She woke up exhausted, then moaned when she realised what happened last night. Getting out of her bed Missa dressed quickly, aware she had slept in. Morrigan was not in the room, and she heard doors open and slam in the inn; it was breakfast time, and she was annoyed with herself for slumbering well past her usual waking hour.
As she walked down the corridor she saw Zevran lean against the wall, waiting for something. Missa stopped and leant on the other side, unsure exactly what to say, still cagey around him. "Good morning, I assume? I cannot see the sun, but I assume it is there. Ah, probably not. It is Ferelden, after all."
"So. What was that all about?" She said, referring to the assassination attempt earlier.
"Hmm?" He murmured, trying to work out her words. "Oh. Last night's visitor? A Harrowmont supporter, it seems. He came to talk to Alistair about changing allegiance. Which is interesting, no?" He tipped his head back and crossed his arms, waiting for her to explode in anger.
"What?"
Zevran chuckled quietly. "Yes, I'd rather thought you'd say that. He approached Alistair rather then you, said he'd see reason more."
Missa was furious. How dare they use Alistair against her. How dare they. "And where is Alistair now?" She said, every word clipped.
"Sleeping. The boy snores, of course. I had a simply delightful night's sleep, obviously. Despite the view."
She clenched her fists and scowled at the door where Alistair was. "Not anymore he's not."
"You are both the last ones up, by the way. The others have headed to the Commons to eat, apparently Wynne wants to try the local street food for breakfast."
"I have to speak to Alistair."
He nodded at that and pushed himself off the wall. "I shall wait downstairs. I have to speak to the innkeeper for rudely going against our deal, anyhow. I feel terribly slighted, of course. Forgive my incompetence, my dear. I found us an inn that came with cold water, bad food and incompetent assassins."
She shrugged, realising that whatever they did in this city now they would always be watched. "I have a feeling we'll be moving to the palaces today anyway. It might give us a hint of privacy. Or none at all, considering."
Zevran grabbed her elbow before she went past, face impassive. Changing his mind, he quickly shook himself and smiled suddenly, trying to grasp at the right words to say. "Perhaps you could show me that infamous dwarven hospitality while you're there," he said in an undertone, falling back on his lascivious nature out of habit.
Gently she leant into him, breathing in the scent of leather and sandalwood she had come to associate with Zevran now. Aware she had things to do, she aimed a quick kiss on his jaw and slipped through his wandering fingers reluctantly. "Perhaps, if we get the chance between assassination attempts and politics," and she pulled away from her lover finally.
"Ah, how like Antiva. No wonder I'm comfortable here."
She put a hand on the door of Alistair's room and raised an eyebrow. "You have a strange sense of comfort, Arainai."
He aimed a grab at her arse before he went past, practically sauntering down the stairs. "I'll have to show you all the strange comfort I know, signorina. I have a feeling you may like it."
Missa shook her head wryly before entering, barely even knocking. Alistair was struggling with his armour, under padding barely laced up. "Don't you knock?" He said curtly, fiddling with the clasp of his pauldron.
Carefully she stood on her tiptoes to help with the fastening, ignoring his snotty tone. "I did."
"Oh. Right, well. Anyway. You could've caught me in my unmentionables. Would be embarrassing for everyone. People would talk, Zevran would get jealous… Too much hassle for everyone."
"I've seen you in your unmentionables before. Last night, as I recall."
He rubbed his forehead irritably. "That was a mess you left me with," he said, glaring at her, gesturing to the hastily cleaned blood stain on the floor.
Missa had absolutely no sympathy for him whatsoever and sat on the nearest unmade bed. "Good."
"Good? How can you say that? We killed someone, I had to deal with the city guards and the innkeeper and… Oh Maker, am I in trouble, you think?"
She really doubted it, but shrugged all the same. "What did he want?" She asked, avoiding his question.
Alistair at least looked contrite. "Something about politics."
"I'm sure he really came to talk about politics with you, so late at night at least."
The armour he wore creaked slightly as he shifted on his legs. "Yes, well. He wanted to change our support. Said he was a man of Harrowmont."
"Oh, our?" Missa said, picking on the choice of word. "Good to know we stand united on such things."
"Don't you start on that," he said roughly. "I'm still following your orders."
She breathed out slowly and picked over her next words. "If you were put in charge of Orzammar, what would you do? What's the first thing you would do?"
Alistair stopped shifting and paused, eyebrows raised. "Well. I don't know how to answer that without offending you. I mean, I know you're from… Well, you're, I mean you were a brand, but this city was your home."
Missa laughed loudly. "Oh really. We've gone beyond that, I think. You offending me. So say your worse."
"Fine." He put his hands on the jut of his fauld, still unsure what to say. "I'd abolish the caste system."
She laughed again. "Just like that? Centuries of tradition gone in a finger snap?"
"Well, you asked!"
"I'm not saying I disagree, Alistair. But you met a few deshyrs yesterday. You think they would roll over? That the castes themselves would agree with this?"
He at least thought about her words. "Of course not. It would have to be done progressively. Too sudden and it would be a civil war."
"So do you think," and she repeated her line of thinking for what seemed the fifth time since they arrived, "that tradition is what this place needs? To keep things ticking over at a nice, even pace?"
The heavy silverite gloves of his gauntlets creaked as he yanked them on. "Look, I know what you're getting at."
"Good."
"But I just think that perhaps neither of them are the right option."
