Jostling roughly in a cramped caravan would have soured the moods of any travelers, but thirteen antsy Crows in tight quarters – and two up front with the horses – made for an uncomfortable trip, even with the promise of a high payout just days away.
After their night at the Pearl, Zevran had spilled out of bed right at sunrise. Digging into his eyes with the heels of his hands, he muttered something about needing to meet with the contract's client later that morning. Then, he rounded the corner too sharply and slammed his shoulder hard into the wood-lined wall. Even worse than the rapid succession of shots, he'd drunk much more than Kalya, likely without having eaten. He had to be hurting.
When Zev had gathered his pants in the next room, Kalya heard him hesitate a moment. The floorboards betrayed his movements back to the bedroom, but before he could creak back around the corner, she rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. He left the room without so much as another word.
The trip west with the Crows had taken longer than expected. Their marks were on the move, and the caravan received communications of their recent positions at every small town they passed through.
Zevran had shared nearly nothing about the task with the group, much to the grumbling of the younger Crows. The older career assassins kept their mouths shut, sharpening their weapons around the fires at night without so much as a grunt to the others. Kalya had taken a hint from them, silenced partly by nerves and partly by excitement of her first assignment.
When they'd worked through their food reserves, days were spent hunting and trading off cooking duty, the latter of which Kalya abhorred, relegating herself to plucking, prep work, and extra hunting shifts. They occasionally had to fight off a desperate gang of bandits foolish enough to attack Crows, but the savagery they brought upon outsiders only served to sharpen their excitement.
Thankfully, in the rare chances he could have, Zevran never spoke about their night together. Even so, on more than one occasion, as they jostled over the rocky terrain of the West Road, she caught him staring at her from across the caravan right before blinking away.
After a little over a week on the road, Kalya noticed a change in Zevran. They'd stopped at a town for supplies, and a child with a black band around his arm furtively handed Zev a missive when he thought no one looked on.
That night at camp, the fire glowing through her tent's thin canvas awoke her, and she shuffled to her feet, set to extinguish it. When she opened the flaps, she saw Zevran hunched on the stump of a tree, hands raked through his hair, staring out into nothingness. Part of her itched to join his side, to talk, to something, to help dissipate whatever burden furrowed his brow, but what would she possibly say? She closed the tent flap and silently returned to her bedroll.
Zevran rose before everyone, too. At mealtimes, he rarely left the spread of maps and dossiers positioned throughout his tent every time they made camp, waving away anyone who brought him his rations.
Finally, on the road a few days later, Zevran peered through the caravan's back flap and shouted for the drivers to slow. He hopped out the back and navigated the wagon's position into the crook of a crescent-shaped outcropping of hills before calling the rest of the Crows out to join him.
Under his direction, the group unpacked the empty crates they'd been sitting on and situated them messily around the half-valley. Then, as delicately as they could, they overturned the caravan, so the soft top butted up against the sheer rock face of the southernmost cliff walls. The wooden bottom faced outwards, with only the very back of the caravan accessible through the now-sideways flap.
The sun beat down from its highest point in the sky as they worked, a rare day of comfortable weather in Ferelden made uncomfortably sweaty by manual labor. But the thrill of something finally happening buzzed through the air as if it were electrified. When Zevran was satisfied with the stage set before him, he gathered the Crows before him, their energy nearly at its bursting point.
For the moment, hands on his hips and chest held high, he almost looked like he used to, when he would task Kalya in empty warehouses with her next hit. Commanding, confident. She supposed having so many masks at one's disposal was an essential element for living so long as an assassin.
"Our marks are to arrive within the next several hours," he began. "We got word a few days ago that they're joined by some civilian companions. Able to elude us this far, they likely have a bard in their midst, but nothing Crows can't handle."
Some of the Crows exchanged knowing smirks. A dwarven man stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the sun. "'Civilian'? Are the traitors military?"
