Title: Snow and Ice

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Sexual content, minor language, violence, blood, use of alcohol

Summary: Once upon a time, a maleficar had stopped the blight. Afterwards, she'd left for the colder North, leaving love for a life of loneliness and wandering. No one was to look for her. So why was Alistair calling her back? Zev/Surana

Author's Note: And we are back to where we began. Thank you for reading. Review, please.

Chapter 36

"That omniscient bitch!" Elda snarled as Zevran wrapped the bandage tighter around her hand. It was a bloody, angry red, and the blisters were swelling with liquid. Parts of the flesh were nearly burned black. She had been cursing the stranger for the last half hour. "She knew! She knew this was the hand I had burned before. She knew it!"

"You grabbed her, Warden," Zevran told her calmly. "You should not grab strangers, witches or no." His nail accidentally scraped a patch of blackened skin, and she shrieked, covering her mouth with her hand and feeling tears prick in her eyes. "Sorry."

When she tried to wriggler her fingers, the skin actually cracked, flakes of burned flesh falling to the ground. "We have to go to her now," Elda said, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. "I'll need a powerful mage to heal this mess. Infection is a distinct possibility as well."

Zevran removed another roll of bandages from his pack and began to slowly wrap the rest of the hand, weaving in and out of the skeletal, noir fingers as gently as he could. "To think that young woman was Delthea…" he said to fill the silence.

"It wasn't," Elda said quietly. "That was Delthea's daughter's body. Delthea has split her persona into two parts, two separate bodies and two separate entities. It's a hard spell to perform and even more difficult to maintain. She may be more powerful than even Flemeth." The thought was not comforting. With the help of Alistair, Wynne, and Zevran she had been able to take the woman down after the witch turned into a raging dragon hell bent on burning Elda to death. She had walked away with quite a few scars, and Alistair had broken two ribs and his leg. Elda wouldn't have the tactical advantage of a full party to fight Delthea if it came to that.

Zevran tied the bandage and then tilted her chin up with one finger. "I can see you planning out an attack, but I don't want it to come to that. If Delthea can get your powers back from that demon then we want her on our side. And we won't be going alone." The bed dipped as he stood up and grabbed a pewter cup from the dresser.

"What do you mean?" Elda demanded, letting her useless hand fall in her lap. Sharp pain shot through her as her hand made contact with her thighs. "Ow."

"I have a friend I would like to call on before we leave. She owes me a favor," he replied with his back turned. The strangest thing came over him while he was standing there. His back seemed tense as he spoke of his 'friend', and there was something strained in his voice. When he came back to the bed, his face was as empty of emotion as possible. He handed her the cup full of water. "Drink. Your body has lost liquids from the burn."

"It's an isolated burn on my hand, Zev," she told him but took the water anyway and swallowed a large mouthful. There was something coppery about it, and it reminded her of blood. Setting the cup on the bedside stand, she sighed. "We should leave soon. The more time that passes, the larger I'll get. I'll just slow us down."

"We'll leave in the morning," he told her, kissing her cheek before standing up. Lazily, he stripped his leather armor and boots until he was standing in only loose cotton pants and the small amulet around his neck. He knelt on the ground and helped her remove her own shoes, kissing each leg as he set it down. By the time he was finished, she was smiling. Almost reverently, his hands slid up the smoothness of her legs, bunching up the edge of her robes to reveal milky thighs. Yanking her closer, she fell backward onto the bed, catching herself with her elbows and feeling a twinge of pain from her hand.

Zevran lifted her up by the waist and continued to hitch up her robes well over the soft curve of her belly up to her small, plump breasts. He was straddling her hips by that point, careful not to put any weight on her for the baby's sake and helping her remove the sleeves. Eventually the cloth was bunched up and tossed over the side of the bed, and Zevran shifted so that he was lying beside her, thumb caressing her cheek, nose pressed against the crook of her neck and breathing in the scent of spice and incense. Her unwrapped hand curled around his tattooed bicep, and she turned into his warmth, snuggling against his shape and fitting perfectly into his arms. Just like that they fell asleep.

…

When she woke up the next morning it was to a buffet of arranged meats and dried fruits. Zevran was in his respective corner sharpening his blades as he was wont to do and gave her a kiss when she woke up. After eating, she quickly yanked on her clothes and weapons and lugged her backpack onto her shoulder. Unfortunately her armor had been consumed in the fire. All she had left were her very expensive battle robes and a few civilian outfits to blend in. Reluctantly she grabbed her staff as they paid for their room and headed further into the heart of Antiva.

Zevran was very tight-lipped about his friend that they were going to see. All that Elda could surmise was that she obviously lived in a very poor neighborhood. Diseased homeless on the street begged her for coin as she passed, children running about in rags, the smell of urine and garbage getting stronger with each footstep. Though it was probably very poor manners, Elda actually had to cover her nose as her eyes watered. When at last Zevran stopped, it was at a very large door to a very small house painted red with a warning written in blood across it. Zevran put a hand on her arm.

"It's best if you don't talk and just stay behind me," he said. "Arcelle has volatile staff."

