A/N: I do not own the world nor NPC characters
Wedding Day Afternoon
Sula stood in the late afternoon light in the alley outside The Laid Low, pondering the difference a few hours could make in a persons life. She had awoken in a dark cell complete with a bared prison door, the other women of the wedding party were crouched around her. Except for Shianni. Sula had managed to get them free of the prison cell, rescue Shianni and maneuver an escape from the lords' estate. But Nelaros had been killed by guards during the rescue he and Sorris had attempted and Shianni had been injured.
She had sent the others home but refused to return with them covered in blood as she was and holding a bloody dagger bearing the crest of the Arl of Denerim. She stuck to the shadows and alleys as she searched for a suitable replacement for her finely decorated and hopelessly stained wedding dress. She was lucky to find an old brown work dress in a humans laundry. Bloody clothes disposed of and the bejeweled dagger tied to her thigh, she made her way to the Laid Low to make good on a deal she had made in the lords' dungeons.
Her brother had come to this Tavern when overcome with the desire to get into trouble but had always left her at home. When their mother had died he had continued teaching Sula her lessons on lock picking, fighting and sneaking but had discouraged her from meeting others who did the same. Then she had found the minstrels life and gladly abandoned the life of a thief.
"There ya are." Derrick croaked from a side alley barely visible in the deep shadows there. "I was about to give up on ya."
Sula gave him a weak grin, "Wouldn't want that. It took me a while to find the place."
Derrick grunted his understanding, "You got the silver?"
Sula pulled the purse from her belt, "Look, I have this-"
"Ain't interested." He cut her off as he counted the coins. "I've had enough a your business." He started to turn back into the shadows but paused. "The guards know elves were there. They won't hear it from me, I won't be here ta tell, but ya'll wanna be scarce for a while." Then he was gone.
Sula stood still looking up at the sign of the Laid Low. She had to get rid of the dagger without implicating herself or the others. She had to find a way to "be scarce" until things settled down. And she had to do all this before the gates closed tonight.
Wasn't that Antivan staying here at the Laid Low? Perhaps he would have the contacts to help her.
Sula hesitated only for a moment at the entrance of the dimly lit tavern. She located the bar through the crowd, near the rear of the room, and walked to it with casual purpose. As her mother and brother had taught her; don't stand out, get a drink, grab a seat, plenty of time to look people over when they weren't looking back. Her minstrel training had provided her with the ability to scan a group as a whole, take it all in quickly, size up the room and act.
She quickly realized how deeply out of her element she was. The minstrels that were her friends were also often thieves and spies and sometimes worse. But always with a genteel air about them, they never brought the outside work to The Strung High.
One look at the rough clientele of the Laid Low and she could tell, thieves were the least they were. These men and women were dangerous, as well as rowdy and drunk and armed in the early afternoon. No music played, no minstrel would work here even if the innkeeper bothered to try to hire one. This tavern seemed to share the inverted hours of The Strung High, as it was fairly crowded. It made sense, the unorganized rabble probably needed somewhere to hide out until night fell. The organized rabble having their own hideouts.
The man at the bar gave her a measuring look.
"Wine." she ordered with as much confidence as she could muster.
"Three bits." he tossed out gruffly, obviously doubting she had it.
Whether this was ordinary prejudice, or from experience, or based on her current state of dress, didn't matter. Nor did it bother Sula, she put the money on the bar. The man slid the coppers off the wood into his other hand as one would with crumbs, grabbed a mug from the wall behind him, a bottle of cheap wine from under the counter, and poured a small amount in. Too small by Sula's accounting. She wasn't about to complain though, she had only ordered the wine because she feared the state of the ale. What she wanted was information.
"I hear there's an Antivan here, name of Zevran." She inquired by way of statement as she picked up her mug of wine.
The man had started silently on the next order, brought to him by his harried barmaid, but cast a look over Sula's head, to a back corner of the room. Sula stepped away from the bar, took a sip of her wine and spit it back into the cup. Maybe the barkeep was being kind in giving her so little, it had gone bad. Surreptitiously, she poured the wine into a large foul smelling pot nearby before scanning the corner the man had indicated.
The blonde she had seen at The Strung High was sitting again in an obscure table, corner at his back, and again he was already looking at her. This time though the table was lit well enough for her to make out his features. His hair was indeed blonde, straight and heavy, he had it pulled back from his face with herring bone braids, one at each temple pulled around to join in the back. Graceful tattoos like a dark waterfall ran down the left side of his tawny face from his temple to his jaw. He held his brown eyes partly closed, in an almost sleepy self-satisfaction, and his mouth in a sly arrogant grin. This, Sula recognized, was a look that was equipped with one's armor and arms. Practiced and applied. The expression on his face paired well with the ease of his pose, he had one arm thrown over the back of his chair in apparent indifference. In this room of dangerous people, this man's posture stated effectively, 'I'm the most dangerous one'.
