Right waited patiently while the Mines Commander looked over his paperwork. After a moment the man nodded reluctantly, and handed the papers back. "I see you have Lord Dace's daughter's seal, so I will not stop you," he said. "But be careful. Just because the beasts have pulled back from Orzammar doesn't mean there are any fewer in the Deep Roads. Either we finally have the edge, which I doubt, or the beasts are building up numbers for their next attack."
"Actually, they've made their move – on the surface," Right told him.
A nearby soldier frowned. "The surface!" he exclaimed. "But I thought the vermin never went up that far except..."
"Except during blights," the Mines Commander cut him off, looking grim, and gave the two Grey Wardens a questioning look. Right nodded, indicating that the man's guess was correct.
"Best of luck," he told them, and stepped aside to let them by.
Right felt strange as he approached the entrance to the Deep Roads; again he was doing something he'd only ever dreamed of as a child, something normally forbidden to the casteless – journeying into the Deep Roads, with darkspawn slaying in mind.
Right was glad they had a map; the Deep Roads were a confusing maze of tunnels, both the main roads dug as thoroughfares for the ancient trading traffic of the dwarven thaigs, and the hundreds upon hundreds of side tunnels –lesser roads, places where the miners had dug out ore or mined for gems, exploratory tunnels, places where the roads intersected natural cave systems, unmapped passages the darkspawn had delved in their centuries of tunnelling. They were able to stick to the main roads most of the time, except when rock falls forced them to take to the side passages to try and find a way around the blockage.
They hadn't been in the tunnels long before they had their first encounter with darkspawn. Thankfully just a handful of genlocks, easily defeated. After that came more darkspawn, and occasional run-ins with the odd creatures known as deep stalkers. Those could be dangerous if they attacked in high enough numbers, their odd worm-like heads having a tooth-filled sucker of a mouth that could easily sheer a sizable chunk of flesh out of a person. Some of them were also capable of spitting a caustic poison; it might not kill a person, but it could weaken and disorient someone enough for their mouths to do the rest.
The inhabitants of Dust Town had many nasty stories about what might happen to lone dusters who went exploring in the more disused portions of the lower city; stories that often featured gory deaths as deep stalkers swarmed a person and ate them alive. All Right knew was that the one time a small pack of deep stalkers had appeared in town, driven out of their subterranean tunnels by either hunger or the presence of a worse predator, they'd all ended up roasting over the fires of hungry dusters in pretty short order. They had a much stronger taste then nug – bordering on foul, depending on what they'd been eating lately – but they were just as edible. Not at all capable of being domesticated though, unlike nugs and brontos.
When they finally reached Lord Dace, they found him and his men on the verge of being overwhelmed by a sizable pack of the horrible creatures. Right and his group quickly waded in, and the addition of their force to Lord Dace's turned the tide; even when a second large group of dark stalkers attacked, drawn by the scent of blood from the copious corpses of the original group, they easily cut them down.
"You pulled us from a tight spot, friend. You have my gratitude. I am Lord Anwer Dace. I heard nothing of another expedition. What brings you here so fortuitously?" he asked, looking with pointed curiosity at the brand on Right's cheek and his odd assortment of companions.
"Lord Harrowmont is trying to cheat your family," Right began, already digging in his belt pouch for the relevant papers.
Anwer frowned. "What are you talking about? I've dealt with Harrowmont many times and he's always been forthright. I'm not ungrateful for your assistance, but I hope you have some evidence to back such an accusation."
"See for yourself. I brought these promissory notes," Right told him, holding them out.
"I don't understand. What could ...?" Lord Dace began, as he took the offered papers and looked at them. He stopped abruptly, eyes bulging as an angry scowl crossed his face. "These are the terms of a deal we made with Lord Harrowmont, but... the charlatan! He's promised the exact same land to Helmi!Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I owe you twice now, my life and my house's fortune."
Right nodded. "I am glad I could be of service." he said.
"May the ancestors smile on you," Anwer said, then quickly gathered up his men and started back to Orzammar.
"Not asking for his help against Harrowmont?" Alistair asked quietly once Lord Dace was well beyond earshot.
"No. I've heard Lord Dace is fairly liberal – he believes the surface dwarves should be recognized as still being dwarves, for one – but I'm casteless. If I asked for his help, he might feel honour-bound to refuse it. If I don't ask... then he's free to give me whatever help I seem to need. And besides, like I said before, I'd really prefer not to support either man. I will if I have no other choice, but... I have no idea which I'd support," Right said, looking grim again.
They explored the thaig a little more, all of them curious about the Deep Roads for different reasons. Alistair, because he knew the Calling might well bring him back here some day to die; Shale, because the mage who'd owned the golem previously had claimed to have found it somewhere down here; Right, because it was the first time he'd ever set foot in these endless tunnels that ran as much though dwarven lore and history as they did through the stone; and Zevran because they were yet another new and strange place to explore.
