Zevran found his armor within a chest in the washroom where they had stored it the day he arrived. Perhaps kept as another trophy. A keepsake from her conquest, as Crows were oft wont to do.
After cleaning the dust from his leathers, and then washing himself, slipping into his armor felt good, empowering. It even held the faintest scent of his poor Nyla, likely tearing her hair out in trying to get to him. Zevran hoped Nyla would return to see Ghita in the cage, and then have her way, after all, the bitch had tried to kill her. Or did kill her; Maker, he had so many questions.
"The morning guard will come," Ghita purred, smirking at him as he sauntered through to lock the doors.
"And what, show you loyalty? Does imagining this bring you comfort?" He returned her smirk as he passed. "You are my prisoner, Ghita."
After bolting the front door, he went to her and crouched down, allowing himself the liberty of toying with the ring on his finger. "Nyla gave this ring to me. It bears her family crest. For a time, I feared you would take the last of her from me."
"Sentiment," Ghita spat.
"Crow rhetoric," Zevran shrugged. "Here you cage me to watch me suffer because you had your heart broken. You can scoff all you like, but even I am not so sentimental to do such a thing."
"Then why do you keep me in here?" Ghita leaned back with a satisfied smirk.
"You will wait in this cage until Nyla decides what she wishes to do with you," Zevran purred. "After all, she is the one you tried to kill."
"So you admit she is alive now?"
"This…" Zevran wagged a finger at her and chuckled. "You are going to love this tale. The very night after you put me in here, she walked in, sang me a song and walked back out."
"Bullshit," Ghita rolled her eyes.
"You left the doors open to show off your very attractive trophy. The dangers of being cocky," he shrugged. "One learns to live with them. That is, until you have another to consider, then shit gets harder."
"Cocky, like keeping someone who wants you dead in a cage?" She smirked, leaning her head back.
Zevran stood, strolled around the cage and stopped behind her. Reaching in, he grabbed her head and snapped her neck.
"Cocky, like reminding someone they are being too cocky." He stood with a deep sigh, looking around for something to do; he began stacking the dead in a corner. "Cocky. I have said cocky too many times. It has all but lost its meaning. Cocky."
"Gather in the surrounding areas of the Vescovi territory tomorrow at dusk when the light is in our favor. We approach from all sides. From above, and from below." Nyla spoke, projecting her voice which echoed subtly around her. Their stern faces stared up at her, several gave a single nod.
Silence followed, apart from the sound of trickling water. All eyes remained upon her.
"Do you have any questions?" Nyla asked. Several eyebrows furrowed, and she remembered they were Crows; they weren't permitted curiosity, or to ask clarifying questions.
"There is no confusion, Swan," Azar spoke with a firm nod. "We will not fail you."
Nyla sat on a rooftop reflecting on the events of the day, trying to enjoy being outside before the setting sun and rolling fog chased her back into the sewers. Three tacos remained of the five she brought with her; nerves seemed to spoil her appetite.
Azar, the cunning little shit, had introduced her as the Hero of Ferelden who had come to champion for them. Peppered with an obligatory, selfish goal; the Swan had come to reclaim her Shadow. It garnered their interest and the nearest thing she could expect to trust. Crows had a penchant for the dramatic, and Azar had dropped so fucking much.
This was not what she had signed up for; to be part of their war. Crow against Crow against Master. She only wanted help retrieving Zevran, and she couldn't fault Azar for taking advantage of her name, after all, she didn't say not to.
As unsettling as it was to be perceived as anything similar to a Master of Crows, she had missed being in a position of power. The attention, respect, being heard, making important choices based on distinctions few had. Leading, she could do. Leading Crows was its own thing, and she had no business doing so. Thankfully, it was just for one mission, and whatever got Zevran back into her arms was worth doing.
The blank faces of Crows betrayed nothing. After a lifetime of their every thought, feeling, movement having a consequence, it didn't surprise her. Their unwillingness to question had her wonder how infallible Masters must believe themselves to be, especially given they had no one to oversee them. Her own memory of leading often included asking the opinion of another; not because she believed herself to be wrong, but to gain perspective she didn't know she didn't have.