Sula gripped her mug with both hands as she approached him, "You're Zevran right?"
Zevrans' grin broadened slightly and he spoke in a thick smooth accent, "Ah, the songbird has sought me out after all. Yes, I am Zevran. Zev to my friends." he indicated she should join Him. "Please sit."
Sula looked at the chair, but thought better of it, "I didn't think you'd remember me."
"And why would I not? Your performances on the bar at The Strung High have been the highlight of my stay in this Denerim. Is this a problem?"
"Maybe. No, but.. " she looked into her empty mug, dealing with strangers in the shadows had always been Darrian's role. "could we go somewhere less public?"
Zevrans eyebrows rose slightly in curiosity, "Of course. Come, I have a room."
He stood and indicated the stairs with one arm, the other seemed poised to scoop her along. She sidestepped the gesture casually, effectively discouraging contact without outright rejecting the man. It was one of the moves she had learned from her time as a minstrel. Most men weren't aware of the consciousness of the move but would keep their distance anyway. Zevran was not most men, and he followed her up the stairs at a more respectful distance.
Zevrans room was small and spare. Only big enough for a single narrow bed, a chest beside it, and a chair. A satchel lay near the head of the bed, a mug sat on the chest.
"Please, sit." he repeated as he closed the door.
She sat gingerly on the chair.
"It is good that you got rid of that dreadful wine." he said as he moved to the bed. "This is much better, and more effective." he lifted a bottle of brandy from the satchel on the bed and poured a bit into her mug, still clutched tightly in her hands, and a bit into his mug. "Your Strung High has an acceptable brandy. So, songbird, what is it you want that requires such discretion?" he said as he sat on the bed.
"I don't usually drink," Sula stared into the dark liquid in her cup and sighed. "but its been such a day." She took a sip and nearly coughed, it was a lot stronger then she expected.
"No doubt." His eyes trailed down, taking in her ill-fitting, unusually dull clothes.
"You're here on business, will that business take you out of the city?" she took a sip.
"Perhaps," he looked uncertain for a moment. "you wish to talk of my work?"
Sula took another sip, "Maybe, I want to get out of the city, and I need money."
"But this is something we could have discussed downstairs." Zevran reasoned.
Sula took another sip, measured the elf across from her again, and shook her head, "I have something I need to get out of the city, preferably out of Ferelden."
"Oh?"
She put her mug on the chest and lifted her skirt carefully, so as not to show Zevran any flesh, and unfastened the bundled dagger from her leg.
"It belonged to the Arl of Denerims son." She handed it to Zevran.
Zeveran untied the rough fabric package, revealing the bejeweled dagger bearing what looked like a noble crest.
"So I need to get out of town, or I need this thing gone." Sula gripped her mug tightly and took another sip while Zevran considered the object.
"You need a fence then, not an assassin." He returned the dagger to it's wrapping and placed it on the bed beside him. "Though, I suppose not many would take such a thing as this."
Sula shook her head, "I don't know any that would, and I can't risk it being traced back to the Alienage. Or me. I need a foreigner, someone the fences wouldn't recognize. You... they'd think he was assassinated. I thought... maybe you'd have connections yourself who'd take it." she bit her lip then took another sip. "plus, I need to lay low, I need money."
Zevran chuckled, "So, you would have me hire you on? What is it you think you could do for me, songbird?"
"I-I am not just a "songbird"! I escaped from prison and killed three noble men for that dagger." Sula defended herself.
"So says you."
"It's true!" Sula straightened herself up more in her seat. "They came to the wedding with guards and took us away. Five of us. They put us in a cell behind the Arls bedroom. I didn't have any lock picks, so I fixed it so that the lock would jam when the door closed again." she paused to drink.
"You had no lock-picks?" Zevrans' expression was neutral, even serious for the first time.
"My mothers lock picks were hairpins, and I just sold my hair."
"Pity."
"Anyway it worked, when they came for... the first one, the lock didn't take. It jammed the door too though. We had to force it open, by that time," She paused for another drink, her gaze far off in remembering, "I left the others in the cage and sneaked into the Arls room. I... saw the dagger on the table near the bed. Their backs were to me, stabbed the first one in the back, between the ribs... like mama told me, nice and quiet. The next one wore a girdle, so I got on a table and stabbed him in the throat," She raised two fingers and pointed to the side of her own throat, at the pulse point behind the voice-box, "pulled him face down and slit his throat from the inside so the blood wouldn't spray and alert Lord Vaughan. Then I killed him, that was messier, dirtied my dress."