"The dossiers had this as 'need-to-know,' but I suppose we're just hours away. If you're a flight risk now, we'll just kill you next." Zevran let out a deep breath. "The traitors are Grey Wardens."
A hush fell over the Crows.
All the air escaped Kalya's lungs. Her pulse quickened, leaving her dizzy. There was no way. There were hundreds of Grey Wardens killed in the Battle of Ostagar. If just two had escaped, there was little chance it was…
"Do you know their names?" She heard her own voice ask before she realized she had spoken aloud.
A few in the crowd snickered, nervous and grateful for a relief from what must have been running through their minds.
Zevran, too, allowed himself the crack of a smile. "We weren't provided that information."
Kalya opened her mouth to say more, but Zevran continued. "Two Wardens and four civilians, including a bard, against 15 Crows. It's almost unfair to them."
Confident chuckles reverberated again through the group. Kalya's knees felt weak. Her thoughts fuzzed, aloft with wild hope while reason attempted to calm her. It wasn't him. It wasn't Alistair. But what if it was? Would she run to him? Would she shout a warning? Would she run off again like in Highever, like a coward?
Lost in thoughts, her eyes snapped back to Zevran when she realized he was at last explaining his plan.
"…as if by bandits. One of you shall meet them on the road and lead them to this valley." Kalya's hand shot up. Zevran glared at her out the side of his eye, then pointed ahead of him. "Travella. We'll need her long-range magic if the Wardens distrust us."
Zevran gestured to a small group clumped around an overturned crate.
"You five will flank from the ridge when Travella has brought the marks deep enough and I give the signal." He looked to his left. "You four will complete the pincer attack from the other side. The rest of us," he nodded to the remaining Crows, including Kalya, "we will mount a frontal attack like a battering ram. This is going to be fun, boys."
Chatter rose up amongst the Crows. Nervous energy set a few of them bouncing and juking around one another. Zevran quieted them a final time, calling on Kalya's friend who rose from her seat on a crate with a huge smile.
"Jez, you will act as lookout." He pointed to the northernmost outcropping of rock – the highest point in the crescent moon of hills. "Give the signal when they're within distance, and Travella will move to intercept. Until then," he turned back to the group, "you're free to relax as you wish."
For a solid few minutes, Kalya stood motionless. That night so many months ago in the Pearl – the last night she had seen Riordan alive, a shell of the man she'd trained with – he had mentioned the Grey Warden traitors, the rumor that some had survived. A rumor he hadn't believed.
With a gulp, she remembered Riordan was to meet with Loghain Mac Tir to learn more of the conspiracy against the king, a meddling that had likely gotten Riordan killed. But did his disappearance mean the rumors of Warden treachery were false, and the true perpetrator was taking out anyone who doubted the tale? Or was Mac Tir simply cashing in one more Grey Warden life as payment for the lives of his soldiers and king?
Well, if Riordan hadn't believed the rumor, neither did she. She scanned the half-moon valley to find Zevran climbing the small outcropping of rocks to the east, in the center of the crescent. Scrabbling after him, she met him at the apex as he looked into the distance, in the opposite direction the Wardens were supposed to be coming.
"Grey Warden traitors don't make sense," she began.
"Do you see that?" He pointed past a copse of trees on the plains far from the rocky cliffside. At first, she saw nothing, but when she squinted her eyes, she could just make out a blackened, slow-moving group of… something. Dark and wrong.
"Zevran, did you hear me?"
"Those are darkspawn." His eyes stared dead ahead, never meeting hers. "Do you think they're headed this way?"
A chill ran up her spine. She'd never seen one in person. Squinting again, she could just barely make out their unnatural ambling. Like wounded, broken humans, but also very much not. With an unconscious shiver, she was grateful they were so far away.
Zevran continued, his voice eerily even. "Their presence will draw the Wardens to us, but I'd feel better if they stayed east."