She chuckled and Dog, having found his mistress, jumped on the bed next to her and wagged his tail. "Time is running out. We need our armies, and there needs to be a king. Better the demon you know, isn't that what you surfacers say?"
"Fine! Alright, fine. What do you want me to say now? You're right, I'm wrong?"
Missa grinned, ruffling Dog's ears distantly. "It's a start," and she threw a lumpy cushion at him in retaliation.
He caught it easily and held it, looking her over suddenly. "Seriously though- I do trust you, Just… I don't like how things are done here. It's not right."
"And you think surface politics are easier and less underhanded? Consider Loghain and what he did, and is doing. Seriously, salroka- if you can handle this, then Land's Meet is going to be child's play."
Alistair flexed his hands in irritation, still holding the cushion. "Would you stop going on about that?"
Carefully she shrugged, knowing it was still a sore spot with him. "I asked you a moment ago what you would do if you were in charge here. Imagine being in charge of Ferelden, and the changes you could make. What you could achieve."
He threw the cushion on the bed and ignored her. "I'd make a mess of it, I know I will. Look, I'm not meant to lead. I'm not. You do a better job then me. People listen to you."
There was a catch in his voice, something that gave her hope. She would give him one last try at supporting him in this, then give up. "You won't be alone, in it. I'll be around," she said casually.
The relief he showed was palpable. "Really? You'd… help?"
She shrugged again. "Of course."
Alistair paused, taking in her words carefully. "It's very scary, when you think about it. All that power."
"And what do you think we're doing now? What we're achieving, now?"
He smiled faintly at her, then stood up straighter. "Thanks, Miss," he said softly. "I mean, I still haven't decided. But…"
"Is this where you tell me how much you love me?" She replied as straight-faced as she could. "Because Alistair, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. Ever since you looked at me at Ostagar I… Don't know how to explain this." Missa bowed her head against Dog's to hide her smile. Her mabari whined and licked her cheek, suddenly curious.
"Um…"
"Fine, fine. I'll go on, knowing you don't love me. I can take it. I'm a big girl."
Alistair screwed his face up in aversion. "What? No. Maker, no. I mean I like you, just not- you know, in that way. Because… "
Missa smirked and rose, punching him in the arm as she did so. "You really are a gift that keeps giving, you know that? It's precious, it really is."
"Oh, you're going to pay for that." As the cushion was pummelled into her head she ducked, running out the room. She took the laughs when she could with her salroka; theirs was a stormy friendship, but it worked somehow in a way Missa had yet to figure completely.
The walk to the Assembly to find Vartag Gavorn was easy. On the way, Zevran filled Missa in with all the gossip he picked up; most of it was insubstantial or she already knew, but one made her pay attention. Lord Bhelen "stepping out" with a casteless girl in public, unashamed of his choice of courtesan. She pursed her lips at that, thinking if Rica was safe and happy.
Gavorn finally brought them to the palace, irritably gesturing for them to wait outside the main greeting hall. "It seems my Lord Bhelen is busy," he said, coming back shortly. Missa was subjected to the filthiest look and she raised her eyes, wondering where such scorn came from.
"We can wait," Missa replied, trying not to let her own annoyance show at Gavorn's reaction.
Rica spotted them all, pretty in a deceptively plain white dress decorated with gold chain mail. "Little sister! Lady Marthar said the Wardens had shown up. I had to see myself."
She was enveloped in another hug, and Missa returned it awkwardly. "Hello Rica."
"Come and see your new home! Well, our new home. It's there if you want it. Will your friends forgive me for dragging you away, you think?"
Alistair and Zevran bowed to her, Dog happy to see the nice lady who petted him again. Missa gestured to the pair of them to not say a damn thing, and Alistair grinned a touch evilly.
"Do we have time, Vartag?" Rica asked the man, calling him by his first name.
To Missa's utter surprise the grouchy Second smiled at Rica and greeted her warmly. "Of course, my Lord Bhelen is with a Shaper now. You know how those old academics can go on." Rica kissed the noble on the cheek and this time Missa raised an eyebrow.
"Let's see your new home, then," she said wryly.
Missa and her mabari were dragged around proudly, shown bathrooms the size of her old house and bedrooms covered in gold and jewels. Dresses and gems were given away freely, and she was unsure what to say. "Just take them, I have no use for them all," her sister replied casually. "Would… Would you like to speak with Mother?"
Missa looked away; since her return back home she barely considered the thought of seeing her Mam. To spare Rica's feelings however, she lied. "I've been too busy."
Sadly Rica smiled at her, then nodded once. "All right. I suppose I should return you to Bhelen now, lest I get in trouble for stealing you all to myself."
By the time she returned to the hallway, Zevran and Alistair were nowhere to be seen. Gavorn gestured sharply for her to follow, all the while Missa glaring at his back.
Her first impressions of Bhelen was that he was ignoring her. He had his hands behind his back when Missa entered, not quite facing them as they entered the study. Slowly he turned when she was announced by his Second, and when they were alone he finally spoke. "Hello."
"Lord Aeducan," Missa said, sitting down by his desk uninvited.
He smiled at her lack of manners and poured out two drinks. "Please, call me Bhelen. Welcome to your new house, little sister. I understand Rica has shown you around already."
Missa crossed her legs and took the drink offered, ignoring the moniker he gave her. "You could say that," thinking of the jewels and silks thrown in her face and the opulence and splendour showcased proudly.