"I'm with you," she said, nodding. He squeezed her hand once before knocking three times, very short and sharp raps with his knuckles. Moments later the door opened.

The human that answered towered over them in all respects. If not for his light skin, Elda would have though him to be Qunari. His chest had to eclipse her at least twice. Huge, green eyes rolled about in his head, a beer belly sticking out over his belt that was cinched just a little too tight. When he spotted Zevran, his eyes seemed to roll back in his head for a moment, lips pulling back to snarl with green teeth.

"What are you doin' back here, elf?" he roared in a booming voice. He spoke in Ferelden, which Elda found strange. "Arcelle don't want nothin' to do with you. Now get!" Just before he shut the door, Zevran moved faster than she had ever seen him move in her life. From his belt he plucked a dagger and slammed it into the door, the tip sinking into the soft wood and staying there, Zevran's fist curled around the hilt. Next his foot was wedged in between the door and the frame, and he stared up at the man with smoldering eyes. In that moment, he was bigger than the giant could ever be.

Snarling something in Antivan, Zevran took a step forward, the human backing up humbly with wide eyes. He mumbled in response, and Zevran yanked the knife from the door. He spat his next words, and then turned to her.

"Come quickly now," he said, reaching to grab her hand. "We're not welcome here."

She wanted to question exactly why they were going inside then, but simply followed silently, trusting that he knew what he was doing. The grotesque man regarded her with a sneer as she walked past him.

The inside of the hovel was disastrous. Trash and litter was piled in every corner, the smell of rot and garbage nearly overwhelming. Dead rats leaked juices all over the floor, full of moss and decay, spilled liquor glinting from a few sparse candles that lit the long hallway they were padding silently through. Laughter through closed doors could be heard, and Elda wondered just what kind of place Zevran was taking her to. Suddenly she understood his apprehension. Whoever lived in this place was certainly no honorable person. Criminals, she assumed, that owed Zevran something.

Further down the hall they moved, feet quiet on the cold, eroded stones. She scarcely breathed, feeling for perhaps the first time in a while, genuine fear. She had no idea of what to expect and only the dagger in her belt to protect herself. Competence with a blade as something she had learned over time, but it was just that. She was competent, not skilled. Zevran's hand tightened around hers as though to quell those thoughts, and they came upon a door.

Black paint was smeared across the oak, the faint scent of perfume and incense wafting from beyond the entrance. Zevran didn't bother to knock. He opened the door and then yanked her to the side as an arrow went whirling right past her head, burying itself to the hilt in the wall behind them. Her back hit the wall hard, heart kicking up a notch as she had just narrowly avoided death. Zevran craned his head around the door and spoke.

"Arcelle, I know you don't really want to kill me," he said in a teasing voice that Elda felt was totally inappropriate for the situation. A raucous laughter erupted from the from behind them, high-pitched and vicious. Suddenly Elda was jerked backward by the arm, yanking it nearly out of the socket as she resisted immediately. A great force smashed against the back of her legs, and she pitched forward onto her knees, reaching out for Zevran only to feel the point of a blade against her throat and cold armor at her back. From her vantage point, she could see only a male elf with a somber expression on his face in the room they had been trying to enter. It wasn't Arcelle at all that was shooting the arrows.

The woman chuckled behind her, nuzzling against her ear. Elda tried not to grimace at the sensation. "You know how to pick them, Zev. You always did. Young, beautiful, and absolutely stupid. That was the problem with Rinna, you know. No vision, no brains. Just a pretty face."

"Arcelle, I'm not here to kill you," Zevran said, still tucked into the corner by the door. If he moved, he could be shot in the back by the male elf. "I'm here to ask for your help."

"My help? How stupid do you think I am, duster?" she spat. "The Crows have been after my hide for years and then you show up at my door with this little whore in tow?"

"Watch your mouth, dwarf," Elda growled, feeling the blade bite deeper into her neck. The skin broke, and a droplet of blood fell to the floor.

"Oh, she understands that word," Arcelle chuckled. "I like you, Zev, so I'm offering you the chance to leave with only a few new scars. I told you not to come 'round here again when you told me you were with the Crows. You're bringing this on yourself. Give me the girl, and you walk."

Elda snorted. "You must be lyrium-addled."

"I'm not giving my wife away," Zevran growled, looking rather like a trapped animal. In his eyes, though, Elda could see his mind working quickly. A lover perhaps, but he was above all an assassin. "I'm not with the Crows any longer. We're both aiming to put an end to them forever which is why I am here."

"I don't believe you," the dwarf snarled in her soprano voice. "And I'm reluctant to believe for a moment that this pregnant bitch is your wife. I know you, Zevran, and you're as likely to fall in love as a bronto."

Grabbing the armored woman's glove, Elda dug her nails into the dwarf's arm. She met Zevran's eyes in the dark corridor, and most imperceptibly, he nodded. Elda threw her elbow back and struck the dwarf in the ribs, hard. At the same time, she jerked the knife away from her throat to avoid grievous injury as Arcelle put a hand to her side in pain. Zevran threw his weight against the door, shutting it with a bang. Elda pulled out her knife and plunged her fingers into Arcelle's pretty blonde hair, yanking the woman back. Arcelle shrieked and turned around to strike at her with the dagger in her hand, but Elda dodged and put her knife to the dwarf's throat instead.

