A/N: A bit longer than usual…lots of angst and one hell of a cliff hanger. Don't hate me! I have plans! I swear!
What is it about the night that lends itself to dangerous deeds? A man can just as easily be killed with the sun full shining on his face, but something about the inky black calls out for such deeds. Harlow herself was beginning to think she'd never again see Denerim during daylight hours, all her ventures outside the castle gates having taken place after sundown. It was oddly peaceful in a way, but she did miss the bustle of the market district when it was full to bursting with people.
The four members of her little party strode thoughtfully through the streets, each exhausted and pensive. Alistair and Zevran strode side by side, an uneasy truce between them. Harlow still was not privy to what had transpired between the two men, but whatever it was had forged an unlikely bond of the pair. Harlow hung back, watching them as they made idle chatter, studying them with a weary heart. It was as if she was watching her past walk away from her. Soon this would all be over…they would find Anora and strike her down, and Harlow would find herself utterly alone, to return to Amaranthine with five recruits in tow; strangers all. Alistair would remain and wed a beautiful noblewoman and Zevran would…disappear.
"You really must stop this, my friend," A soft voice murmured next to her. Harlow turned and regarded Leliana with an amused look.
"Stop what?" she asked, eyes returning to the men before her.
"This foray into self pity and malaise. It is quite unbecoming, you know."
"Is it that obvious?" Harlow said with a chuckle, "I thought I was doing a rather good job of being all dour and brave."
"What did you think was going to happen, Harlow?" Leliana countered a bite of anger to her words. "You placed Alistair on a throne with no wife, are you truly surprised that a potential bride has materialized?"
"Really, Lei? You want to talk about this now? I don't think this is the best time or place to do so," Harlow said testily, uncomfortable with the bard's words.
"If not now when? At Alistair's wedding? Or perhaps tomorrow, when Zevran finally takes his leave of you?"
Harlow came to an abrupt stop, stunned at the Leliana's harsh words. The bard gracefully followed suit and turned expectantly, a look of expectation on her face. It took Harlow three tries to find her voice, but she finally succeeded, and managed to croak out, "how did you know about that?"
"You are not the only friend our Antivan crow claims, Harlow, merely the only one who holds his heart. Yes, I know of his feelings and his desire to flee from them. It is quite the tragic tale, and I must admit as a bard it catches my fancy. But at the moment I care for none of that…I only wish to know what it is you intended to do Harlow," Leliana said simply, crossing her arms and settling in for an answer. Harlow had never seen this side of the chantry sister before. She felt alternately proud and somewhat terrified. She had always viewed her friend as a soft spoken, graceful, and sympathetic woman. It was her own fault for not recognizing the fire beneath the fragile bloom.
"I don't know what I intend to do," she whispered ashamed, "I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to do."
Harlow sank to the ground, head resting between her knees as she let out a sorrowful sigh. Up ahead the two men stopped, realizing their companions had fallen behind. Leliana waved them off with a flick of the wrist before kneeling beside her friend and placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
"You're a bard, Leliana," Harlow said after a moment, a false smile painted on her face, "you tell me what I am to do. Help me turn this into a tale of grand adventure and courtly love. Make me a heroine who saves the day. If you can do that I'll gladly swallow my sword for you can perform miracles, because let's face it, there are no happy endings here."
"You view these men as if they are your past, as if they have already slipped through fingers," Leliana said after a pause, her words chosen carefully.
"Haven't they?" Harlow insisted, eyes flicking to look at Zev and Alistair. They stood a good distance away, eyeing the women with confusion.
"What if I were to tell you that, perhaps, there is a happy ending in all this?" the bard hedged. Before Harlow could protest she held a hand up, silencing her. "But first you must tell me, do you think you could find such a thing with either one, were titles and vows not an obstacle?" Sighing Harlow closed her eyes and truly thought on the matter before answering.
"I don't know if it's possible…with either one. There is so much history between Alistair and I, much of it painful. I feel our relationship fragmenting with every minute that passes. He is so different from the man I knew, and try as I might, I cannot forgive him the hurt he caused when he cast me aside."
"And Zev?" Leliana prodded gently, her voice empty of inflection.
"I had truly never thought on it before…not until his rather dramatic declaration. Truth be told I haven't had much time to think on it since…but…" Harlow trailed off, wishing she could adequately describe her feelings. "He knows me so well, Leliana, he has seen me at my worst and never turned away. I would be lying if there wasn't an appeal to the idea…to be loved wholly for what I am and not in spite of it. There would be none of the heartache as there is with Alistair…but I worry if that is what keeps me from his affections."
"How so?" Leliana asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion.
"Alistair and I fell in love in the heat of battle and the end of the world," Harlow explained, trying to puzzle out her own emotions in the process, "it was quick, and passionate, and neither of us were sure we'd live to see the next sunrise. Such a thing is powerful, and I fear it is what makes me love him so. Even after the blight, when the dust had settled and we were parted, we never could let go of that fire that drove us to each other's bed. It is what makes it impossible for us not to hurt one another…we treat our relationship like it's the battlefield we met on."
Leliana shook her head, still unable to make sense of what she was hearing. Harlow swallowed hard and tried to put it as simply as she could.
"I wonder, then, if the reason I hold so tightly to Alistair is because I truly love him, or if I am simply addicted to the passion…could a relationship built on feelings as pure as Zevran's have the same intensity as one built on desperation and heady romance?"
Leliana's gaze softened as she absorbed Harlow's words, her face taking on a mask of sympathetic understanding. Harlow tried to smile, but could not manage, and simply lay her head against her friend's shoulder, wanting comfort and validation for her truly backwards thinking.