Bhelen studied her before speaking. "My Second is in a spot of bother, despite your hard work. I'm rather disappointed with him. It seems the Shaperate approached me earlier today to speak of fraud."
She knew he was referring to the promissory notes. Missa thought she was subtle in asking the Shaper during her time there of their authenticity, but apparently not. "Unfortunate," she replied bluntly.
"Quite. It appears I may have to punish such an act, but such is the way of politics. His house will probably be stripped, perhaps not, considering. But regardless, the job is done, and you have so far grasped the politics of the Houses here admirably."
Missa wondered why he was so ready to sacrifice the information, and looked him over curiously. "That's pragmatic," she said, aiming for something neutral. "Unfortunate mess, though," and she cursed her lack of thought of her earlier actions.
He laughed quietly before speaking again. "You misunderstand my intention. House Vartag is not the issue, or the paperwork. No, the real reason is you, the Grey Warden, persuading two of the biggest houses to vote for me. Lord Helmi was quite taken with you, by the way."
"He was a nice man. Lord Helmi, I mean," Missa replied, taking in the noble's words slowly.
Bhelen smiled at her words, goblet in hand. "So he is. Nice and polite, if having fairly progressive views."
"Then how is he still alive?" She asked, having seen first hand what deshyrs are like. Nice could get you killed.
He ignored her blunt question and finally sat down opposite her. "Ah, only the Stone knows that. Regardless, the notes can be argued as a clerical error; both House Dace and Helmi will remain loyal, despite the, shall we say, misunderstanding. And Shapers can and will be bribed." Bhelen took another sip of his mead before speaking again. "Tell me, what do you know about the Carta?"
She knew that he knew; Rica was no doubt loose with her tongue to the man she was infatuated with. Her sister must've painted her as the thug who had no choice, her baby sister who had killed merchants for the sake of her family and survival. "A lot," she replied shortly.
"I thought you might say that. What do you know about the Carta since your return?" He asked politely, bright gaze courteous.
Missa did not know why she did not want to share the information she knew; perhaps loyalty for Dust Town ran deeper then her new "family," despite her sister's enthusiasm. "I saw some Carta thugs in the Commons lean on a merchant," she said quietly, opting for a vague answer.
He looked briefly at her then went back to staring at the lava flowing past the window of his office. "I'm sure you know more then that, from what I've heard. You've ventured into Dust Town already since your time here. Oddly enough, it coincides with the apparent murder of one of Lord Forender's men. His body was found yesterday stripped of all his armour and dead from a single dagger wound to the chest. Cleanly done, or so I'm told. Harrowmont is of course vaguely pointing the finger at me, but, well. What would I have to do with that?"
Carefully she looked at him, trying to gauge a reaction. "Sounds like suicide to me. No one goes willingly into Dust Town and not expect a reaction from the locals."
"Quite." He turned to face her once more, another polite smile on his face. "Obviously to secure your troops I need to persuade the Council further. A woman named Jarvia is leeching this city like a cave tick at the moment, and needs to be handled. Which I'm sure you're more then familiar with."
"Obviously," she answered. "I'm curious," she asked dryly, shifting in her seat suddenly. "What else do you know about me? Since apparently you know of my past."
Bhelen carefully pulled a piece of parchment from his desk and scanned the contents briefly, at ease enough to play her game. "You're staying at the Silent Sister inn, where before you stayed at the Smelting Pot. Yesterday you visited Tapster's briefly to speak to Lord Helmi around the first bell, then headed back to the inn to gather your allies. Diamond Quarter was after where there was, apparently, a minor fracas. Lady Dace is still going on about that, by the way, despite her change of heart for the election."
Missa laughed freely; she felt no guilt over her lack of social graces at all. "Oh? I'm honoured."
"Afterwards you headed into the Deep Roads, after an argument with your companions. You went back to your inn where you caused a mild scandal with the proprietor by killing an apparent assassin. Your lover was naked, or so I'm told."
He thought Alistair was her lover? Wrong, all wrong. Missa made sure she didn't have a reaction on her face and arranged her features to be obviously bland. "Not bad. You missed out who I was fucking though," she said bluntly. "Apparently your spy didn't listen hard enough through the walls." Bhelen cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.
"That's your own business, I'm sure," he replied neutrally. "You sister tells me you have… History with this Jarvia?"
Missa rolled her eyes at that and sniffed experimentally at the goblet. "You could say that, yes. But you already know about it."
He looked her over then, blue eyes calculating. It went on longer then was polite, and just as she was about to say something he finally spoke. "I will welcome you as family, little sister. Regardless of your origin. I know you won the Provings last year because of your skill alone. It caught the eye of the Grey Wardens, and effectively you rose above your lack of caste by beating the best of our warriors. Like my Rica, you left your old life behind… Your family is obviously made of tougher stuff then dust."
She almost laughed, not believing a word of it. "That's precious of you. It really is, I'm touched. Rica will be thrilled. So will Mother, if she's sober enough to care."
There was a momentary spark of anger in that ruthless gaze, and Missa was glad she finally saw a bare glimmer of the man under the polite, contrite mask he was presenting her now. "Come now, I'm sure there's no need for your sarcasm," Bhelen said calmly. "I understand your reluctance considering your background, but… Well, I'm sure you can put aside our differences for the sake of politics for our people. Your need troops, this I can provide. But only if you help me get my throne. After all, we both are …fond of your sister, and she'll be taken care of with me as King."
