Second review! You guys make me so happy. :) Zevran telling these stories over the campfire is an intriguing mental image. :D (No translation help this time)

2.6 Sleepless

Zevran had been sent to the market to get some vegetables. One of the few opportunities for him to leave the house in daylight, and he enjoyed it. The market bustle was colorful, vivid and noisy. After he had completed his purchases, he decided to stroll a bit, attracted by a familiar, beloved scent: fresh leather. But when he approached the stands of the tanners, he was distracted by two other smells: Human sweat and dog...

Behind the booths of the leatherworkers, there were those of the slave traders. One of the guards was a Qunari in cheap, battered iron armor with a large two-handed sword. He gave the elven boy, who went through the ranks, a skeptical frown. Three chained fighting dogs sat next to him. Zevran went on, attracted by a face...

The offer of the slave traders consisted of about twenty people; many were elves, half of them children. In remembrance of his own fate Zevran must swallow. The face that attracted him was that of an elven lad and he was about the same age as Zevran. His skin was darker than the other boy's, he had eyes brown, and his long, black hair he wore in two braids. On his forehead and nose there was a treelike tattoo: A Dalish elf!

They stood face-to-face for a while, twenty yards away. Their eyes met each other, knowing, understanding. Zevran's lips parted in a silent vow: I'll pick you out of here. I promise.

Then he had to hurry to return the purchases, before the cook would become wary.

The same night Zevran went back towards the market. It was time for his next meeting with Taliesen. As the house of their cell was too far away, they met regularly in a basement near the market place, about halfway between the house of the mayor and that of senator Lorenzo. There were a few minutes left until the appointed time.

Zevran knew the sleeping accommodation of the slave traders. It was in a side street near the market. The shabby entrance, a low wooden door, was guarded by that very Qunari, whom he had seen in the morning and another man in chain armor with shield and battle ax. They were too hard to match for him alone, and combat sounds probably would have called more guards out of the house.

But there was another way; along the canal and through the backyards. And at that back door - as Zevran found out - only the dogs watched. Zevran stood at the other end of the elongated courtyard, far enough away that the dogs did not bark. Skillfully, he threw a bundle to them; the dogs instantly began to sniff at it. Then he withdrew.

Taliesen was late. Some wounds on his head and shoulders were freshly tended and he looked exhausted. The basement room was sparsely furnished: a simple bed, two chairs, and a chest of drawers. All likely to disappear quickly if needed.

After Zevran had finished his report, Taliesen opened a box and handed Zevran a shiny object, "Here, the duplicate key. Let's hope it fits." Zevran put it in his pocket.

Taliesen looked inquiringly at the young elf. The pale face, the dark rings under his eyes "You look tired."

Zevran started laughing, "What should I do? The ladies don't let me rest..."

The older Crow chuckled amused. Then he got up, went over to Zevran, lifted his chin with one hand and looked him strictly in the eyes: "What do you take?"

Zevran shrugged his shoulders: "Ephidra ... but there is next to nothing left."

Taliesen hesitated for a moment. Then he went to the dresser, opened a drawer and handed Zevran a small package: "This is harder than Ephidra, be careful with it. If everything goes well, you should have finished your task in two or three days. Then you can relax."

He opened the door, "If there is nothing else ... I would also like to sleep now."

Zevran rose elegantly, pocketed the package. While going out he touched Taliesen's left hand and looked him boldly in the eye. "All alone?"

Taliesen grinned and raised his right hand as if he wanted to beat Zevran: "Off with you!" he laughed.

The dogs slept deeply, and all others in the narrow, stinking accommodation as well. It was not more than a shed - dirty floor, a little straw. And apparently everybody defecated wherever they stood. Zevran continued his steps with extreme caution.

Soon he found the Dalish boy. He laid his hand over the boy's mouth when he woke him and gave him a sign, the other understood without a word. Zevran severed the bonds with his dagger and laughed silently to himself: These slaves were tied with simple knitting and not able to free themselves? That would not happen to him. At least not anymore.

Zevran led the boy through the backyards to the canal. When they had moved far enough, he stopped.

The Dalish looked at him. "Thank you. I do not know why you helped me, but thank you. My name is Sûl, which means wind." The boy had a pleasantly soft voice. He spoke with a little bit of an accent but didn't have any trouble to find his words.

Zevran appeared thoughtful. "I am Zevran. And I have no idea what this name means ... My mother was also a Dalish. At least they told me so."

Sûl nodded: "I cannot give you anything for my release."

"Perhaps ...," Zevran said "Can you .. tell me where your clan lives?"

Sûl looked at him long and searchingly. Then he whispered: "Three days journey upriver is a ford. You have to cross it. From there, a half-day north-west. But we will only stay a few weeks more. When the rainy season begins, we move towards north."

Zevran thanked him. Each of the two boys went their ways.

Even something better than Ephidra could not replace real sleep. Permanently just three or four hours per night were not enough. Zevran started to feel like he was constantly running through a dense fog. He tried to concentrate. The idea that it would only be a few more days and that it depended on his own speed, helped him. This spy job was stressful. To kill them would have been so much easier.

It happened that Signorina Martha invited him to her room after lunch, gave him something to eat and let him spend the afternoon in her bed. Not that he really could sleep, but only to lie and rest with closed eyes for an hour was worth a lot. For that he gladly accepted her loud snoring. After all, it served at night as a guarantee she was asleep, so he could sneak into the study.

The letters he had to admit were in a casket. Fortunately, the lock was primitive, so that he could open it easily with the help of a bent wire. And close it again after the completion of work. The first night he managed ten letters, the stack looked huge. But after three more nights he had eventually finished his task.