Nyla preferred leading with respect to the majority, Masters of Crows treated all with equal disrespect; of course the system of Crows would eventually topple around them. All it took was the escape of one Crow, one action which appeared to be selfless and in service of others, and they seemed to wake from their perception of being of no consequence. An assumed action of love reflected on these blank slates and had become a contagion. She smiled and chuckled through her nose. Zevran and his luck.
Whatever came next for these people would potentially get very ugly, and she reminded herself amidst her crumbling resolve, it wasn't her problem. Free Zevran, run, and never look back.
The sound of the metal cover to the underground clinking back into its place caught her attention and she crawled across the roof on all fours.
"Azar," Nyla hissed, and he didn't hear her. Letting out a low whistle, he still didn't hear. What was this little shit up to now? A little early in an alliance for a betrayal… Nyla scowled, tucked her food in her pack, and crept down to follow.
Azar kept a quick pace which she followed. Nyla felt giddy and proud of herself as he breezed past her a second time, and she slipped from between a narrow space between homes to follow him.
Were she a Crow, she decided, stealth would be her specialty. Second, being manipulation or intimidation… but certainly not seduction. The mere thought of being sexual toward anyone apart from Zevran disgusted her. Could she follow through with a seduction if her life depended on it? She imagined so, at the expense of what felt like a vital part of herself. They have no choice… specialty or no, they were tools. Do or die.
Of course they wandered through life blind to feeling, when feeling what was there didn't matter. Do or die - a statement which became more poignant the more she sat with it. Kill or die. Manipulate or die. Seduce or die.
By the time Azar arrived at his destination, Nyla's rage had hit a fever pitch, and she hid beneath her hood and mask, following him in not a minute later.
This house was smaller than Vescovi territory; no surrounding grounds, taller than it was wide. Being unkillable had it's advantages as Nyla entered a room on the second floor without fear, walking in as if she belonged there. She made herself invisible among several others, crossing her arms, squaring her shoulders, glaring.
Her new ally did not look himself; brows scrunched, mouth in a frown, posture stiffened, his head bowed and fist rested on his chest. Nyla waited with bated breath and a heavy heart for the betrayal to unfold.
Azar began in a monotone voice, bereft of dramatic hand flourishes or playful inflections. "I have successfully-"
"I know," the Master smirked, leaning forward on his throne, tucking his long hair behind a rounded ear with an elegant gesture. "In fact, I have known since you completed it early this morning. She sends her gratitude, which is all you get. Clearly, you have no need for coin since you did not come to retrieve it."
With a fist against still held to his chest, Azar bowed and backed away, accepting his reward of gratitude without question. Nyla was able to let out a relieved breath; Azar had not come to betray. He had come to do as he was told. Apparently deviants were not immune to the whims of their Masters.
"I did not dismiss you, elf." The Master spoke, casually pulling out a blade and standing to approach him. "I trust you were productive with the rest of your day?"
Azar kept his stare hard beneath the Master's ire and Nyla watched, her fists and jaw clenched, wondering if the Master even knew Azar's name, or simply chose not to use it as a means to dehumanize him.
The events playing before her had always lived as concepts - knowing and seeing were two very different things.
Crows were people groomed to do a particular task, the very essence of who they were beaten out of them for the sake of having perfect, obedient killers. People not allowed to be people. They were slaves, and consistent with slave, they took each abuse in stride. They knew nothing else. This was their lives.
No wonder the Master had taken issue with Zevran being too cocky. Zevran wasn't simply a cocky elf; more a deviant who needed to be put in his place. Nyla watched Azar become less Azar the moment he approached the Master, but he managed to keep his colorful identity while away from him. A miracle. Like Zevran. This had suddenly become very fucking personal.
"You have no answers for me?" The Master tossed his knife in the air and caught it. "Perhaps if we trim your pretty ears..."