Missa clenched her fists then, hiding them from view. How dare he use Rica as leverage... How dare he mention fondness, like it was something that could be used as a bargaining chip? "She's besotted with you, you know," she replied casually, despite her seething anger. "She loves her son too. A lot."
Bhelen smiled and Missa wasn't sure if he meant it. "It does me proud to hear you say that, Warden, that my Rica confided that to you. She's a good, kind woman; that's something you rarely see with the ladies of my standing. And our son is an heir, of course, despite his Mother."
The words rankled her. Even in all this opulence, she and Rica were still just dusters, despite their elevation. "I'm sure." Steadily she breathed out, thinking things through. "You really think you're what this place needs?" Missa had no idea why she was asking, if she even cared what happened to Orzammar; but there was a part of her that needed things to be done quickly and cleanly, for there to be no mess for Rica to live in while she left again.
"You ask me this now, in my office? After what you have done since your time here? Interesting."
"It's not just for Rica, you know," she said, using her own sister in the way he had used her previously.
He walked away so his back faced her and poured himself another drink. "Harrowmont certainly isn't what this city needs. He is a good little deshyr and that is all, I grew up watching him. He is… weak. Not forward thinking enough for our people; he is a deliberator and not a decider. The darkspawn below us are merging for a Blight. I believe it, Warden, if others do not."
They were things she agreed with, if she was completely honest. "Fine. I will do it," she said shortly. "I'm sure Jarvia will be pleased to see me. We'll talk about old times over the bodies."
Bhelen chuckled at that and sipped his drink. "I'm sure you can find a way to get in, I've no doubt about that. She's your kind, after all."
The boot was back at her throat and she rose suddenly, putting down her drink on his desk. "I'm sure."
As she made to leave he called her back. "Be careful Warden," he said neutrally. She didn't know how to take his platitude, so pushed it to one side.
"My nephew," she said suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"I'd like to see him. So would my sister, it seems. If she had the chance… Apparently not often enough."
The prince took another sip from his drink and looked her over. "I'll see what I can do. How dutiful of you, Missa; I take family very seriously, it pleases me that you do to."
She wasn't there to please him, despite thinking of the rumours Zevran told her today about the Aeducan siblings. "I'm sure it does. But I've learnt a long time ago you can't chose your family."
"Or your caste," Bhelen added, finishing the dwarven motto. "Well now. I'm sure we'll have a lovely family reunion when you come back from Dust Town. In fact, I'll let Rica organise something. She's quite good at it, as I'm sure you know."
There were many things her sister was good at, but she was too tired and angry to throw them back at his face. "Goodbye, Lord Aeducan."
Missa refused to look over her shoulder when he responded; she would only be sucked back into her rage at her own sudden duty and her part in it all. Despite her frustration of where she was, she was being sent back into the dust; no one would let her forget it, even here in the Palace.
It was pointless to even attempt to stealth her way into Dust Town. She would go in as loudly and as obviously as a hurtling bronto, all noise and motion. Jarvia would know she was coming, sure. All of Dust Town would, in fact; it seemed fitting that way.
While not quite a meeting of equals, she would play fair; even though Jarvia did not deserve a shred of respect given. Missa would give her old Carta an ample chance to hang themselves first. Some loyalties were hard to pry out of her psyche, despite her new life.
"That's the plan?" Alistair said in disbelief when she mentioned it finally. Zevran did not take his eyes off of her when she revealed what they had to do, very aware what their latest assignment was to her. "But you said this Dust Town of yours… It would rip us apart and steal our armour before we even breathed out."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Are you sure this is sane?" Alistair ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to say.
"It is a foolish plan," Sten said sternly, and crossed his arms. "Lacks tactical thinking, Warden; there is no logic to it."
Missa looked at them all then shrugged. "Actually, it's as tactical as Dust Town gets. I'm tipping over the bucket," she said plainly, pointedly ignoring Zevran's gaze.
Alistair screwed his face up in confusion, mildly annoyed she was being opaque with her orders again. "What does that even mean?"
Zevran slapped him on the back, rakishly grinning at the mention of her words. "Come now, let's go squash some scuttling crabs, yes? Seems the day for it."
"Crabs?" Alistair asked, following them all out.
Their walk through the Commons was watched; she knew it would be. As they headed to the entrance to her old neighbourhood she nodded once to the guards outside, knowing they were in Jarvia's pocket. "Boys," she said distantly, flipping a silver bit in her hands. "Best make yourselves scarce. Dust Town's about to get real messy." The coin was flicked into the dirt of the ground, and she walked forward, not even bothering to conceal herself.
The streets were watching, she knew; her message and intention would be carried forward loud and clear into Jarvia's ear before she even reached her hideout. "Are you sure about this?" Alistair muttered to her right, and she ignored it.
Missa had a vague idea where the new Carta base was and would lean on Alimar if her trail ran cold. She had enough silver to bribe him, however, and knew that he wasn't exactly fond of Jarvia to care what happened. As she was about to swing past to the shop of her old tattooist, however, a voice called her out and her heart leapt to her throat.
"What's up, duster?" Leske was there, suddenly real, looking fed and happy and just living and-
"You're still alive," was all she said, then laughed. "I thought… Oh Stone, I thought…"
Leske rubbed his arm with a grin where she punched him. "Why you here? Miss getting spit on? Perhaps it's the food, right? Maybe the atmosphere. Always a party in Dust Town."