He turned to the southeast and pointed. "There's a stream over there, and more rocky cliffs. Probably some caves if the maps are correct."
"Zevran, I think we're being set up. Or used or something. The Wardens would never turn on their king –"
"They don't serve a king." He never tore his eyes away from the trees blowing softly in the wind across the plains.
"Well, they wouldn't endanger their own like that. Something is weird about this. It's wrong."
"Yes," he said, finally snapping his gaze to hers. "I asked you to take another contract."
"I know, but –"
"Animals flee when the darkspawn are near. The caves will be empty."
With that, he turned to his left and started back down the rocks, towards the upturned caravan.
He called up to her. "Stay up here, won't you? Help Jez be lookout."
That Kalya would gladly do. She found a mossy rock and settled, cross-legged, atop it. From here, she could keep an eye on the darkspawn and the road that would carry the Grey Wardens right to them.
:::
A half-hour passed. Then a full hour. The Crows below were getting positively restless. Kalya could hear Zevran admonishing several for wasting nervous energy sparring with one another. Her eyes hurt from squinting northwest towards the road, hoping to get a glimpse of the Wardens before Jez did. She didn't know what she'd do if she saw them, but still…
The darkspawn were disorganized, ambling in one direction, breaking apart, closing back together, and then wandering back along another route. For a long while, they were headed east, a couple hundred meters away and moving farther. The mouth of the crescent-shaped outcropping opened in the opposite direction, keeping the Crows sheltered, but if the darkspawn suddenly rushed west and caught their scent, their only exit would be blocked.
Which is exactly what they did. A lump rose to Kalya's throat as she watched them suddenly gain speed westward, headed right for them. Still a hundred or so meters away, the darkspawn were on a direct course for the southernmost edge of the crescent. Half an hour away at most. She was just about to shout a warning into the valley, when Jez gave a few short whistles, like the trill of a bird.
To the northwest, six figures traversed the well-worn road. Each had helmets on, even the civilians, which did nothing to quiet Kalya's frantic heart. In the valley below, Zev nodded to Travella, and she began limping out of the half-moon outcropping, waving her hands frantically to the Wardens beyond.
Kalya skidded down the rocks as the others got into position. In the distance, she could just make out the two Wardens in front intercepting Travella, her hands raised in defense. One Warden shook a long braid of raven-colored hair loose as she approached. The other removed his helm with a snap, revealing perfectly tousled sandy-blond hair that stopped Kalya's heart. She staggered back half a meter before catching herself on the side of a boulder. It was him. She would have recognized him anywhere. It didn't make sense, but Alistair was alive.
After a moment's gaping, she ran straight for Zevran in the crowd of four below – her crowd, the battering-ram frontal attack – stopping just before knocking into him.
"Zev, we can't…" She couldn't gulp down enough air to catch her breath. "These Wardens aren't traitors. We have to call this off!"
He took her by the shoulders in a move so swift and rough, she nearly cried out. With a frantic look left and right to make sure none in the group could hear him, he leaned in to whisper. "Kalya, I need you to leave the valley. Run south, then east. Follow the stream. Hide in a cave until the fight is over, then return to the Crows in Denerim."
She shook her head, still panting. "Darkspawn. They're nearly on us. Zevran, we need the Wardens to fight them and–"
"That isn't an option." Cursing under his breath, he pushed her backwards, slamming her into the upturned caravan. Pain shot up her spine.
"What the fuck?!" She wriggled against his grip, but couldn't move her arms.
"Hide in the caravan. Don't move until they're gone. They'll sense the darkspawn after the ambush and take care of them. Then you can escape."
"There shouldn't be a fight! Let go of me!" Zevran turned over one shoulder to see Travella rounding the northern cliff edge with the marks in tow.
Clutching her biceps painfully in his grip, he maneuvered her around the caravan's base and crammed her into the sideways slitted opening. She kicked out her feet wildly as she fell backwards, hoping to make contact, but he dodged out of the way.
