Zevran returned an hour after dawn, full of news. The Ambassador had indeed arrived late the evening before; too late for any formal audience. The planned welcoming dinner had been postponed to a luncheon today; this had created an upset in the kitchens, which had been Zevran's first point of call. Before being shooed away, he'd managed to confirm that the formal welcome would take place at mid-morning. Last night there had been a brief meeting which was kept to pleasantries only — this news he had gathered from Fergus, who had apparently been present. The Ambassador was an older man, elaborately dressed in the manner of Orlais but handsome in spite of this, according to Zevran's various sources.
"And," he continued, with the smug expression of one who has kept the best tidbit for last, "his entourage includes Grey Wardens."
"What?" gasped Nessa, sitting bolt upright.
"Three of them," he said. "They were not at the meeting, but they did visit the kitchens before retiring for the night."
His smile faded slightly as he took in Nessa's perturbed expression.
"This is bad," she said, swinging her legs carefully out of bed. "This is potentially… really really bad. For Alistair," she clarified. "If the Queen tells them that he's a deserter…"
Zevran spread his hands. "As far as I know, he has not been discussed."
"Yet. The audience… when is it?"
"It is a few hours away. What is it you wish?"
"I have to be there. I don't care what Petra says."
Zevran nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I will arrange it, yes?"
And arrange it he did, with help from Fergus' staff. He alternately bullied and cajoled the Teyrn's servants to help him gather what was needed — bandages from the healer, a Warden surcoat from the compound, a handsome walnut walking stick with the Cousland crest that had belonged to Nessa's father. He managed to coax breakfast from the flustered and sleep-deprived kitchen staff, though he had to carry the tray up himself. He even went to Bann Alfstana's estate to ask a favor — the Bann had a dress in the perfect shade of blue to match the Warden sigil. Alfstana took time from her own preparations to bring it over personally. Once Nessa's leg was carefully bandaged she helped her into the dress, which was more or less the right length, though a bit too large in the bust. Alfstanna helped to adjust the Warden surcoat over the top to hid this defect, and assured Nessa that the effect was perfect before returning home to finish getting ready herself.
Two hours later, only the final touches remained. Zevran picked at the remnants of the breakfast tray while Nessa fidgeted with her hair.
"Have you seen Brion?" she asked around a mouthful of pins.
"Indeed I have," replied Zevran. "He is stationed at the Cousland house, along with your brother's other guardsmen. He sends his greetings and said to tell you he was bored already."
Nessa spit her pins into the palm of her hand so she wouldn't lose them down the front of her dress and laughed.
"Of course he did. I do like him, though I never could quite figure him out."
"Couldn't you?" asked Zevran mildly, without looking up.
"Oh, of course you know all about it. So explain to me how it is that someone who worked in a shop for twenty years is suddenly so bored all the time?"
She pulled out the bun she'd been working on. It was lopsided, again. She gave up, and settled on braids after all.
Zevran still hadn't spoken. She turned to look over her shoulder.
"I won't tell anyone," she added. "I doubt there's anything you'd say that would make me think less of him — he seems perfectly loyal. Is… he is all right, isn't he?"
"Loyal he is indeed," said Zevran. "There is no question of that." He shrugged. "His so-called employer which he speaks of so often was also his lover, that is all. It caused something of a scandal in the family, I gather. The age difference was significant; Brion was quite young and this Evan was his father's friend. He still worries that people will judge. And he misses him very much, I think."
"I see. I guess that makes sense. But Fergus would never hold something like that against him," Nessa turned back to her mirror and began gathering her hair up to braid it.
"That is easy for you to say — he is your brother, not your employer." His voice carried a smile, however. "I notice you do not say anything about your own judgement."
"Why should I have an opinion about it? Brion is a good man and a good archer, and the rest of it is his business. You know that's all I care about."
"So I do." He stepped up behind her and reached for the pins. "Allow me to help you."
"Gladly," she said, surrendering them with relief. "I'm doubly sorry for his loss, though. I guess I'd prefer to be active too, in his place." She was quiet for a few moments, as Zevran continued to adjust the placement of her hairpins.
"You're awfully good at that," she said eventually, eyeing him in the mirror.
"Ahh, I have a surprising number of unexpected talents."