"I can imagine." Zevran leaned forward.
"I heard a guard behind the door so I went back and checked the room with the cell. There was another door. It led to the dungeons. I got lucky, I found one of my brother's old contacts. I convinced him to stage a prison break, but he took all my hair money."
"You would think his freedom would be incentive enough, would you not?"
Sula looked at Zevran for the first time since she started her tale, "It was, for the prison break. I wanted him to lead a group through the Arls room though, that would lead them deeper into the castle, for that he wanted silver."
"Hmm," Zevran grinned again "So, my little assassin, on this story you would have me hire you? The job, I believe, will involve more battle than skulking."
Sula finished off her brandy and put the mug aside, "I was taught to fight too! Give me a dagger, um... two and I'll show you I can!"
Zevran shook his head, "Now this is a problem too. You have no weapons of your own? No Armor? You do not even have your own dress. How can I hire you as you are now?"
Sula bit her lip again, a nervous habit. "You noticed that huh?"
He chuckled, "Anyway, I don't have a job to hire you for. Not yet. Only the rumor of one and a wish to remain abroad a bit longer."
"Oh." Sula looked him sadly in the chest, she could tell the brandy was starting to affect her and she still had to get herself to the Strung High before the sun set.
"I can deal with the dagger for you." he said encouragingly, "There is no need to look so sad."
"It's been a rough day." she raised her eyes to his, "You're very kind."
"Not at all. That is a fine dagger, it will make my stay in the city much more comfortable."
"You are kind," Sula insisted, "I've never met an Antivan before. You hear all kinds of things about people from other places. But you're so nice, and... competent and cool. And you haven't tried anything improper since we met. Just smiled that... smile."
"Improper? Disappointed?" There was that smile again.
"Uh, no, not-no." She cast a glance at her empty mug, she thought she sounded disappointed, "Oh!" she suddenly remembered, again, that she had to meet Sorris before the Alienage gates closed. She stood and stumbled immediately, far more tipsy then she thought she would be.
Zeveran stood, taking her arm to steady her, "You really don't drink, do you?" Zeveran asked a good deal of amusement in his voice.
She grabbed his other arm with her free hand, "I'm usually singing while others drink. I'm sorry, but, I have to meet my cousin at the tavern. He's bringing me a dress. I can't be seen like this! They'll know something's wrong!"
"That's good and well, but how do you suppose to get there without being seen?" The whole situation seemed to amuse him greatly, "Or at all, given you can barely stand. Perhaps you should wait for darkness."
Sula shook her head, "The gates close at nightfall. The guard could let me in but... I don't want to be seen."
He considered her for a moment, "Well, I was going to have dinner at the Strung High, I could get you there unnoticed."
"You would?" Sula looked up to him gratefully, "You are so nice!"
She took Zevrans offered arm, and let him lead her out of the Laid Low and into the shadowy alleys.
"You know, I've never heard an Antivan song. Do you know any?" Sula asked as they moved down the alleys, "I would really like to hear you sing."
Zevran shook his head, "Now is not the time, and I don't sing."
"Well, when we get to the tavern. How can you not sing?" Sula responded spiritedly, "It's an expression of joy! Even when there is little to celebrate, there is always song!"
"I prefer other methods of expression." He flashed her his most rakish grin.
"Hmm, I've heard that about Antivans." Sula said quietly, almost to herself, "But, they say that about anyone from outside, really. Even just outside the Alienage. To listen to the elders, you'd think the world was just waiting to pounce on little girls like me."
He gave a short, quiet laugh, "I would not be so sure they are wrong. Certainly, you can not have lived very long a minstrel without experiencing something of the... pouncers."
"I don't know about 'pouncers'," Sula giggled, "but flirts, sure. Come to think of it, the guys at the tavern warned me about that too. They warned me off you." She added.
"And you are so sure they were wrong?" He turned to her, "Here we are, alone in a twisted labyrinth of alleys. What is to keep me from pouncing now?"
"You're too nice," she grinned blearily up at him, "and, I have your dagger."
She stepped back, nearly tripping again, and waved his dagger at him, her green eyes sparkling in the shadowed alley.
"So you do..." Zeveran breathed, "But, I have two." he grinned as he pulled his other dagger and flipped it expressively.
Sula blinked, Zevrans dagger flashed reflected light as he waved it. She made to grab it and he dodged, twisting in an attempt to retrieve his stolen weapon, but Sula slid behind him. She spun and knocked him in the back with the butt of the pommel. He was still off balance and so stumbled, but he managed to remain upright and turn to face Sula.
