Must thank the writers of DA for the lines towards the end. Soon as I saw them I wanted to utilise them. So they are not mine (though wish they were). Big day at work, so a bit of filler (sozza) but it is fun to write. Peace.


Denerim and (that) Pearl

Sten was furious; even the report from Zevran of who these 'giants' were had made the Qunari's teeth grind. A hand on his arm, not physically restraining in force, but perhaps a warning, or a show of companionship, from Dain. It arrested any move the Qunari may have been about to make, even at the ordinary enough words. After a precious few deep sentences Dain nodded to the Qunari, Sten only slightly relaxing.

"Leiliana and Zevran will come with Sten and I, you others keep on towards Denerim, await us outside the walls."

With a meaningful nod to Alistair, who nodded. Sheparding the others with him they were soon gone. Leiliana skipped to move next to Dain, Zevran content to amble nearby while Sten strode angrily leading the group.

"Who are they? He seems, angry? No, angrier."

Dain shrugged, he didn't know. But all he knew was that Sten needed this, and though he wouldn't tell anyone, Dain felt like a fight. After meeting the others after their trek to Soldier's Keep, Dain had found himself on edge, more so than usual. Finally he understood, he wanted a purely physical fight, no magic, no supernatural foe. Just flesh and blood. He rolled his shoulders in eagerness, fingers clenching and unclenching.


Sten was furious, something about these 'renegade' Qunari had infuriated the Qun and while it hadn't made him reckless; having the others standing with him made it a fairer fight. It was just as well he was at Sten's side; he ducked under the ferocious swing of the great sword and traded thundering blows with the roaring enemy. He took a bruising shock to his neck and shoulder as he defended a weighty strike, but the attacker was cut down by Sten looming behind him using his massive sword as a battering axe. Every so often the singing whine of a swift arrow punctuated the thuds and crunching swords. Zevran flittered in and out of sight, no match in physicality for these Qun sized opposition, but took down one on his own with poisoned blades and swift deadly attacks. Dain threw up his shield, finally forced to brace his sword armbehind it against the utterly blunt attack. He dropped the defence too early, a huge fist shot out, grabbing him around his throat. Dain dropped his weapons, ignoring the pressure, the pain and the fact that the Qun was nearly lifting him in full armour off the ground. With progressively heavier hands he dipped to his dagger, sliding it free. It was awkward, but twisting, ignoring the edge of the armour digging into the inside of his arm, he took the hilt in both hands and lifted the sharp weapon. It caught the man under his chin, it slid through the skin and tongue, soft palate and with a crunch and some resistance it entered the brain. Blood erupted from the dead warrior's mouth, drenching Dain. He took the landing hard, losing the slippery grip on the blood soaked hilt. But it was done, Sten turning from the battered body before him, Zevran's enemy falling to debatably the dozen or so poisoned strikes or the four arrows studding neck, armpit or between armour plates in the torso.

The light shower of rain was cool on his face; he hadn't noticed when it had started, but Dain leant his head back and opened his mouth. Blood turning pink and dripping from his cheeks. It was cold, and right now that was the only thing he could feel. The first swallow was metallic, but those after tasted only like the rain. It felt good pattering on his neck, even sliding under the armour. After taking in several mouthfuls Dain got to his feet, moving for his weapons, wiping them on the dead's clothing. The sword slid cleanly into the sheath, but the blood was stubborn on the shield face, the dents gathering the blood easier than releasing it. Dain held his hands out, letting the rain wet his gloves. He wiped his face before looking at the others. Zevran was grinning, happily rifling through armour and tents further afield. Leiliana was trying to coax Sten into telling her who these had been and their quick unprovoked attack. It wasn't working. Dain knelt next to Zevran, the elf fiddling with the lock on a large heavy chest. With a cocky grin he twisted a wrist, but instead of the lock popping open there was a crunch. Zevran's face fell; it fell even more when he withdrew a lock pick, the tip sheared off.

"Honestly, less speed more haste."

Leiliana settled in between them, her two steel picks already in her hands. It took a few bare seconds,

"Braska. But it's not a contest."

Dain stood, offering his hand to Leiliana who took it, arising like a noble lady from a curtsey.

"It's always a contest."

They said in unison, Leiliana lifted a foot and lifted the lid.

"We will never speak of this, yes?"


