Part 36
Cumberland made Denerim look provincial. Even Antiva City was dwarfed by the sheer size of the Nevarran port. Humans of all shapes and sizes and a nearly equal number of elves hurried through the sandstone paved streets on urgent errands. The small group trailed behind Alistair and Moira, letting him use their cover story of somewhat prosperous merchants.
Moira stared around her in awe. She might be the Blight Queller, the Archdemon Slayer, the Commander of the Ferelden Grey, but she'd never seen this many people in one place in her life. She tugged at the gold collar around her neck, realizing that all the elves she saw wore some variation around their necks, some silver, some bronze, with a very few gold like hers and Zevran's. The Assassin had insisted they purchase the collars in a small town they'd come across in Nevarra. Alistair had had to do some fast talking to convince the shop owner that they were indeed his property, they just needed new collars. They had cost a great deal of their remaining money, but Moira supposed they'd get it all back when they were out of Nevarra and sold the horrid things.
When the heavy shackle was put around her neck, Moira had done her best to remain docile, but from the flinch Alistair gave when he met her eyes, she didn't think she'd succeeded. Or, he felt truly terrible about having to even pretend he owned her. She'd met Zevran's eyes and he just seemed sad for a moment before his usual cheer resurfaced. When they were away from the shop, he'd explained that the different precious metals in the collars meant level of skill. He'd made sure that she and he were collared as very skilled, indeed, indicating a high price for their servitude to explain Alistair's reluctance to part with them. It also allowed him to carry his weapons as a skilled bodyguard.
Therefore, despite her awe at the city, the fact that there were virtually no uncollared elves made her blood boil. It didn't help her temper that there were still quite a few collared humans. Most of them wore the gold collars of skilled laborers like she and Zevran, but there were still fewer of them than the elves. Alistair's scowl seemed to deepen at every collared elf and human he saw. Zevran's face was, of course, impassively blank, but from his grip on the reigns of his horse he wasn't any happier than Alistair. While she was watching, he absently raised his free hand to tug on his own collar. Wynne rode on her other side in her place as beloved aunt to Alistair and Cullen. "Just remember, it's only a ruse. And a temporary one at that."
Moira glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye as they walked their horses. "Doesn't make it easier to bear for the other elves for whom it's a reality."
"I realize that, Moira. But you cannot defeat the entire city. And if you managed, somehow, to do as Andraste did and free all of these elves, where would they go? The Dalish haven't the resources to take so many in. Their former captors would not welcome them back to pay them for the same jobs they aren't being paid for now," Wynne pointed out reasonably.
"Doesn't make it right," Moira failed to keep the petulance out of her voice.
"Of course it doesn't," Wynne said placidly. "But you have the ability to fix things in Ferelden, first." Moira understood her logic, but right then, she hated the older mage for the first time in her life.
"Wynne, by our power, we are considered lesser by birth. By my gender, I'm lesser. By my race, I'm considered barely more than an animal. And you're telling me to let it lie?" Moira's said around teeth clenched against the need to shout.
"All right, look at it from a tactical perspective, my dear. Not even you and Alistair can take on that many soldiers," she gestured with her chin to a three-man deep column marching by, their steel breastplates shining brightly in the morning sunlight. "Also, Alistair can hardly go around fighting foreign armies with impunity. It could drag Ferelden into something it cannot finish, right now."
"On that, you have a point," Moira acknowledged, her teeth still clenched.
"Then you must play your part and stop glaring at every human we meet or one of them is going to say something and force Alistair to react." Wynne's logic was inescapable, but irritating.
"Fine. I'll glare at the ground," the Chancellor of Ferelden grated out.
Wynne laughed, "If you must glare, that's a good place to start."
Moira grunted and sped up to walk next to Alistair, not much worried about protocol. "I think the docks are that way, Master."
He glanced at her, pain fleeting across his face. He looked like he was going to tell her not to call him that, but thought better of it and only said, "From the stench of salt and dead fish, you're probably right. Er, um, good girl?" Alistair attempted to grin encouragingly at her but only succeeded in looking nauseated. Perrin moved to try to walk with her, but she gestured sharply and the dog whined, ducked his head and continued to walk next to Alistair.
He steered them in the direction of the docks. Moira walked with him, trying to remind herself to be docile and that this wasn't anyone's fault. They were just trying to not call attention to themselves. "Well, well, well, what's this?" A heavily Nevarran accented voice stopped Alistair and their group in their tracks.
"Can I help you?" Alistair asked. His tone seemed polite, a merchant's tone, asking after a customer's needs.