She was picking herself off the ground, or trying to, it seemed tremendously difficult for her. He sheathed his dagger and approached her, took his other dagger from her and offered her his hand again. She had managed to steal his weapon, and almost defend herself, while nearly too drunk to stand. Not to mention hiding the cause of the deaths of three nobles in a jailbreak. Zevran hadn't expected to find such potential in Fereldan.
"Are you quite done?" he asked with mock derision.
"Are you?" Sula giggled and smacked his leather-clad chest lightly, "It was fun! And if I wasn't so out of it..." her voice drifted off when she thought she recognized the trash-strewn corner up ahead, "Hey! We're here!"
Zevran managed to get her in the tavern unnoticed. Not too difficult given the location. Once inside there was little to worry about. Another hour would see this place full of breakfast seekers, but most of the clientele of the Strung High were either out working the day shift, or still asleep. There were only the barkeep and a lone well dressed elven youth sitting at the bar.
The youth glanced nervously over his shoulder, and started in surprise, "Sula!" he said as he stood.
"Sorris!" Sula echoed happily, letting go of Zevran and stumbling toward her cousin, "You found me!" She grabbed his arms to steady herself.
"Are-are you drunk?" Sorris asked his gaze turning from concern at his cousin to a hard look at the man that had accompanied her.
"Little bit." She admitted without shame, "The brandy was harder then I thought. This is Zev-Zevran, he's nice. He helped me out at the Laid Low."
"I'll bet." Sorris continued to scowl at the Antivan.
"It's true." Sula insisted, "Hey Tomas," she called out to the barman, "do you have a room? I need to change. And things."
Tomas took a moment to answer, "For a few hours. Second, top of the stares. You can have it till nightfall." he added hastily, "Don't mess it up."
Sula nodded and grabbed the banister to make her own way up the stairs, followed closely by Sorris, who had to go back to grab a bag from his seat. Zevran didn't follow.
The room was more comfortable then Zevrans, and a little bigger, containing enough room for a small table and chairs just inside the door. Sula bypassed them to seat herself on the narrow bed, for fear she might fall over. Sorris sat in the chair closer to the bed.
"What?" Sula accused when he just looked at her, "It's all very innocent, I just needed to... it doesn't matter. Did you get the dress?"
"I got a dress." Sorris looked troubled.
The dress Sorris got was a harlequin pattern dress, composed of thin strips of various colors and patterns. It was bright and unfashionable, designed to catch the eye.
"This is what you got me? To avoid attention?" Sula asked incredulously.
"I didn't have much time! Besides you just need something to get you home right?" Sorris asked defensively, "We need to hurry, the Elder wants to close the Alienage soon."
Sula was silent. According to what she had heard, she needed to leave Denerim.
"What are you thinking Sula?" Sorris asked suspiciously.
"I'm not going back." she stated, "I'm the one that killed everyone, if there is blame to be had it should be on me, but I'm not going to be hanged for that bastard of a nobleman." She looked at her cousin, "Tell them to blame me. Let the others be innocent, they didn't do anything, tell them I did it all."
"What? What will you do?" Sorris asked shocked by her proclamation.
"I don't know," Sula lay out the dress, "Maybe I'll find the Dalish, maybe I'll make it to Orlais."
"You're going to go out there alone?" Sorris asked, "No, I'm coming with you."
"What about Valora?" Sula paused to ask.
"What about her? We aren't married yet, and if it wasn't for you she would be a lot worse off." Sorris responded, "I can't let you face the wilderness alone."
"But..." Sula tried to think of a response to argue her ability to survive between cities by herself but she was as ignorant about that as he was and much more drunk, "Well, if you think you could help."
"Right, well, now what?"
"I guess I could write a letter, let Papa know, I shouldn't go back, but a letter would do."
Sula dictated the letter to Sorris while she dressed. She explained, in much less detail than she had to Zevran, that she had done everything, what had led her to do it and how all blame should be on her. It was as much a confession as it was a goodbye, to be used in case the guards really did come looking for elves. She wrote that she would go to Kirkwall to start over and thanked him for all he had done for her, she asked his forgiveness and told him she loved him one last time.
"We're going to Kirkwall?" Sorris asked, puzzled.
"No," Sula folded the letter, tucking it into itself, "That's just to mislead the guards. We're sneaking out tonight, on the road before nightfall. Maybe I'll meet a friend on the road. You sure you want to come? Last chance."
"I'm coming," Soris said, more confident than he usually sounded, "I owe Nelaros that much."
Sula dropped the letter off with the bartender, one of the elven minstrels would see it delivered in the morning. As they left, Zevran lifted his glass to them from his dark corner table.