Everyone was damp. But outside the massive walls of Denerim they had waited, relief obvious on the faces of some. Alistair grinned happily and moved to greet them,

"Nearly dusk, was a bit worried about camping here."

Dain smiled, taking the wrist the other Warden offered.

"Not here, not with the rain. Though it was never the plan."

His words were slightly rough, around his neck the red marks were turning to purple finger marks.

"You have a plan young man?"

Wynne said, a cloak already wrapped around her. The eyebrow she lifted at his slow to answer, nearly as sharp as a retort from Morrigan.

"Of course Wynne. We enter Denerim. It has been several years since I have been inside her gates, but if memory serves there is…"

His words ambled off and died.

"What, we just trot on up to the nearest Inn, no doubt watched by Loghain or Howe and kip there for the night?"

Even in that jest something shifted in response to those names. Wynne met his eyes with her own steely gaze.

"Actually no. We break into three groups and meet somewhere else. Slightly less conspicuous, and with a few quick words and some silvers we will be left alone."

A scoff ended the stand off, Wynne's head turned slowly, pinioning Zevran. It didn't worry the dark skinned elf for a second.

"Ah, you do not reference the beautiful Pearl and her proprietor the lovely Sanga, perchance?"

Though Dain tried to still the red blush, at Zevran's tone of voice and tilt of the hip it coloured his cheeks.

"What? A, a, brothel?"

Alistair managed to whisper. Dain nodded,

"Yes Alistair. I have no problem with others sampling the wares, but we are ultimately here for Genitivi, supplies and information. Lifting your head could have it cut off. Yes Zevran, both of them."

The laugh was nothing short of a gasp and a feminine giggle, Zevran managed to clamp his hands over his mouth. But it was out. Alistair's eyebrows had been lifted so high they were nearly in his hair line. Leiliana laughed, buckling at the waist and clutching at Alistair's arm. Even Wynne had a smile.

"Well call me greased nug, the lad does have a sense of humour. Let's move it though, this rain isn't fooling anyone, and I need a drink."

"He actually ran out?"


Dain dropped his shoulder, the cloak falling to cover his armour, shield and weapon. Behind him Leiliana was already wrapped in it, but there was no hiding her female shape. Zevran sauntered with her, a cloak also covering his weapons. Alistair had gone with Oghren and Morrigan, much to his irritation. Sten had loomed behind Wynne, strangely enough the elderly mage knew exactly where the Pearl was. As she had walked off, the massive shadow of the Qunari behind her, there had been an awkward silence. With quick words Alistair had offered he too knew where it was; he had been followed by mocking laughter from Zevran. Dain had hushed them all and waited for the others to be lost to sight before moving towards the Market place.

It wasn't empty, the light mist of rain not stopping shoppers, nor the slowly darkening sky. One cluster of guards stood clumped together near a gated arch, but didn't look around at the market place nor the three newcomers. Dain moved in slowly, watching others, Leiliana and Zevran flanking him. They garnered some looks, a tall man, obviously a fighter, the slim red headed beauty and the handsome elvish man. A few men, ejected from a tavern, leant heavily against a wall. But as the three moved past managed to stagger upright and hamper their progress. Their clothing was well made, though did show up ale stains. Blood shot eyes showed courage shored up by ale and spirits. But their leader strode up to Dain, that known and certain look in his eye. He didn't manag to speak, Dain took half a step forward.

"Tis brave of you, sir, to so openly cast an envious eye towards me and mine. I suggest that you look elsewhere, lest I consider removing your sight in a more, permanent fashion."

Though his words were still offered with that Free Marches lilt, there was something more polished about them, Dain even offered them with a straighter, more noble posture, disregarding the more blatant weapon still hidden under his cloak. With these brusque words the man stumbled in his speech. He didn't move but looked, impressed, at Dain. Who waited a few more seconds, then shifted his weight forward. The man veritably scuttled away, his friends disappeared as quickly. Zevran and Leiliana watched silently, yes they had known of Dain and noblest of bloods, but here he had assumed it again so quickly. Was it so easy to pick up and discard? Dain turned to look at them, that glint of nobility was gone now and there was the Warden they knew.

"Care to lead the way Zev?"

With a bright white grin Zevran swaggered into the lead. Leiliana slid to twine her arm into Dain's, surprisingly he let her; she grinned.

"You called him Zev."