"No doubt." She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat. "Getting back to business… I need to know what Alistair has decided. Talking to the Wardens will do no good at all if he won't play along. I'd like to have you with me at the audience, but…"
"I will go and speak to him," said Zevran, pushing in a final pin. "Shake your head for me, cara? So. You are finished."
"Thanks. For both things." She reached up to explore his handiwork with her fingers. "I hope… with all that's happened I think maybe he'll see reason. But if he won't I need to know as soon as possible. With Eamon on the run, this is the only way I can see any kind of reprieve…"
"Hush, bella," said Zevran, giving her a hand out of her chair and handing her the walking stick. "I will do what I can."
She tried out the stick — she thought she'd be able to manage. She didn't have much range of motion in her right leg — the skin pulled painfully when she flexed her ankle and her knee wasn't much better — but her left leg had only been lightly splashed and was flexible enough once she had the cane for balance. The itching was infernal, but she could power her way past that. Anyway, it would probably be easier not to scratch with everyone watching.
"How do I look?" she asked.
"You shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall."
She grimaced. "Now's not the time for flattery. Is the outfit okay?"
"Who says it is flattery? But if you mean would your brother approve, I think the answer is yes. You walk a fine balance between the noblewoman and the Warden. It should allow you to play to whichever side will be most useful." He cocked his head slightly to one side. "And you shall also be the most beautiful woman there."
She gave a huff of impatience to hide her pleasure. Zevran offered her his arm, and together they made their way out of her room and towards the stairs. When they reached the top, she paused.
"I can do this. I just have to take it slowly. You should go ahead."
"Do not be foolish," he said, sliding an arm around her waist to steady her. He let her set the pace, and after a couple of steps she was comfortable enough to look over at him and smile.
"But I am foolish, Zev — you know that."
He looked almost troubled for a moment, then shook it off with a shrug.
"Then endeavor not to be, as a change of pace," he suggested lightly. "At any rate, our way lies together this far — our friend can wait until I see you safely to the hall, yes?"
She gave a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Thanks. What would I do without you?" On impulse, she leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Wish me luck."
"I doubt very much that you need it," he replied, flashing her the briefest of smiles before turning to walk quickly through the foyer and out of the palace.
Nessa made her way carefully toward the open doors of the great hall. Most of the nobles were already assembled, gathered in tight knots of bright color, looking for all the world like bunches of flowers or a flock of twittering birds. Everyone was there; the Banns had been arriving from across Ferelden for days.
She scanned the crowd looking for Fergus, but could not spot him. Her brow furrowed. He'd always been punctual, almost to a fault. Hoping he would turn up soon, she made her way toward the upper part of the room closer to the dais. People shifted to make room for her; several commented how pleased they were to see her up and about again. She replied as politely as she could, but it was hard to focus on conversation. She was far too anxious and her leg ached. Zevran had offered to give her something to dull the pain but she'd chosen to do without; she needed her thoughts to be clear. She wondered now if a small bit of something wouldn't have been a good idea.
A sudden hush fell over the room as the Queen appeared on the dais. She was dressed in an elegant gown of white and cloth-of-gold. A golden circlet rested on her head. She was so dazzling it took Nessa a moment to recognize the man at her side. The Queen's hand lightly rested on Fergus' arm. He wore the blue and gray of Cousland, but with golden touches to match the Queen's attire. Nessa let out a breath of surprise. They were quite striking. But what did it mean?
He led the queen to her throne in the center of the dais before stepping back to the edge of the platform. Before Nessa could catch his eye, there was a fanfare of trumpets, and the Orlesian Ambassador appeared at the entrance to the hall.
He made a slow and stately progression up the room, followed by his sumptuously dressed attendants. At the back of his entourage — yes, there they were, three Grey Wardens in official-looking dress uniforms.
"Look at the Wardens!" came a breathless squeak from somewhere behind her. Maive and Habren sounded about to expire from excitement. "Oh, they're so handsome — what dashing uniforms!"