Moira turned her head slightly to see who'd stopped them. She was careful to not be seen looking, but wanted to be prepared. The person who stopped them was a heavily made up, older woman with dyed raven hair and more jewels than Moira had ever seen on one person in her life. She was seated in a sedan chair and carried by four very large, very heavily muscled human men with silver collars. She reached down to tap one on the shoulder and they lowered her in one smooth motion. Moira felt her skin crawl as the woman's nearly colorless eyes fixed on her. The slaves held their hands out and the woman used them to climb down. The old woman approached them, her gaze still riveted to Moira. She felt Zevran grasp her hand tightly. "How much for the elf?"
Alistair crossed his arms, "They're not for sale."
Moira felt her stomach turn as the woman smiled, her yellowed teeth parting as she licked her dry lips, "For any price?"
"They're far too valuable to sell." Moira recognized the note of warning in Alistair's voice.
Her pale eyes flicked to Zevran and she smirked, "You don't even know which one I want." The woman's voice turned into a purr as she grasped Moira's chin and turned her face from side to side, examining her. Moira tried not to inhale the smell of age on the woman's breath that was stronger than even the stench of salt and dead fish from the docks. "I have rarely seen an elf of such beauty. I will give you enough gold to purchase ten women of her skill level."
She saw Alistair's fists drop to his side, clenched. Moira was doing her best to keep her rage under control before she inadvertently ripped the Fade open and threw a fireball at the disgusting woman. She could feel Wynne and Jowan gathering their will, however. "She. Is. Not. For. Sale. Get your hands off my slave."
"Surely no concubine is worth turning down that great a fortune!" she snarled.
"I'll thank you to keep your hands off what's mine!" Alistair shouted.
She jerked her hand free of Moira's chin, leaving stinging prints on her fair skin. She heard Zevran's intake of breath at the finger marks. The wretched woman rounded on Alistair. "I get what I want, young man. One way or another," she informed him coldly. She climbed back into the sedan chair, glaring at Alistair who met her eyes defiantly. The unnamed woman snapped her fingers imperiously and her slaves stood up with the chair. Still glaring at Alistair, she motioned for them to bear her away.
"Well, that could have gone better," Wynne said, allowing her mana to dissipate.
Zevran snorted, "We'd better get the hell out of Cumberland tonight. We just made a very powerful woman, very angry."
Moira stared at the ceiling in the small room they'd gotten in an inn near the harbor. It had taken them all day to find that only ship bound for Ferelden was not ready to leave for another three days to a week. And it was headed to Highever and not Denerim. Moira folded her arms across her stomach and sighed. It was better than nothing.
The wide bed was wrapped round with mosquito netting and the row of tall and wide windows along the walls ensured a cooling night breeze from off the sea and the sheer linen curtains blew inward on the gusts of wind. Crickets and crying gulls mingled with the sound of Alistair sharpening his sword on a whetstone and Perrin's snoring, the rhythm of the chorus contributing to Moira's sleepiness. Of course, the huge amount of fish and rice she'd just inhaled at dinner contributed to her lassitude, as did the half-naked elf spooned against her side, breathing deeply in his sleep, his breath tickling her neck. The heat of the night didn't help, but the sweat pooling between her breasts and beading up on the rest of her skin was the reason she was still awake at all. Zevran's body heat didn't help, either.
"We can't keep getting delayed like this, Alistair," she told the king.
The rhythm paused and resumed, "I know. Are you certain it must be Anora behind all this? The assassins, too?"
Zevran flung his arm over her stomach and she glared at the sleeping assassin before answering Alistair in hushed tones, "Unless you want to suspect Eamon of thinking he could run the country better than you?"
Alistair snorted and the sounds of him putting away the whetstone and blowing out the candles he'd been using for light answered her. Darkness filled the room, the white curtains glowing from the moonlight outside. She turned on her side to watch the tall human approach through the gauzy netting. He bent to place the sword on the floor next to the bed and stood up; he was wearing only the thin breeches he usually slept in. She pulled the linen shirt of his she'd been wearing as nightshirt down over her hips, the act of turning over and the weight of Zevran's arm had caused it to ride up. Absently, her fingers went to her neck and felt for the collar around it before remembering that she and Zevran had taken them off to sleep.
As he crept in under the netting, Alistair whispered, "I know you don't trust Eamon, love. But he wouldn't betray me like that. Not after going through so much trouble to get me on the throne." He slid his arm under her head and lay down next to her.
Moira put her own hand on his bare stomach and rested her head on his shoulder. "I hate Nevarra. It's too bloody hot to do anything."
Alistair chuckled softly, "Are you sure it has nothing to do with those ridiculous collars?"
"Those, too. Next time, you get to pretend to be the slave." She tilted her head up to him.
His eyes glinted in the dim moonlight filtering in through the room. "I thought I told you that everyone already believes I'm your slave anyway. Or at least your sex slave." He angled his head to kiss her gently.
