entire keep if you would.' Zevran snorted. Suddenly he was seven all over again: untrusted, unwanted, and what was worst of all - it hurt in a place he had thought his training had numbed for good.

'And wait for me to stab her in the back,' he said bitterly. 'I think I'll pass.'