Bristling and wide eyed, Nyla clenched her fists, the creak of her leather gloves loud in her ears. Fantasizing at great length about plunging a knife into this bastard's face, she grit her teeth; surely Azar wouldn't allow this piece of shit to cut his perfect ears.
The Master smirked, a short, ivory handled knife dragged down Azar's temple, along his cheek, leaving a shallow cut in its wake. Not a flinch or pained sound escaped Azar; Nyla would have broken this Master's arm before metal even touched her skin.
"Get out," the Master hissed, and Azar backed away, maintaining his salute until halfway to the doorway when he turned and walked out of the room.
Quick footfalls descended the stairs as Nyla tailed him, she stepped outside to see him running, and he ducked into an alleyway some half a block away. Sprinting to catch up to him, she skidded to a halt to find him hunched over, hands resting on his knees. He spat twice on the ground.
"Azar?" She spoke, warning him of her approach.
"Swan," he answered breathlessly and spat again, waving her away. "Go away."
Stepping closer to him, she rested a hand on his back. "Can I help?"
His reply was to retch several times and projectile vomit onto the ground.
"Go away!" He choked out, spitting again.
"Is it preferable to endure this alone?" She stepped closer, and his subtle lean toward her spoke volumes.
"Why," he panted, coughed and then spit. "Are you like this?"
"How is my being this way so foreign to you?" She asked, and Azar let out a weak giggle. "Is kindness so scarce to a Crow?"
"No." He blinked bloodshot eyes at her, and moved to sit with his back against the wall. "The Master had been kind enough to only poison me."
Nyla sat next to him, reflecting on when she first knew Zevran, a newfound understanding of why he had seemed so taken aback by her on the regular. Kindness wasn't kindness to Crows. Less pain was a kindness. Being allowed to live, a kindness. "Is there something for this poison?"
"I have more time than I have antidote. I can wait this out." He sniffled deeply and wiped his nose with his gloved hand. "How much did you see?"
"Everything. I followed you." She sighed, cringed and pat his back when he turned away to lean over and vomit again. "I suspected you were going to betray me."
"For just a moment, Swan, I considered it." He coughed, spit and sniffled. "To preserve my ears."
"You were very brave," she spoke softly.
He nodded with a brief smile. "This new Master has a hatred for elves. It is Arainai fucking tradition to do so."
"You're Arainai?" Nyla tilted her head at him and he spontaneously vomited between his own feet; it was little more than bile. "Use the fucking antidote, Azar. Maker's breath."
"I save them for missions." He sniffled and swiped at his nose. Taking a few deep breaths with jaw clenched he shuddered. "He always finds reason to withhold pay. He can barely afford to keep that hovel. I can't afford to keep up my immunity."
"Why would you let him do this?"
"Because he is the Master. Shit." Azar shuddered and cringed. "I am to uphold my honor and face retribution."
"Retribution? Truly?" Apparently Crows didn't understand the differences between retribution and punishment. "Remind me, what was he… getting retribution for?"
"He didn't know the particulars, but he knew I was… not doing my job." He spasmed and groaned, and Nyla reached out to gather him in her arms. "You are kind, for a murderess," he spoke through a breathless chuckle.
"Murder did not always come so easily to me." Nyla held tight to him as he curled in on himself. "Hope motivates me, desperation pushes me too far," she mused, hoping idle conversation would help carry him through his ordeal.
"Desperation?" He panted, preparing for the cold-sweats of a poison tapering away. "Like when you weep and glow?"
"Yes," She spoke softly, unwilling to tell him she had no idea what was happening to her. "If you were the Master, what would you have done?"
"I wouldn't have cut their fucking face." He chuckled and laid back with a grunt. Using her leg as a pillow, he blinked up at her and tilted his head. "How bad is it?"
"I have seen worse." Taking a cloth from his trembling hand to lay it along the aggravated cut down his cheek, she continued, "You wouldn't have cut their face. What would you have done instead?"
"It isn't a complex matter. No work, no coin."
"Makes sense." She tilted her head, trying to see past the catlike glow of his eyes in the moonlight. "What would you do if they never worked?"
