AN: Thanks for continuing to read!

Part Three, Chapter Seven

With the early summer came the monsoon. Blessedly, Zevran's boredom was alleviated by several simple errands across the City. They were lowly tasks that no one else in the House really wanted to take on, but it was better than nothing and near effortless for him to follow through. In fact, they were made for someone of his ilk. He was tasked first to spy on a Merchant household and return with the required information, which was simple enough because he knew the layout of most homes in the district, having escorted the Master over the years. The latter errand required him to test his lockpicking skills, still clumsy and immature from his early efforts with the lockbox in the forum. A certain degree of stealth was also required, which came more naturally as his lithe form could easily trace the rooftops at night, easing himself down onto a terrace to skulk into an unguarded window. Memories of his childhood crept back of the evenings he spent on the rooftop terrace at the villa, climbing the vines, pretending they were great trees of the Daelish Wood. For the briefest moment, the stolen space felt like home.

Taliesen was impressed by the speediness of his student's results, deciding to reserve this sort of errand to him again should the opportunity come up. Zevran was small and quiet when not the center of attention at the tavern. The lad had a way with telling a tale that even the Salty Brood could not ignore. Taliesen guessed it must have been from all the books he read from his life before landing in House Arnii. What was important was that the Daedric appeared unassuming, a clear advantage among his brethren, even Ren. Certainly, if trained properly, he would make a great assassin. The housemaster went as far to mention such in one of their sparring sessions, musing that he should not let youthful eagerness get in the way of a good mark, whether it was an object or person. Zevran's failing was that he had a tendency, perhaps because his cleverness, of getting ahead of himself, and that was where he made errors. And if the older Shem could make this assessment in the forum, he was likely to repeat it on the road.

One day, Taliesen chose to take Zevran with him to the Guild Master. He needed to report on the result of an errand and thought this would be a good opportunity for the young man to observe the inner workings of his occupation.

Zevran followed civilly, unsure why he was involved at all. Gynn de Payne made him feel uneasy, like a hawk surveying its prey before diving in for the kill. He held too much control that the lad had little ability to leverage, and the thought made his every move and statement nervous. Perhaps that was the way of the Guild and its Masters. The anxious reactions by their lessers elicited a sense of entitlement. That thought alone brought forth a resentment the young Daedric did not know he possessed.

They would sit and talk casually at first before getting to business, the lad ignored in the background. Surprised he was not banished entirely, Zevran leaned on one of the stone columns and watched the City below. The rainy season was upon them, and from this vantage he could see a huge storm building off the coast, ready to sweep into the bay with a wall of fishy mist.

"So you think sending him would be better."

"Naivety is what she adores, no?" Taliesen mused, "Who else in the Guild could manage such with sincerity?"

Gynn chuckled, "And are you willing to lose your protégé if he fails?"

Zevran straightened and turned to the pair. Taliesen held a confident smile, amused by such a question. He conceded, "It is risk. But all great things come with risk, yes?"

The guild master glanced to the lad and then returned to the housemaster. Taking a breath, he leaned back in his chair, "I will ponder it. We are done."

The walk back was in silence. The sun was setting behind them and the downward gradient transitioned from the pristine plaster and cobble into a dingy, sootier version. By the time the pair made it to the tavern, Zevran could no longer hold his curiosity.

"What was that about?"

Taliesen stopped himself from opening the door and pulled Zevran by the shoulder into an adjoining alley. He spoke in a low tone, but was not harsh to the lad, "Neh discuss such in the open. I will tell you later, if the errand is ours."

His answer would come to him two days later during a break in the back forum. Both were out of breath, and the build up of the humidity felt like they were swimming in their own sweat. The housemaster removed his tunic and hung himself over the side of well in effort to take in any breeze. The lad managed to knock him off his feet twice that day.

"I think you might be ready," he muttered into the well.

Zevran sought shade instead and sat against the far wall. The sentence could barely be heard, but he caught it, "Ready for what?"

After a moment, the Shem pulled himself from the stonework and began retrieving the bucket with water. He returned to the shade and offered a cup before answering, "For your first real test."

Zevran's gut jumped at the response, but Taliesen was already beyond the significance of the statement and pushed on with a proud smile, "Gynn gave us the errand."