Nessa hardly listened to the formal exchange of greetings — it was all theater anyhow, considering they had met the night before. Instead she watched the Wardens out of the corner of her eye. They stood stiffly at attention, eyes forward, looking very formal, very official — and very different from all the Wardens that Nessa had met so far. Even Riordan who had been from Orlais hadn't carried himself with that sort of stiffness. To be fair, he had been locked in a dungeon for some time when they met, and his gear had all been stolen. She wondered if he'd known these men before he came to Ferelden. But like Riordan, beneath the glistening metal and feathered plumes, these men were clearly warriors. One of them had a scar across his cheek which gave him a particularly severe appearance; all three of them looked as though they'd be just as comfortable on the battlefield as they were in the palace.
Soon enough the official exchange was done; Anora invited all in attendance to remain and mingle before retiring to the salon for a celebratory meal. The preliminaries were over — now the real excitement could begin.
Ahh, breaking in to Fort Drakon, Zevran thought. It was just like old times, yes? How convenient that he had done it before. And as he wasn't planning on breaking anyone out this time, the worst he could expect was a scolding if he were caught. In addition, the guard knew him, and he them — it was altogether much more pleasant this way.
He peered around the corner. Ah yes. Donna was inclined to pick at her fingernails when bored, and he knew for a fact that Edwin had been out drinking last night and would barely be able to keep his eyes open; he'd seen the man stumbling back to the barracks when he was on his way to the kitchens this morning. Now he had only to wait for Donna to start… yes. Just so.
He slid around the corner and into the next set of shadows. Clearly patrols were light today, and the guards on duty were second string at best. Between the Queen's increased security detail and this morning's important audience, most of the guards would have been redirected to the palace.
Guards on duty down by the actual cells were a bit more focused; this time he chose to wait until it was time to switch shifts. While the guards chatted at their handoff, he eased behind them and down the hall toward where he suspected Alistair would be housed. And so it was. The cells in this area were relatively comfortable, all things considered; there were beds with proper blankets and even a table and chair.
Alistair was stretched out on his cot, his arm over his eyes.
Zevran cleared his throat, pleased to see the man jump at the sound. Alistair sat up, his eyes darting quickly, and got to his feet.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a soft voice as he moved toward the bars.
"I was in the neighborhood," Zevran replied, leaning casually against the bars.
"You were… what?"
He rolled his eyes. "I have come to speak with you."
"Oh." Alistair rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "Well, then. What is it?"
"Nessa is wondering if you had given any thought to her offer. She needs to know what you decide before she sticks her neck out for you yet again." Zevran's smile was sharp, and did not quite meet his eyes.
"I assume she's not asking herself for a reason?" Alistair paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. "She's all right, isn't she? We don't exactly get a lot of news down here."
"She is as well as can be expected. As for why — she is a busy woman. In addition, if her plan to pawn you off onto the Orlesian Wardens is to succeed, it is better it does not appear you need to communicate first. I did not exactly announce my presence on the way in, either."
"I see," said Alistair.
"So, what is it to be? A life in prison until Anora tires of dangling you as bait? Or a return to your Wardens?"
"I've had some time to think it over," Alistair said quietly. "I'll go with the Wardens, if they'll have me."
"Nessa will be pleased," said Zevran. He didn't bother to try sounding pleased himself. "One of us will be in touch, I imagine," he said, turning away.
"Are you…" Alistair started. Then he shook his head sharply. "Forget it. It's none of my business."
"Oh, this I must hear," said Zevran, turning back again. "Please, do not hold back."
"I said never mind. It's really not…"
"I cannot possibly bear the suspense." Zevran draped himself against the bars, affecting to hang on Alistair's every word. The man's ears turned pink. It was unkind, perhaps, to taunt a man while he was imprisoned. But he made it so easy.
"I was only wondering if you were going to stick around this time," he said reluctantly. "Maker knows I don't care. But Nessa does."
Zevran felt his smile slip.
"You should have heard her when she found out you were missing," Alistair continued when Zevran did not reply. "She threatened the queen's guard, when they wouldn't help — threw every title she had at them and more, and then held them at swordpoint and broke me free. I've seen her in a temper plenty of times, but never quite like that."
"Is that so?" asked Zevran quietly. His eyes flicked rapidly over Alistair's face, but there was no indication that the man was lying. He had always been pathetically straightforward.
Alistair had apparently been making some observations of his own. "Of course she didn't tell you," he said with a snort. "And you never bothered to ask what I was doing there, did you?" He shook his head as he turned away. "You are the stupidest pair of smart people I've ever met. You really do deserve each other."