Something wasn't right; why was he here, why now? "What do you think, Leske? I know thinking is hard for you, but…" She allowed him to shove her then, a familiar gesture that made her ache.
"Ha! Says you. And I got smarter since you left. I had to."
"It's good you finally learnt how, considering I always had to think for the both of us when I was here, salroka."
Salroka. The word hung between them and awkwardly Leske cleared him throat. "Yeah, well. Jarvia's been… Well, you know she and Beraht did the nasty? Seems she takes it personal-like that you decided to gut her lover, you know? I've been keeping low 'cause she blames me, too."
"Only so low you can get in Dust Town," she murmured. "I'm here for Jarvia, actually," and Missa watched his face carefully. He refused to look at her and part of her knew, nervously looking at her companions behind her. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, still not looking away. "How rude of me. This is Leske, everyone. Leske, this is, uh, everyone."
Leske shoved his hands under his armpits and nervously nodded in the direction of Zevran, Alistair and the others. "Missa, I gots to go. I can't hang around, Jarvia wants my head-"
She grabbed his upper arm and dragged him away from the gaze her friends, hiding in the shadowed corner of a slum. "What do you know about her? Are you…" Fuck it, she thought. Ask him anyway. "Are you still Carta? I heard it's pretty interesting now."
Her old friend shifted on his feet nervously. "Of course not, you think that bronto would take me in? Jarvia, well, she's… She's worked fast. She kept up Beraht's merchant dealings, said some shit about being his wife. She's made so much money from lyrium surface-side, and this soddin' Assembly bollocks over the next King has been good for her, you know? Guards are spread thin, if you see what I mean."
Missa believed most of what he said, and aimed for something blunter. "Do you know where her hideout is?"
"What, you just going to drop in, just like that?"
She shrugged at that and cracked a grin. "Thought we could catch up on old times. You know, maybe I can give her a blow by blow account on how I gutted Beraht. She'd love it."
Yeah, well," he said nervously, then pulled her into whisper into her ear. "Your old place, right? You know how it is around here with old homes. Well, Carta's moved in, turns out your old place was above a tunnel. Should lead to where she is… I mean, it's just leads to the storage subways, but it might be a way in."
With his breath hot on her neck the betrayal felt like a knife twisting in her stomach. Missa turned her head away and leant against the crumbling wall of the slum they were beside, mind racing. Did Leske know she had already visited her home, and was trying to tell her something? "My… home? Are you serious?"
"Yeah. Your Mam would throw a fit, you know? Shit, I'd like to see the old bronto's face when you tell her. You remember when I stole her drink? I…" He cleared his throat again, then adjusted his leathers. "Suppose I should go now, duster. Been out in the open too long."
She looked up at him, eyes hollow, and he knew what she was thinking, his own face pinched and mulish at her reaction. Missa could always read him, whatever he tried. "Leske…" She called out, before he disappeared.
"Yeah?"
"Do or die, duster. You'll always be my salroka." Her voice cracked slightly and he nodded, once. "See you around."
It made the betrayal easier to swallow when she knew what was coming.
Jarvia's hideout was easy to find thanks to Leske's duplicity. The knucklebones slipped into the door easily, swinging open with little effort. The Carta knew what was going to happen next, and Missa smiled humourlessly.
The dusters she killed yesterday were right, of course; the tunnels were filled with apostates, and human and elven mercenaries alike were hiding out in the shadows of Dust Town. She was curious at how much they were being paid to willingly submit themselves to waiting out in this hole, thinking how her friends reacted so violently already to their stay here.
What caught her eye though, was a Qunari. She had not seen one on the surface outside the Fade other then Sten, and yet here he was. Sten finished off his kinsman himself, eyes glowering dangerously. "Not seen another one of you before," Alistair remarked, wiping his blade clean of blood. "Qunari, I mean."
"He was not Qunari," Sten replied brusquely. "Ebost issala! Pashara." He curled his lip up at the corpse at his feet, disgusted.
"Then what was he?" Missa asked quietly, waiting for Zevran to come back from his scouting position.
"He was Tal'Vashoth. Not one of the Qun. An exile," he replied.
"Right." Missa thought of what Sten had told her before about his people; the ironies of a Tal'Vashoth dying under Dust Town and surrounded by brands were not lost on her.
Catching Zevran's eye through the gap she gestured for them to follow, swallowing back her annoyance. There were more rooms of Carta to clear out and more resistance. Jarvia had laid out a series of traps, but they were so hastily put together it was easy for herself and Zevran to dismantle them effortlessly. As they approached a door she recognised as Beraht's old storeroom however, apprehension tightened her stomach.
"Well well," she heard as the door swung open, and Missa knew who it was even before she saw. "Come back to kill us all, Brosca? Were the deaths you caused of our kind not enough? Tell me, do you do it for your own perverse little pleasure or are you just as much Bhelen's whore as your sister is?"
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, finally stepping into the room. "Stop using words you don't understand, Jarvia."
The Carta leader refused to rise to her bait and smirked. "Look around you, duster. Look at what I've achieved."
Alistair looked sideways at her, sword still gripped in his hands. "Right. You've achieved, what, a dirty hole? I love what you've done with the place."
Missa never removed her eyes from Jarvia, ignoring Leske. She knew he was there, knew what would happen next. "Your problem is, you got greedy. Sure, the lack of a king meant you could skim away from the other castes, but you were grabbing handfuls where you shouldn't. Brought too much attention to the Carta, and you know what happens next."