"Don't make a sound. Kalya…" His eyes filled with angry tears as she squirmed to right herself against the rocky canvas beneath her. "Do this one last thing for me. Please."
Zevran turned on his heel and headed back to the group to prepare their frontal attack. A moment later, a crack of magic electrified the air, setting her hair on end. Everything smelled of ozone. The battle had begun. Shouts of the three groups running towards the Wardens set her scrambling to the slit to peer out.
Travella was already down, sliced from shoulder to ribs by the female Warden. Their bard was equipped with a bow and arrow, making quick work of the assassins on the ridge as fast as she could nock. An apostate of their own helped her take out Crows in the longer-range. Alistair turned his attention to the pincer attack coming around his right, joined by a dwarf who was cutting down Crows nearly as quickly as his companion, with a wild, berserk energy. Whinnying frantically, the caravan's horses that had been sloppily tied to a crate got spooked by the commotion and galloped out of the valley.
It was a massacre. Kalya's breath caught in her throat. She had been about to cry out when she saw Jez falling under the dwarf's sword.
Kalya saw now that Zev had saved the most talented Crows for the battering ram. The final "civilian" was a giant qunari, who battled one of the senior Crows. The bard and the apostate split away from the group, circling around the sides of the valley walls as they took out their attackers. Soon they'd be behind Zevran and his men.
Done with the ones to his right, Alistair took on two more Crows from the frontal attack. He parried their slashes easily with his shield in a resounding clang of metal against metal before delivering blow after fatal blow.
Zevran was evenly matched against the female Warden, deftly catching her sword between two blades and redirecting the energy away. He danced around her, bending backwards under her swings. The spark of fight seemed to breathe life into him, ducking effortlessly just out of reach with a smirk and a cluck of his tongue.
But in the span of an instant, his resolve wicked away. Two men lay dead before Alistair, and he turned to take on the Crow next to Zevran. They were the final two left standing.
It didn't even look like Alistair had broken a sweat. Zevran noticed, too, and with a furtive look over a shoulder towards the caravan, he slid sloppily to his left. Kalya knew his fighting style like she knew her own. This misstep was as purposeful as a feint in Wicked Grace, but not one you'd do against a Warden. Not one you hoped to come back from. He was throwing the fight. Alistair sliced through the one Crow, and on the upswing, caught Zevran by the chin with the pommel of his sword, knocking him backwards with a crack.
The thunk of an arrow hitting wood staggered Kalya back a few steps into the caravan. Foolishly, she ran back to the slit, searching for the bard, when another arrow whirred into her, catching her in the shoulder. Hot, stabbing pain radiated down her arm. Every flex of muscle, every quirk of her fingers sent bolts of angry agony throughout. Inhaling deeply, Kalya willed the distraction away, as Zevran had taught her.
With both arms painfully held out in front of her, she deigned to reveal herself through the slit, now face-to-face with the bard – a human with strawberry hair and a sunburst on her armor.
"Please! I surrender! Please don't –" Kalya's eyes darted to where Zevran now lay on the ground. Alistair stood just to his right, and the female Warden was raising her sword high above her head, tip pointed downward, a meter above Zevran's heart.
"Alistair!" Kalya couldn't help herself screaming out his name. His head jerked towards her, and strange disbelief creased his brow. He blinked his eyes, as if clearing them from a dream. She wanted to run towards him, but the Grey Warden woman next to him was only momentarily distracted.
She lifted the sword again, and Kalya could more clearly see the crest on the front of her armor. A crest she had come to know very well for six months of her life, back in Highever. Intertwining green ferns on a field of blue. She knew this woman. This woman was supposed to be her.
Shuddering from the pain in her shoulder, Kalya drew in a shaky breath. Right before the woman slammed her sword into Zevran's heart, Kalya raised her good arm and screamed out, "WARDEN COUSLAND!"