"I suppose this is mark," He suggested.

"Aye," he nodded through his cup. The water felt like ice down his throat. The housemaster elaborated, "A very important mark on a magister."

A mage? Zevran never met a mage before, at least not knowingly. Antiva was seemingly devoid of them despite the ubiquitous nature of magic throughout Thedas. Instead, mages took the Quintas Road on to Tevinter, where they could learn their trade in the open, away from the confining hands of the Chantry. He once heard there was a treaty between the Imperium and Antiva, although he was unsure how his kingdom benefited from such favors.

"We are going to the Imperium then?"

"No, no!" Taliesen waved his free hand, "She is in Antiva, and we must catch her before she flees our borders."

"A woman!" Zevran balked. It was one thing to mark a man, another entirely to kill a woman.

The housemaster nodded again, formulating a plan behind the glint in his blue eyes, "We are going to intercept her, and you are going to fool her into believing nothing is untoward before taking her down."

"Why?" He demanded more than asked.

Taliesen snapped his mouth shut in effort to keep from chastising him. The young Daedric man always asked why as though it had any relevance to the task at hand. The Shem smiled, "Because, my dear friend, she has angered the wrong person. That is all you need to know, yes?"

The housemaster seemed more than happy with the arrangement, and the lad realized he had little choice than shadow him. The next day, they were prepared and followed the northwesterly path out of the City. The plains were cooler than the coast and both men relished in the strong breeze sweeping the fields. Goat herders ushered their flocks ever onward like nomadic tribes save small villages lining the Quintas Road. Zevran remembered this place, a sense of dread encasing him as they approached and then passed the outskirts of the Daelish Wood.

Night was on them when the pair arrived at a junction in the road. They travelled for a month by then, taking rest in the wilderness most of the time and only wondering into a village to barter for supplies. Zevran was left behind to watch their belongings after the second attempt with the townsfolk failed; it was a distinct parallel to his traverse up the plains nearly ten years prior. How did any Daedric or Daelish survive up here, he wondered. Perhaps that was what drove them into the Wood in the first place.

They approached a berm overlooking the offshoot headed due north from the main road. Far ahead, they could see a dim lantern hooked to a cart.

"That must be it," Taliesen murmured, concentrated on the distant object.

"Surely she is nigh alone," Zevran said skeptically.

"She may be, I'd nigh doubt," He turned and emphasized. "You need to tread carefully now, lest she deceives you. Mages are odd creatures."

"Me – you mean I'm alone?" His eyes widened in the dark. Flashes back to the tiny town of Banch pushed to the front of his mind.

Taliesen nodded, "I am simply here to ensure you finish what you start."

Zevran hesitated but queried anyway, "and if I nigh finish?"

There was a pause. The lad could make out the housemaster's terse expression even in the evening light; he was mulling over his response. His voice sounded strange, almost remorseful in its seriousness, "If you nigh finish, you nigh return, my friend."

So this was the test he spoke of. What use was the lad if he could not follow through? The Crows were not known thieves after all, despite the wide variety of roles they actually played in the City. He felt the solid pat on his back above the impression marking House Arnii, Taliesen's advice ringing clear.

"If you are caught, you nigh can take what she says as truth. I hear she is a master of coercion, and she will use anything to spare her life, including yours. Finish this quickly, and meet me at the Tundles in Sphene."

Zevran acknowledged his words, before jerking up to his housemaster's trailing shadow, "Wait! What's her name?"

The dark figure lingered, "Lady Blaine of the Acundum."

He was alone. The crickets were chirping loudly, and the lad remained in his spot observing the surroundings before him for what felt like hours. The road dissected a field to the left and a dark thicket to the right. The fields provided the foreground to foothills of grand mountains beyond. The border of Tevinter was within reach.

Slowly he picked himself up, walking casually along the cobbled road toward the dim distant light. The lantern was like a signal and it struck him odd. Why would a woman travel alone? Surely she must know she is marked. Taliesen said she was running to the Imperium presumably where the Crows held less power, or desire, to catch her. Perhaps it was a trap, and the notion forced the lad to clutch his dagger for resolve. He was not prepared to have a fight with guards, should he find any.