It was getting late and they were discussing turning back – none of them wanted to spend a night down here – when they rounded a pile of rocks and found they'd walked right up to a darkspawn encampment. Right spotted a tall form toward the back – a hurlock emissary, the usual distinctive horned helm on its head, the glow of magic already coalescing about its hands. "Mage!" he shouted, and charged forward through the gathered genlocks. Too late he saw the second emissary behind it; a genlock, easy to miss in the shadow of its taller companion until it, too, had begun to cast.
"Oh, sodding Ancestors...!" he had time to exclaim, before waves of horrible pain crashed over him and everything went black.
"Ow, my head," Right groaned, and slowly sat up, helped by a worried looking Zevran and a tired, blood-spattered Alistair. He peered blurrily around. Still at the encampment, though all the darkspawn were now messily dead, Stench nosing interestedly among the remains.
"I see I bested them even while unconscious," he said hoarsely. "I'm just that amazing."
Alistair gave a short bark of laughter. "Guess you'll live after all, if you're well enough to make jokes."
"Can you stand?" Zevran asked anxiously.
"Yeah, just... don't expect me to dance the Remigold or anything," he said, wincing as he rose to his feet, every muscle protesting. "I'm going to take this as a sign that it's past time we headed back to Orzammar," he said tiredly.
"Good call," Alistair agreed.
He needed help to walk at first; whatever had hit him had left his entire body feeling like the aftermath of the world's worst muscle cramp. Thankfully the worst of the aftereffects faded quickly, though he was still seeing double most of the way back.
Right lay sprawled on his stomach as Zevran gave him a thorough massage from head to toe, and right out to the tips of his fingers. "I knew there was some reason I let you live," Right said, smiling sleepily as the last of the painful knots relaxed. "It must have been the twelve different massage techniques that was the real selling point."
Zevran laughed softly. "And not the six different card games? How sad."
Right snorted. "Never been into cards. Not good enough to count them and I prefer my money to stay in my own pocket instead of lining someone else's."
"You know, there are card games that can be played quite enjoyable without cheating," Zevran pointed out.
"Yeah, but what would be the fun in that?"
"Good point," Zevran said, and went back to massaging Right's calves and feet.
Right groaned in pleasure, then wiggled over and sat up, crossing his legs. "Come here," he said, patting the floor in front of him.
Zevran raised an eyebrow enquiringly, but complied, moving closer to kneel in front of the seated dwarf.
"No, sitting facing away from me," Right said, and smiled. "My turn to give you a massage, I think."
"Oh? I like this idea," Zevran purred, and flipped over, sitting down cross-legged with his back to the dwarf. Right hesitantly reached out, and trying to remember what Zevran usually did in the line of back massages, started working his fingers along the elf's shoulders and around the base of his neck. He must have done it more or less right; Zevran made an appreciative sound and arched his back like a cat, leaning into the pressure of Right's fingertips.
Right frowned at the scars lacing the assassin's back. Not just scars from blades, as both of them had here and there, but long thin criss-crossing marks all up and down his back. Curious, he touched one, ran his finger along it, wondering what could have left the marks.
Zevran shivered. "I never did tell you about that last mission of mine, did I?" he suddenly said. "I suppose it is time. You have been a good friend to me, after all. There is no reason to be silent," he said, and paused briefly before continuing. "There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite an accident. My last mission before this one... did not end well," he said hesitantly.
"What happened?"
"You must realize that until that day I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often... both as an assassin and lover. One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise: A wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna. She was... a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired," he said, sighing, then fell silent. Right could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tightening.
"And you fell in love?" he asked quietly.
Zevran nodded, once, abruptly. "Rinna was special. I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It... frightened me. When Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesen to kill her," he said, pausing again before continuing, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn't care."
"But that wasn't true."
"I convinced myself it was," Zevran said, shaking his head. "Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant we found the true source of his information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all. I... wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesen convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt. We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew... and they didn't care. And one day my turn would come."
"Why would he do that?" Right asked, appalled, even as he thought of a number of reasons for why someone vindictive or manipulative enough might do so.
"To rub it in my face, perhaps," Zevran said bitterly. "That I was nothing. That she was nothing."
He fell silent for a while. Right continued massaging at his back and shoulders, though as tense as Zevran was now, it was an exercise in pointless activity. Except that he thought Zevran might at least find his touch... comforting.
Finally, Zevran spoke again. "You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? And then... this happened. And here I am," he said, turning his head to look at Right over one shoulder.
"Do you still want to die?" Right asked, his hands ceasing their movement.
"No. What I want is to begin again," he said, and turned around so he was once again kneeling facing Right. "Whatever it is I sought by leaving Antiva, I think I have found it," he said softly.
Right leaned forward, cupping Zevran's face in both hands, and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. Wordlessly they lay down, Right holding the elf in his arms, Zevran clinging to him, neither speaking again that night.