She returned it, but settled back down to try to sleep. Ordinarily, it was wonderful sleeping between them, but it felt as if everywhere she turned, she stuck to someone else's skin. The bed was too small to separate them, not that any of them actually wanted to be even a few inches away from the other even for a night. Sleep finally arrived when Alistair's soft snoring joined Perrin's noisier snorts.
Moira woke to birds singing outside, almost drowned out by the cacophony of various merchants hawking their wares in the market square behind the inn. The sun had barely risen and already it was stifling. She was startled to find she was on the outside of the bed and not wedged between the two men. She felt the bed shift behind her and turned her head to see Alistair at her back, flat on his, still snoring softly, still sleeping. She'd only been touching his outflung arm, using it as a pillow for her head. It had been too hot to sleep with even a sheet over them so she saw Zevran's tanned arm draped across Alistair's pale stomach and the elf's half-lidded hazel eyes watched her from where he lay with his head on the other man's shoulder, mimicking her posture from last night. She must've looked confused because he whispered, "You were complaining in your sleep that it was too hot and we needed to stop touching you. But you wouldn't wake up. So our Alistair switched places with you."
Moira turned over and settled herself in against Alistair's side, her face close to Zevran's. She entangled her fingers with his and asked, "And are you all right with your sleeping arrangements last night?"
He gave her a grumpy look, "He did not think I was too hot to sleep against."
"I'm sorry, Zevran." She leaned over Alistair to kiss the other man in apology. The elf's fingers tightened over hers as he met her halfway. Zevran was an entirely different kisser than Alistair. He teased and prodded gently, Alistair was all hunger and force. And they both made her wanting more with each kiss. As she kissed Zevran, she felt a large hand on her back, gently running up and down her spine under the thin shirt. She shivered against Alistair and tightened her fingers on Zevran's and kissed him harder. Breathless, she finally separated enough from Zevran to find that Alistair had woken and was watching them.
"Fine way to wake a man up." His blond brows drew together, "What? None for me?"
Zevran laughed, "Well, if you insist…" He leaned down to kiss Alistair before the bigger man could squirm away.
Fully dressed in the scant mage robes with her collar in place again, Moira and Perrin followed Alistair and Zevran out of their room to meet the others. They were getting low on coin and needed to earn more until they could sell the ridiculous collars, or have them melted back down into the coins they'd once been. They all congregated in Wynne's and Shale's room, since it was the most centrally located. The elder mage was sitting calmly with a cup of tea at her elbow and the dwarf was sharpening her assortment of blades. It was an impressive collection and Moira wondered where she stored them all. Jowan and Cullen entered shortly after Moira and her men. The small group arrayed themselves around the room, making it seem even tinier than it was. Each of the rooms had only one bed. She figured Shale made Wynne sleep on the bed, taking the floor for herself, since the dwarf's cloak and bedroll were folded up in a corner. She wondered what Jowan and Cullen had worked out, but decided not to ask.
"Thanks to these Blighted collars, we're running low on coin. We need to start earning some."
Shale set her dagger and whetstone down to look at Moira, "Is it," she grunted, closed her eyes and sighed, then tried again, "Are you suggesting we wander around the town looking for work?"
Zevran chuckled, "It worked for us during the Blight, did it not?"
Moira shrugged, "We're stuck here for at least three days. Hopefully, no more than that. And we're going to need more than that if you want to stay in this inn and not one as secure or as nice. Or worse, camp outside the town and sleep on the ground."
Shale made a face at that, "Wynne would get no sleep that way."
"I know," Moira replied, "It's why we're in this inn in the first place."
"You can stop making special accommodations for me, Moira. I'm perfectly capable…." Wynne began, setting her teacup down in annoyance.
Alistair crossed to her quickly and went down on one knee in front of her, "Let us do this for you, Wynne. It's the least we can do. You've taken care of us; let us take care of you."
The old mage looked at the young king, her eyes searching his face. "All right. If you promise not to take foolish risks."
"Damn, there goes all my fun," the king teased.
Moira looked down at her Mabari, "Perrin, stay here and take care of Wynne. Jowan, have you learned enough to be able to heal on your own?"
"I—I believe so."
Moira nodded sharply, "Zevran and I are with Alistair, since he owns us." She rolled her eyes and Alistair scowled at the reminder. "Shale, try to keep Jowan and Cullen alive, please?"
The dwarf woman rose to her feet and sheathed her freshly sharpened sword, "I will. Where do you suggest we look first?"
"Check the Chantry. I don't think it's a good idea for me to go within ten feet of there, we don't know how they feel about mage slaves, after all."
Cullen nodded, "Good point. We should probably find that out while we're there, too. I assume we're not Grey Wardens today?"
"Unless you find other members of the Grey who will know what we are, no," Alistair told him.
"Meet back here, or send word, by noon," Moira told them by way of dismissal.