"That is a question." He ran a palm over his sweat-slicked forehead and sighed, blinking at her. "I would wonder if they even wanted to be an assassin. I should expect them to take this seriously."
"Those are fair points, Azar, but that's not an answer. Your assassin will not take contracts, they don't come to collect their coin. You can't tell if they even want to be an assassin. What do you do?"
"I think they should be let go," he spoke thoughtfully. "Possibly killed. Why are you asking?"
"I have seen you with the Master, Azar. You have managed to be remarkable despite a lot of cruelty. I see that, you see that. However, I am not convinced you know how to be a different Master than the ones you have known."
"No?" He tilted her head at her. "You think I could be no different than he?"
"I suspect you will be exactly as you know how to be, Azar."
"So... someone who is not already a Crow should lead, if we want things to be different?"
"I don't know," Nyla spoke softly. "That could be too much change. Too many Crows thrust into so much chaos, suffering strange fates."
"What would you suggest?" Azar sat up and wiped the sweat from his face with his cloth.
"Someone who knows what it is to be a Crow, and knows how to be something else."
"Like you?" He smiled with an eager nod. "I could do with a Hero Grandmaster."
Nyla laugh-snorted and reached out with both arms to ruffle his short, dark hair. "I told you it wasn't all about power for you."
"Shut the fuck up, Swan!" He huffed and batted her hand away. "Your laugh is ridiculous."
"If I am honest, Azar, I think you need Zevran."
Zevran sat on the roof, watching assassins approach and turn away, three candles in a window which signified the Master is indisposed, as he had seen Ghita do twice before an extended absence. It would be days before curiosity arose and they broke in to find Ghita's corpse in a cage.
Zevran had wanted to kill her, his vengeful nature coming forward in remembering what she did to them. Keeping her alive only to receive Nyla's wrath didn't feel right; encouraging his spouse to be the monster he was... didn't feel right.
It was a shame to have killed a decent Master. Ghita fed her assassins, housed them, lead with a heavy hand but allowed them curiosity, up to a point. Her instability and inconsistency had worked in her favor, keeping them in line while, on occasion, letting them live as more than shadows. Their lives were decent for a Crow.
Returning to Antiva had always been a pleasure despite the circumstances, but not this time. He had felt Nyla's death as if it had been his own, felt her absence as if missing a limb. What was the purpose of anything without her? Why did he leave her to go out on his own in the first place when he sorely didn't want to? Fool Zevran had made the mess bigger; perhaps their luck had rubbed off on each other.
He still felt the hurt and anger of watching her die, reeling in it over and over as assassins came and went and he refrained from killing them. This was an anger which could not be tempered by killing. He needed her to carry him through the storm as she had many times before - as they had done for each other many times before.
Mi amor, where are you?
"Hello there, Hero," Azar purred. Nyla turned as she leaped to her feet, flicking her wrists. Giggling, he threw two paper-wrapped tacos at her. "Nice instinct."
"Dammit, Azar." She put her weapons away. "Must you follow me everywhere?"
"Practically begged me to follow, skulking off like that," he chuckled sitting down beside her to stare at the Vescovi House.
Offering him three coins which he waved away, she thrusted them upon him, given he had brought her every meal since the moment they met. They ate in silence, watching nobody come or go.
"Wait here. I'm going in," she grumbled.
"You said they are trying to bait you, yes?" He spoke with his mouth full, letting go of his taco with one hand to give a dismissive wave. "Probably a trap. Wait for the others. And stop glowing. People die when you glow, and I am the only one here."
"Shit." She whispered, taking a deep breath and a moment to finally meet his eyes. "Your face is healed."
"Oh! Jimena is a mage," he nodded. "Normally, I would not ask her to do such a thing, but after tonight we probably won't have to explain it to the Master."
Nyla closed her eyes, took a deep breath, clenching her jaw. After a few moments she met his eyes with a nod, unable to articulate how furious it made her to imagine how many wounds stung and festered with the remedy right there, and how commonplace it must have been for him to share it with such ambivalence.