The cart was simple and round. The exterior reminded Zevran of the gypsy carts in Tern. Many roaming tribes migrated from Rivaine and found temporary status in Dockside during the spring before they continued their trek to the Free Marches. It was a biannual migration, and the same tribes found themselves back in Tern the following fall. The wood paint was dark and extravagant, mixing purple, deep reds and greens from the little light shown to him. The lad approached the lantern, and very carefully lifted himself over the opening to blow the fire out.

The darkness encasing him, Zevran listened closely for any signed of movement. There were two openings on the cart, one on the side and other to the front where a horse was loaded, calmly chewing straw dropped for it. In either case, he could not imagine a scenario where he could sneak up on someone inside.

He heard a whisper and stopped dead in his tracks. Peering around, he could not see anyone from the dimness of the woodlands. The lad slunk into the shadow of the wagon and waited. Again a whisper reached his ears as though the voice was uttered right next to him, and he startled enough to lurch out of place.

The third whisper called from within his head, unmistakably a woman's voice, "Come into the light, my love."

He stood straight and peeked around the side of the wagon. The side facing the fields was held open, and from the opening he could make out the petite profile of a woman staring straight ahead.

"Come into the light, my love."

She looked like a ghost to him. Her alabaster skin glowed in the moonlight. Dark stray locks of hair poured down her bare shoulders. She appeared ethereal, calm.

The woman's face turned to him eerily and for moment Zevran thought to run. But then she smiled; a smile so sweet he felt compelled to stay. Her voice was deeper than in his head, "Come into the light, my love. I nigh bite."

He edged forward, still close to the side of the cart. By the time he reached the opening, she turned more fully to him. Her robes were loose, opened in the front, her stomach and chest exposed to the moonlight. She studied him from her height in the wagon, her finger running a line along the edge of his face. The touch removed any fright he may have had; any thought for that matter.

"You are lonely and trapped," She observed, leaning down to cup his chin. The contact was almost too much to the lad, but as he attempted to pull back, she pulled him forward into a kiss. Her taste was saccharine, the lingering scent of honey stronger than any mead Cerelus pushed onto him in the past. She crooned into his ear, soft lips stroking onto the lyre of his heart, "I can help you escape this life forced upon you."

She was offering him a way out. In the moment, something inside wanted to leap at it, believe it in all the earnestness her voice conjured. Zevran pulled back to face her, a mix of insecurity, pain, hesitance hovering over his amber eyes like a halo.

"Come with me," she cooed, pulling farther back into wagon. There was light inside beyond a curtain. He could see the corner of a bedroll and furs from the breaks in the heavy cloth. She beckoned him, tugging on his vest, inviting him inside.

What was he to do? He followed her into the hidden alcove. As the lantern light flushed him, her hand still guiding him by his shirt, the lad felt himself succumb to her touch. Her kiss deepened, her thoughts loud in his head, willing him to believe a better life awaited him. He longed to please her, to wrap his arms around her. It was not until his hand brushed against the dagger that Zevran was reminded why he was really here.

His eyes shot open, the blade already at her throat before he could stop it. In that moment the spell was broken, and looking around, clarity returned with a quickened heartbeat.

"Please!"

He glanced back to down the woman in his arms. She was as beautiful in the golden glow as the moonlight outside, her coal eyes now wide with apprehension. He studied them, and an unsettling awareness washed over him that the fear he saw was the same as the fear driving him. How could he kill this woman? What was she to him?

"Please!" She repeated, "Please let me go!"

"Your life or mine," the words came out before he could control them. Perplexed, he adjusted the dagger so that it did not pierce so closely, "Why was I sent to hunt you?"

Her trembling form calmed a little, "I am a simple mage making my way home."

Zevran shook his head and said, "I know you are lying. Tell me the truth."

"I have information," She whispered candidly, "I should nigh have."

"What kind of information?"

"The kind a prince would kill for," she swallowed and smiled meekly. "Please. I see- I know you nigh wish this. It nigh has to end this way."

She was right. It did not have to end with her death. He was on the border. He could run and be deep into the Imperium by morning. He stilled his dagger, now shaking slightly in his grip, and moved it to the side of the bedroll. The woman closed her eyes and visibly relaxed, risking her hand on his cheek.