"You poor dear," the bard murmured soothingly, "It must be so hard to feel such a thing…you truly are a tragic figure of legend." Harlow laughed out loud at that, startled at the sarcasm voiced with such a caring tone. Leliana smiled and pulled back to cradle the rogue's face in her hands. "You are daft to think such a thing. You have enough passion all on your own that any man you choose to love cannot help but be swept away in it."
Harlow let out an amused sigh and pushed herself to her feet, brushing the dirt off her armor as she did so.
"So tell me, Lei, what is your miracle fix for my tragic situation," she asked lightly, an expectant smile on her face. Leliana let out a breath, an aura of seriousness over taking her.
"It is a royal custom that has fallen into antiquity here, though it is still commonly employed in Orlais," she explained carefully, "It is the title of 'consort.' It is less than a marriage but far more than a mistress, usually afforded to a lesser member of the nobility. Let us not forget you are an Arlessa."
"Oh? And what does that entail exactly?" Harlow asked, suddenly nervous. Her stomach fluttered uneasily as her mind chewed over this piece of information.
"Nobility have been employing the title for generations in order to remain tied to those they truly love. Should Alistair name you as such, he would no longer be obligated to marry and you would be acknowledged before the realm as his lover."
Harlow stopped breathing. It was all too much, and all too easy. It was as if this perfect solution had been dropped in her lap after years of wanting and tears. But she was far to pragmatic to simply leap at the suggestion and think that everything would fall into place.
"Understand you would have no political standing," Leliana rushed to warn, "Any duties afforded to a queen would be barred to you. And Alistair would still need to name an heir, whether that be through a shared bloodline…or by…well, other means."
"Well Alistair's royal bloodline begins and ends with two men who are older than he," Harlow said wryly, "I'm assuming these other means indicate he would have to produce a child with another woman."
Leliana said nothing, the silence all the answer that was needed. Harlow swore and paced a quick circle. It was tempting…so very tempting to take this chance and damn the consequence. But there would be consequences. Should Alistair name her consort, the Landsmeet would erupt into chaos. Every member of the nobility would be scrambling to find a connection in their family tree to the Theirin bloodline…the power plays that would ensue could turn deadly. It also did not change the fact that she was an elf, born into the poorest district of the city. For all that she was a member of the court, she was still not human enough for the royalty to easily accept. Alistair was right, her life would be under constant threat…it was an exhausting prospect to think on.
"Is this…are you saying that this is my answer? Is joining my fate with Alistair the happy ending you spoke of?" Harlow asked after a moment, unsure as to what she wished the answer to be.
"No," Leliana said with a slight shake of her head, "Your happy ending is yours to write, Harlow. I was merely offering you a solution should you choose it."
"It's too much, Lei, I can't…I need time," Harlow said, pushing the thoughts from her mind. The bard simply nodded and turned to catch up to the men, standing forgotten a few paces from them. Harlow followed, a contemplative look etched on her face.
"What as all that about?" Alistair asked her with a worried voice.
"Nothing," Harlow said dismissively, "just…something that needed to be said. Come on, let's get this over with." Alistair frowned, clearly not wanting to let the subject drop, but obeying all the same.
The group continued on to their destination, nary a word spoken between them. It was only when they had arrived at the manor Zevran had traced Anora too did they dare to break the silence.
"Do we knock?" Alistair joked half heartedly as they stared up at the shuttered windows and imposing door.
"Is there a back entrance, Zev? I don't think I can lift the tumblers on that lock," Harlow said as she cast a shrewd eye to the massive bit of iron work that bolted the door. Zevran nodded and led them around the building. A servant's entrance was hidden near an overgrown bush of ivy and Harlow quickly set to work at picking the lock. It fell into place easily and Harlow found herself falling forward as the door gave way, surprised at the sudden motion. She stumbled into a brightly lit room, ending up splayed on the ground. Her group rushed in behind her and drew to a halt as they surveyed the surroundings. Harlow lifted her head to find herself staring into the eyes of half a dozen stunned mercenaries settled at a low trestle table.
"Well, guess this is the right place," she muttered before springing to her feet and drawing her sword. Her companions followed suit and quickly leapt to meet the nearest opponent.
The mercenaries were quickly dispatched with and the group soldiered on, searching each room of the manor for their quarry. It was poorly guarded; Anora having lost most of her resources and men to her previous schemes. Even so, the fighting was beginning to wear Harlow and her companions down, and they began to become sloppy in their tactics. By the time they had cleared out the parlor, Harlow felt herself swaying on her feet, exhaustion demanding that she rest.
"For someone as narcissistic as Anora she is fucking impossible to find," she groused as she leaned her weight against her thighs. She wearily made her way to Zevran who was tending to a laceration along his ribs. "Are you ok?"
"Si," he replied with a shrug, "the leather took most of it, yes?" Harlow nodded as she glanced at the wound, noting that it seemed mostly superficial.
"I don't know if I can keep this up Zev," she said with a shake of her head, "Alistair was right. We're too worn down for this. If we don't find Anora soon I'm not sure I'll be worth anything when we do."
"Have faith, mi cara," he said with a smile, "we shall find her, you just-"
His words were silenced in a mist of blood as an arrow burst through right side of his chest. A look of confusion crossed his features as he studied her. "You're face…there's blood…"he muttered before crumbling to the ground.
"Zevran!" she screamed as she moved to catch him, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Turning her head to track the trajectory of the arrow she caught the image of a woman stepping out the shadows, a bow dangling loosely from her hand.
"I'm quite surprised you did not arrive sooner. You should know better than to keep a queen waiting," Anora said maliciously.