Jarvia circled her. Uneasily Missa followed, refusing to turn her back on the older woman. "You really think that's what it was? Maybe you should speak to Bhelen and ask who he does deals with and just how far he looks away when it suits him."
Out the corner of her eye she could see Alistair sigh, but her reaction was to laugh. "You think I give a shit about that? No. I'm here because you and I have unfinished business. I don't really care what Bhelen says, it's an excuse." Finally she looked away. "Hello, Leske. That was a really stupid trap by the way. I could smell it a mile off."
Her old salroka shifted awkwardly, suddenly uneasy under her gaze. "Brosca," he said in response.
"Interesting people you knock about with now," and she swung her sight back to Jarvia. The thugs around the room were getting edgy, waiting for the word to come. Sten bared his teeth silently, fists gripping dangerously in response.
"You've forgotten how things are done down here, Missa," Leske said quietly.
She threw the words back into his face, pointing with her dagger at him. "No," she said hoarsely. "No I haven't. Dust Town has reminded me ever since I've been back."
"Do or die, duster," Leske whispered softly, low enough for Missa to catch. And then she knew. She knew there was nothing she could do.
Missa had to try, one last attempt, even though… "Come with me, Leske. The surface ain't bad. Survive," she replied harshly, a glimmer of hope there.
He looked away, eyes on Jarvia. "Well, how amusing this is," her old boss said. "Really. It's tugging at my heart."
"Who asked your fucking opinion?"
"Missa…" Alistair warned, a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and spat at Jarvia's feet.
"Betrayal," Jarvia whispered. "Stings doesn't it? Leske thought of it all by himself too, to prove his loyalty to me."
"Enough," Missa replied, tightening the grip of her daggers. "I've heard enough," and she ran towards Jarvia.
Shale stumbled forward, glowing eyes glittering suddenly. "Finally," the golem rumbled, pleased to see action. Heavy legs triggered one of the hastily made traps, but thankfully grease and fire could not damage something made of stone. A burning Shale walked forward to grab the thugs trying to keep out of the way of a flaming golem, and she could only hear the screams.
"Zevran!" She called through the smoke, "the other traps." The room started to fill with noise and chaos, and Missa could barely see her hand in front of her face.
Awkwardly trying to place her old boss Missa staggered forward, her blades at the ready. A pair of axes swung in front of her and barely missed, a line scratching her arm. She turned and kicked at her attacker only to be greeted with Jarvia's smirking face. "Hello pretty," her old boss said, gold teeth gleaming in the gloom.
Missa practically snarled and charged forward, eyes sparking in anger. It was a foolish, thoughtless move; she was running right into another setup.
A dagger grazed her shoulder and she tucked and rolled, bleeding down her arm. Looking over she saw Leske stare at her impassively, blade in his hand. She couldn't do it, despite herself. As she deflected a weak attack from her old friend, Jarvia appeared once more; Missa managed to leap out the way this time, only to land in grease and slip.
Leske aimed another parry into the space where her back now was, but Alistair was suddenly there, the salroka who looked out for her on the surface. As he pushed his sword through her old friend's back she almost cried out loud, angry at her sudden frozen weakness.
She could not move, gripped by some fear that made her watch her old friend die. A booted foot stomped on Missa's hand and her dagger skittered across the floor. It was enough to snap her into action, and she swept her feet out to defend herself in a crouch.
A blur of blonde darted in front of her and Missa watched as Zevran aimed a kick to Jarvia's jaw. The older woman was pushed away from her, lurching under the elf's blow. "Move!" Zevran shouted, dancing out the way as an axe missed his arm.
But Missa couldn't, not yet. With the sword point sticking through his chest Leske stumbled. Missa watched as he collapsed to his knees, hands touching his chest distantly, surprised at the blood there.
It was as if something snapped inside her, time slowing down. She managed to see the last of the dusters be finished off by Sten and Shale, Zevran and Jarvia's blades whirling against each other. Down went Leske, face still on her. She was the last thing he saw before he died, Missa knew.
She went numb then, she had to. Picking up her misplaced dagger she ran towards Jarvia once more, slipping slightly in her boots, to aim a thrust up and under armoured ribs. Zevran, as gentle as a lover, ran a hand over the Carta boss's exposed neck before his dagger found a home between armoured shoulder blades. He dropped her with final slash across the jugular; blood sprayed Missa's face and distantly she wiped it from her face.
There was silence, then. Everyone was looking at her, did they know? Who did she mention Leske to? Zevran knew, Alistair perhaps…
"Missa I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Alistair said, hands over his mouth. "I just- he was going to- I'm sorry."
Missa looked up, unaware her feet had walked her over to the still corpse of her old friend, kneeling carefully by his bleeding body. Gently she closed his eyes, then placed his hands to his chest over his wound. Leske's cooling blood stained her gloves, a dark red on her fingertips. "Atrasta nal tunsha, salroka."
Feet appeared by her side and tugged her up. "Come, Missa. We must go." Zevran lifted her from her underarms and she elbowed him away.
"I can't leave him like this. It is a matter of respect. If that even means anything to you."
It was Sten who approached her then. "What do your people do with the bodies of your dead, Warden?"
She looked up at the qunari, trying to work out his motives. "We put them underground so they can become Stone. Bury them. If you're not a worthless duster, anyhow." Missa knew the guards would only shove the corpses into the lava, a wordless funeral. She couldn't let that happen to Leske, despite the betrayal.