"You could come with me," she offered, her gaze again resting on him, "I know where you can remain hidden. Stay with me."

Somewhere inside him, Zevran knew this too was a lie, but the feeling of someone so close, the warmth, and the tender touch again beckoned him to relinquish his doubts and fall unto her will. He leaned in to kiss her, thoughts of Sinette looming in the back of his mind. Just to be caressed brought with it a sense of comfort he never realized he missed. He longed for it, yearned for it. He needed it.

The night passed into a cool morning, the calls of passion settled onto the dew of the surrounding field. Zevran fell asleep entangled in his lover. His slumber was deep and restful pressed against soft skin, his face buried into a mass of dark hair next to him. When he peeked open an eye, it surprised him to find her gone. Panic immediately surged at the realization of what he had done. Taliesen was waiting. He had to finish this.

He jerked to move but found himself unable. Peering up, the lad realized only then that he was tied to the back wall of the cart. Angry, he struggled against the hardened rope pulling at his wrists futilely. He was in trouble.

"Innocence is delicious."

Zevran stilled himself and turned to the woman. She was dressed, her dark robes now shrouding her delicate curves, and her hair was pulled back into a loose braid. She was still ever striking, but with an added hint of malice in her face.

She grinned and observed his naked form against the wall. Clearly amused, "If I had known the ropes would work so well, I would have used them on you last night."

There was nothing he could say, but he tried anyway, "You could let me go."

"Alas, I nigh can," Her voice dripped with pity as she crawled over to him, running her finger elegantly along his brow. "I am sad though, you must believe me. Such a beautiful thing you are. The Ashunii would have surely taken you."

The Shem pulled away from him then, tracing her hand along the wood until she was at the opening. Facing him, her fingers tapped against the curtain and a fire lit within her. Zevran's eyes widened as he suddenly was roused with a new reason to flee.

"We all do what we must to survive."

His task forgotten, the only thing he could focus on was removing his restraints. In a show of strength, he jerked as hard as he could from the wall, causing the wagon to rock suddenly. He tried again, holding himself up by the weight on his arms, and yanked. Pain shot through his forearms but was yet forgotten by the heat to his side. On the third try, he fell to the floor in a sudden drop. Leaning up, he could see the opening, now enveloped in flames.

He grabbed a fur beneath him and covered himself as he stumbled out of the wagon and onto the hard, stone path. Groaning he rolled over to face the sunny sky, the crackling of the burning wood in his peripheral view. It was many minutes again before he lifted his head to peer down onto his bounds hands when he finally noticed the woman lying still on the ground beside him.

She must have fallen out of the cart awkwardly when Zevran yanked hard on the wall. Her face was stiff with shock, her neck careened back harshly, and he realized suddenly that she was dead. The lad leveraged himself up onto his side to examine her more closely. A knot in his stomach formed, not at the sight of death, rather how close he came to it.

Eventually he righted himself. The bindings were held together unnaturally, but over time the effect weakened and he was able to chew through the rope. Zevran admonished himself. His clothing burned in the cart along with anything else to protect his pride on the long walk back to Sphene. The horse was detached and let loose in the field beyond. Again he wondered if he should head toward the foothills before him. How was he going to explain this to Taliesen?

More importantly, how was he going to prove to Taliesen he finished the errand? Carefully, he searched the mage for anything he could use. Pulling out the small dagger she carried on her hip, he cut a lock of hair and wrapped it in a strip of her robe.

The deed may have been an accident, but it was still done and no one had the need to know how. Zevran was reverent enough to straighten her out next to the wreckage of her wagon, propriety intact, and then with fur in hand, crept along the road in search of something, anything he could use for clothing. The farm not far after the split in the main path provided the perfect opportunity. Bed linen hung on a line would suffice.

By the time Zevran returned to Sphene, Taliesen was already impatient. Night descended when his colleague saw the state of his student, and a curious candor emerged.

"You need a drink, I think."

"It is a long tale," the lad grimaced, now the center of attention in the middle of the tavern. "I need my things."

The housemaster laughed heartily, ushering the younger up the steps, "You are going to be legend, my friend!"