"When you get angry your cheeks get splotchy red, Swan. It's kind of ugly."
This caught her off guard, and she hid behind her hand, laughed between snorts, side-eying his playful smirk; the little shit looked so pleased with himself. When all grew quiet again, she looked closer at his cheek, the faintest line of white where a wound had been. A scar left by a Master, a lifelong reminder of cruelty. The drag of a blade along his flawless skin lived in her memory as if she had been personally affronted. With a glance at the early afternoon sky, there were several hours until the others would show for their assault on House Vescovi, which they should not be lingering around to begin with.
"Here is the plan, Azar." Nyla jumped up and strode to the edge of the roof. "We are claiming House Arainai and its people."
"Woah," he jumped up and went toward her. "Wait."
"I'll do it without you, just don't follow me."
"That's not it, Swan. I will come with."
"What, then?" She furrowed her brow and tilted her head.
He held her arm and looked her in the eyes. "You look like shit, and that armor you stole does not suit you."
Nyla snorted and shook her head, turning to slide down the drainpipe with Azar close behind.
"No, Swan, seriously, you cannot go conquering houses looking like an urchin! When is the last time you bathed?"
A veiled, glowing, woman in white killed a tyrant, inspiring a collective breath of relief and trepidation among the Crows of the dwindling House Arainai. Of the mere thirty-six Arainai assassins, less than half bore witness to the Swan's victory.
Under the excessive neglect born by Zevran's wrath, weary Crows welcomed the change, those who opposed lacked the courage to do so out loud to the Shadow's Swan, killer of Crows. The Swan's trail of feathers may have been of no consequence to the Masters, but had not gone unnoticed by their assassins. Feared and respected with their blood on her hands, she had been declared better to have as an ally.
Anything to save him is worth doing, she told herself as she declared herself Master of House Arainai
Anything to save him is worth doing, she reminded herself again as she traveled above ground with Azar by her side and some fifty slinking shadows in her periphery.
Standing atop house Vescovi, ropes in place, the Shadow's Swan held an arm up to signal the charge. Anything to save him is worth doing; she ran and jumped hurling herself through the window holding onto the end of a rope.
Overrun by Ghita's curious assassins, Zevran had been whittling them down, one assassin at a time, running along walls, swinging on the chandelier, anything to gain ground and reduce their numbers; a sudden cacophony of doors kicked in and a shower of broken glass distracted the fray.
Peering from behind a protective arm, Zevran stood tall to take her in; all white leathers, dark hair in a loose bun, face hidden behind a black veil, the swan etched on her silverite chestplate. White light shone through her eyes and cracks in her skin; disturbing, and a relief, to know he hadn't imagined it. An elven man with dark eyes and hair stood too close beside her with the predatory glare of a protector.
Crows filed in through busted down doors, swung in through broken windows, and Zevran shook his head with a smirk and a chuckle through his nose; his wife had so much explaining to do.
"Amor," he purred, feeling a shiver of excitement to see the light she emitted intensify at hearing his voice. Her hard stare drifted from Ghita's corpse in a cage to his would-be-attackers.
"There will be no more harm to the Shadow," she commanded, flicking her wrists to unsheathe her daggers. "Or to you, if you submit."
A tense silence followed.
"Your masters are dead, your houses fallen." Nyla's voice carried as white lights flickered through her; all stared at her, their eyes wide with awe and fear. "No longer will you scavenge for food and live underground. You will not be denied your coin, your identities, your companionship, or healing. Vescovi and Arainai belong to me now. I am your Master, and all guilds will bend to our will as we become Talon."
Zevran stared at her with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. His love had become so entangled in their cause, their desperation, she had become a Crow. Wardens aren't supposed to involve in politics, my ass. She had never followed that rule, she had never been wrong... and she wasn't wrong.
Longing for the days when her only desire was to belong to him, Zevran remembered, I did this to her. She had become exactly what he had encouraged her to be - but this wasn't her.
"I challenge you, Swan," Zevran spoke, and her glowing stare shifted to him.