Sten looked around. "The room with all the treasure we passed should suffice. We can seal it up after."
Wordlessly the Qunari lifted her dead friend from the floor, scooping him up as easily as a child. Missa followed and as Sten placed the body over a pile of sacks, she covered it with a sheath of surfacer silks.
There was no need for words, she already said them. Shale pounded the entrance with fists of stone and dust and rock settled around it, finally sealed off. Somewhere maybe the ancestor's would forgive both her and Leske; because she could not, not yet.
It had been an awkward reunion. Barely with the blood washed off of her armour, she had finally held her nephew. While Rica beamed with happiness Missa slowly retreating back in herself, thankful her Mam was too drunk to attend.
Of course Bhelen had not finished with her; he wanted more blood, this time hunting a madwoman in the depths of the Deep Roads themselves. Paragon Branka had to be found, a distant symbol from her past in Dust Town, representing the life she never could've had.
She was a woman who the city had all but forgotten about. Missa remembered the scandal and hearsay of the smith chasing a fable in the shadows of her people's lore the most, but so did everyone. It seemed ridiculous; they had barely two weeks to find her, what chance did they have?
Missa endured a meal with Bhelen and Rica, her companions looking at her ready for the discomposure that never came. Carefully she pushed food around her plate and parroted pleasantries, even managing to speak to supporting deshyrs and nobility attending about politics.
When it was all over she went back to her new room and pulled her armour off, collapsing finally by the hearth in her undershirt. She was desperate for a drink and stared at nothing in particular, willing sleep to come.
The door opened and she wasn't sure how, considering this was the Palace and the place was built to keep things out. "You sister dropped it in the conversation earlier that all the housekeepers here have skeleton keys," Zevran said conversationally, and shut it quietly. "How fortuitous. Of course, that's the thing with servants. Easily bribed, I find."
Missa lifted her head to look at him, pulling herself off the floor finally. He could see how dark and hollow her eyes were then, tired to the bone. "What did you do?" She asked, not quite throwing him out.
He sat next to her silently, making sure there was a polite distance between them. "Oh, nothing serious. I just -shall we say- turned on the charm, as Wynne is fond of saying about me."
She could believe that. "What do you want, Zevran? I just want to sleep," Missa said bluntly. She avoided his gaze and stared at the lavastones again, shoulders slumped forward.
They watched the shimmering embers together before he answered her, careful of his next words. " I understand. About today."
That was enough to make her angry. "I don't need you to understand. Get out, if that's what you've come here to do."
Deliberation laced his speech, even though he had no idea what her reaction would be. "I will talk, and you will listen. This is how it will go tonight, I think. No pity for you." His voice was firm and decisive, a scolding edge. It was not the honeyed platitudes she was used to from her lover.
"Who said I wanted it?" She asked curtly, a hair away from pushing him away.
Zevran quietly placed a hand on the small of her back and she jerked suddenly. "Why do you think I came here with you?" He continued, watching her profile for a reaction.
Missa was too tired to see what he was hinting at. "Because you swore an oath?"
"Hmm. Not that, but before. When I met you and you showed me mercy, why was I there?"
"Oh." She thought it through, thinking of the stories he had left hanging, of the slips of his mask he had revealed to her when he thought she wasn't looking. Missa felt a stab of guilt then; of course he would know her misery. "You've never told me," she said roughly, clearing her throat to speak properly.
He joined her in staring at the lavastones again, watching the glowing colours shift and change. "Regret. It's a powerful thing, no? Not quite anger, not quite self-pity. It is a failed mixture of both."
"Not quite vengeance either," she added, thinking of Jarvia's bloated corpse.
"No, never that. It makes for a middling fuel for revenge, regret. But, before I came here to Ferelden, my last mission was… It did not… Well," he chuckled slightly and avoided her gaze once more. Missa found herself leaning against him then, his hand wandering up her back.
"You last mission in Antiva?" She prompted, curious then.
"Yes. You have to remember I was different. I was… Arrogant. Anything and everything was mine. I was the best assassin. The best Crow. The best lover," and at that he pulled her to him. They both collapsed on the heated stone of the hearth, Missa tucked against his shoulder.
"What's changed?" She said wryly, lifting her head from his chest briefly.
Her looked at the stone-cut patterns of the ceiling and smiled, closing his eyes at his words. "Ah, I was worse. Trust me."
"I do," she replied quietly, a loaded sentence. It was enough to keep him talking.
"Hmm," and he rolled her slightly into his embrace. "See, my arrogance was not unnoticed. I had put in a bid for a difficult mark, and it was accepted. It would either be a test of my boasting or my death. Regardless, the Crow Masters would have the situation resolved no matter which way it would go."
It was comforting, in his arms; she found herself edging closer, twining herself around him. Zevran always somehow managed to catch her off guard and Missa wondered why she fought it so often, if it was safe enough to let go. "What happened? You obviously were successful," then mentally kicked herself for her poor choice of words.
It was a while before he spoke once more, eyes following the geometric designs above him again. "I needed help for this mark; he was surrounded by his men, a well guarded house. Taliesen offered his blades, and…" He paused then, hands stilling in their movements of her body. "There was an elven lass. Rinna her name was. She was… All fire and spark. A marvel to watch fight, and she…"
Missa could see where this was going. "She sounds like too much woman for you, Arainai." When he didn't respond, her hands lay limply on his chest, unsure what to say next.