Arcelle ceased all movement, tense and ready. "Drop the knife," Elda ordered. The dwarf let it go reluctantly, the dagger landing with a clatter on the ground.

"Now, you're going to order the elf behind this door to cease fire, and then we'll go and have a little talk," Elda said calmly.

"I'd sooner see you dead, Crow," she snarled in response.

"We're not with the Crows," Zevran told her, exasperated. "We're going after Delthea, and we need your help."

Elda relaxed for a moment as the dwarf furrowed her brows in confusion. At least they had gotten through to her a little bit. Arcelle peered upward at Zevran suspiciously. "And why would you be after her? What's a witch got that you want?"

"The ability to give me back my powers," Elda answered. "I'm a mage."

Arcelle snorted. "I thought I smelled the stench of blood beneath that bandage." Anger forced Elda to tighten her grip on the knife.

"Did you catch the smell of burned flesh?" she adjusted her fingers so that a bit of the blackened skin showed through, soaked in a poultice that was supposed to be knitting the flesh but only made it sticky and uncomfortable. Blood had stained the bandage from her movements, but she didn't feel the pain. She hardly felt anything with it anymore. "Courtesy of Delthea."

"Looks dead," Arcelle made a disgusted face. "Odd for a witch to burn a witch, but I never did understand mages."

"Well, Arcelle? Are you curious enough to talk peacefully, or must we negotiate with knives at each other's throats?" Zevran asked, interrupting Elda's filthy response.

Silence filled the air, and Elda could tell the woman was thinking about it. Her face became pensive, lips pursed. Dark eyes grew more serious until eventually she yelled something in Antivan, and Zevran visibly relaxed. Soft footsteps on the other side of the door could be heard as the elf approached, and then the golden knob was turned to reveal a very confused young bowman. He inquired something of her, and when she replied a bit waspishly, he shot Zevran a glance before walking down the hallway.

"Fine then, tell me your story," Arcelle snapped. "I'll listen, but I don't promise you anything."

Elda took the knife away from her throat and stowed the weapon in her belt. Zevran chuckled, and they both followed her into the room with the black door, sat down, and told her a rather made up story. Of course they couldn't really tell her that Elda had released a demon on the world to save Zevran's life. Instead, they told her a portion of the truth. As far as Arcelle knew, the demon was summoned by a different mage, and it had stolen Elda's powers. Zevran was sure to emphasize the catastrophe that Ikilai could cause upon the world and told her that only Delthea could give Elda her powers back and stop the demon. Arcelle took it all with a skeptical look on her face, which was rather pretty for such a gruff personality.

Her hair was blonde and pulled into a bun atop her small, circular head. Oghren would have approved of her body, cushioned and shapely as any dwarf woman's was. Branded on her cheek from the day she was born was that tattoo that named her casteless, circled with garish, blue tattoos that covered one eye entirely. Her lips were thin, eyes a deep green, and face thoughtful. She ordered them wine and commanded them to drink, though Elda was careful to delicately sniff hers first. Let it not be said that Zevran's teachings had gone over her head. When the tale was finished, Arcelle sat back on her chair, legs swinging off it like a child's would, and smacked her hand on the desk.

"Ancestor's think me a fool, but I think you might be telling the truth, Salroka," she told Zevran, reverting to the affectionate dwarven nickname instead of 'duster'. "That's quite the story. It's nearly too fantastical for your mind, Zev."

"And just the other day, Elda was telling me I had a grand imagination," he said cheerfully.

"No, you were telling me that I lacked one," Elda reminded him.

"Oh, yes! That was it," he smiled at her before glancing at Arcelle. "So will you help us, Arcelle? If we can eliminate this demon threat, we can take over the Crows. I can remove any evidence that you ever existed. You can get back to your life, away from these filthy thugs, back into the silks that you once possessed. Such beauty should not go to waste."

"Well, you certainly haven't run out of hot air in the last couple of years," she rolled her eyes. She spoke to Elda, jerking her head in Zev's direction. "To think that you want to marry this hopeless flatterer."

"I've been thinking that myself," Elda teased him.

Arcelle hopped off her chair, tiny legs circling her desk and going to the far wall, leaning back. "If….if there's a chance that I can get out of here, I'll help you. I didn't leave Orzammar and come here just to live like I did when I was casteless. Count me in."

Elda sighed and leaned back into her chair, relieved. Zevran stood and put a hand on her shoulder. "You won't regret this, Arcelle."

"I better not, Crow," she said, opening her green eyes and staring at him hard. "Aye, I'll help you get what you want, but in return I want my name cleared from the record books of the Crows. If I get wind that they've got one tiny bit of information on me, I'll send my entire gang against you and your pregnant missus. Got that?" She stepped forward, kicking off from the wall, a tiny thing but so very confident.

Zevran grinned with pointed teeth. "Meet us at the inn tomorrow. We leave at dawn."

Sorry for the delay, but I bought Fable 3 and forgot about this...again. Thanks for reading. Review please.