"She was wicked, no doubt. She had these eyes that just gleamed justice, like every mark, every death by her hand was deliberated. Rinna somehow made me feel, or so I thought. She made me realise that…. Well, that there were parts closed to me. And she had found a way in."
The words were at once so familiar, so sharp with their longing that it hurt her chest. Missa clenched her jaw and thought of Leske and Rica, her ties to her city. One dead, one distant. "Where's Rinna now?"
Of course she knew the answer. "Dead," he said listlessly.
"I'm sorry," and she pulled into him tightly, unsure what else she could say.
"I watched her die, and did nothing to stop it. Like she was nothing. She begged for her life, and I ignored her."
She did not know what to do with the confession, as bewildered as he at the starkness of it. Missa wasn't so emotionally stunted to ignore him or offer some half-baked platitude instead, however. "Why?" She asked bluntly.
"Taliesen… You've heard me go on about him, yes? He was like… Like your Leske, I suppose. A sal-raw-kah." His accent made the dwarven word sound exotic to her ears and she smiled, despite the severity of his tone. "He told me Rinna had betrayed us. That she had accepted a bribe from the merchant and that we were walking into a trap."
Her throat tightened at his words, so familiar and foreign at the same time. "And had she?"
He ignored her questions and continued, lost in his own story. "Taliesen cut her throat and I spat on her face, watching her bleed until she died. Of course," he said, falsely positive, "we killed the merchant, Taliesen and I. Rinna did not betray us in the end but… She had died, regardless of it."
Silence washed over them. She rose from his embrace to fully look at him, watching as regret tightened his face. "What happened after?"
Zevran shook his head, a disbelieving smirk dancing on his lips briefly. "I was… Angry with myself. Upset, but they knew what we did, the Crows. The Master who hated me said I had to know my place, and my time would come, like Rinna. I was nothing to them, Rinna was nothing."
She had heard enough. "You're not nothing, Zevran." Her voice cracked. She could've said, I know, I understand, I've been there. Instead she took his hand and placed is on her cheek, on top of her brand that was there, scarred in lines and dimples.
He understood the gesture and mirrored his other hand with hers, leaning forward to place his forehead against Missa's. Carefully, tentatively, she kissed him then. Hoping it was enough, that he would understand her inept fumblings at comfort and sympathy.
He responded just as gently, mouth soft against hers. "I've not told anyone this, I vowed I would not," he whispered against her lips.
Missa carefully gripped his hands, throat tight still. "You didn't have to," and sighed as nimble fingers worked their way into her hair. Carefully he moved her so she wouldn't hide away, making sure his words were heard.
"So I know, my dear. What it is like. And even though you think I do not, even though we are different in more ways then one… We are similar, you and I," and he shook her slightly to accent his words. "There is an understanding now, between us. And I will tell you, that whatever it is I looked for when I left Antiva, it's gone. You have helped me realise, my beautiful, magnificent Senorina Brasca, that seeking death is not the only option when you think you have nothing else. That regret can be as confining as your caste, if you let it overcome you."
Her brand itched on her face and she frowned. As if he could sense her discomfort he kissed her scarred cheek, hands never leaving her. "You sought death?" She asked, thinking of their first meeting; it was a flimsy trap Zevran had laid, despite their injuries after.
It was his turn to look away, tawny eyes focusing on the hearth. "You ask me why I left the Crows and each time you did I have lied. I did not have the opportunity like you when you left your Carta, you see, but I was given something else, a mark far away from the prison I was in. I wanted to die, Missa. As far away from Antiva as I could be. What better way to go, hmm? Death by the hands of the legendary Wardens. And such pretty hands they are." With that he kissed her roughened palms once, a cheerless smile on his face.
Missa did not know what to say to his confession, so much words spoken between them and the unsaid still remaining. "I'm sorry for being a bronto," she whispered. "I had to be."
Zevran reached out to her suddenly, touches gentle, hesitant. He kissed her neck below her ear, and once more she yielded. After their time in the Fade she offered comfort this way and it was violently refused, the message too fragile and foreign for Zevran to swallow. Now, though, he touched her like she was precious metal, a carved, beautiful thing joined and held together by delicacy.
While sex was easy for them, as simple as breathing, it was different now. This was something that had to be taken as rote, an act of contrition to wipe away their confessions. Every sigh and sound she made was memorised, a new journey to make on her skin with his tongue and touch.
She felt helpless, in a way. It wasn't torture, but when he entered her and slowly they moved, it was close enough, as he made her feel something she couldn't cope with dealing with, was too hesitant to share. He paused to push the hair back from her face, watching her carefully. The duster thug was on a pedestal now and her Crow was grounded, both different people momentarily changed by their own regret.
They could not name it love, not yet; to them it was a foreign notion, just out of reach and stalling. And it would do, would hold them over before the darkness of the Deep Roads threatened to swallow them, the future uncertain and cruel in ways they both knew could and would happen. So they did what survival taught them and clung to all the life they could, fending off the brutality when it would come. Because inside this room they could be weak, guards finally down.
It was not perfect, but for Missa and her Antivan it would do.
Author's Note: Well, holy balls that's a long chapter. Thanks for getting that far and sorry for subjecting you to such a huge wall of text. I'll try not to get into the habit of it, I know how annoying it is to read.
Reviews are of course wonderful, so thanks for doing so.
(ALSO a big thank you for Nonvita and madam_pudifoot for the artwork of Missa, I have added it to the collection. Click my name to view the profile, then click on the homepage address to see.)