A/N: Thanks to Mackillian for fighting against her need to sleep and through the grammar of this chapter *hugs*


Chapter 54: Separation

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"Say, Leliana, was there something you did enjoy about being a bard?"

Zevran looked over to her as he walked beside her following Lenya over the rough Gherlen Pass to Orzammar.

Her eyebrows creased to a confused frown. "Why do you ask?"

"I just think that we have much in common, my dear. And with that, I don't mean only our beauty and grace while fighting. It was quite impressive how pinpointed your arrows were, despite the wind. They trained you well, I see."

Leliana groaned, annoyed. "That again? You won't give up until I have told you, I assume?"

His smile widened to a grin. "Ah, you know me quite well, it seems. But is it so odd of me to think so? We both are foreign to these lands, have grown up and lived in places other than Ferelden. You are a bard and I, an assassin."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "But I'm a native Fereldan. I was born and lived here until fate brought me to Orlais when I was very young." The tone in her voice gave away that she found great importance in making this fact known and clear to the elf.

"Ah, yes, fate. Bad thing, that." Zevran chuckled and pointed at Lenya's back. "Just look at our lovely Warden for a second. Not long ago, she was blissfully unaware of the Blight, was a normal, if lovely, Dalish woman living in the woods with her clan. Now, only a few months later, she's one of two Wardens left and killed an ogre today without so much as blinking."

"And not long ago, I spared your life," Lenya replied in a matter of fact tone, without turning around to him. "Everyone makes mistakes, it seems."

"A very fortunate mistake, if I might add. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to enjoy this wonderful trip with such wonderful company." Zevran looked up at the blue sky and blinked at the bright light blinding him. "Even the weather has cleared up now and is marvelous... for Ferelden's standards."

Shale's rhythmical stomping on the frozen ground came to a slight halt as she took the time to glower at the elf. "It won't stop talking until I stomp on it, huh?"

Sten gave a snort. "No. Unfortunately."

There was a brief pause before the golem turned her head and looked at the Dalish. "Am I allowed to stomp on it, then?"

Lenya couldn't help but to grin, amused at that. "No, not now. You will be the first to know if I should change my mind."

"Hmph," Shale said, tone disappointed. "The painted Warden is no fun."

"And rather cruel to someone as charming as me." Zevran tsked, but smiled at the same time as he turned back to Leliana. "So were you often called upon to kill as a bard?"

She hesitated to answer and glanced forward to the wide horizon where the thick, carved stones of Orzammar came slowly into sight. She sighed. "Yes. I didn't like it, but I did it anyway."

Zevran couldn't believe hearing that. "You didn't like it? You didn't like the thrill of the hunt?"

Leliana couldn't hinder the smile sneaking into her features. "I suppose I did like that part."

"Ah, yes, most understandably so. The killing just signals the end of the hunt, after all. It might be the needed part, but more delightful is what comes before that." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You killed your marks cleanly, I hope."

"Whenever possible."

The elf nodded in agreement. "Good, when the prey is caught, it deserves a good, clean death."

"Ugh." Lenya let out a disgusted noise at the turn of their conversation.

"Ah, you disagree, my dear Warden?" Zevran asked in a slight mocking tone, one eyebrow raised. "I think you are no stranger to this particular thrill. You have been a Dalish hunter before, yes?"

The Dalish huffed. "Yes, I was hunting animals. For my clan. So that they had something to eat. Also, I learned to fight to protect my clan from any danger."

"Animals, huh?" He laughed. "I see." He let his voice deliberately drop to a low murmur, so that only Lenya would hear him. "But you know the feeling of wind through your hair when you chased after a deer or a rabbit, yes? The blood pumping through your veins, intoxicated from adrenaline and the excited rush while you hunt. Or do you not?"

The elf watched with a smug satisfaction how her muscles impulsively tensed at his words, an involuntary gasp escaping her lips, even. He chuckled. "Thought so."

Lenya whirled around with an exasperated huff and glared at him. Without a further word, she stalked off in the direction of the marketplace in front of Orzammar, which only fueled Zevran's amusement more.

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Since their last visit just a few weeks ago, the marketplace seemed to have become even more lively.

Various merchants tried to trump each other in volume as they commended their supplies to the present customer, which ended in a loud, unintelligible tangle of voices. The cold wind carried the mouthwatering smell of roasted nugs, vegetables, and bread to Lenya's nose, making her stomach lurch and protest in hunger.

She tried to forget that she hadn't eaten properly in days and push the urge aside to concentrate on the bustling area before her. Instead, she let her eyes sweep to find the human they have been searching for.

The shemlen called Faryn was easy to spot over all the dwarven merchants. He stood in front of his cart loaded with weapons and armor and apparently tried to talk an interested customer into buying a sword.

Lenya arched an eyebrow at the picture. How ironic.

Sten stepped to her side, noticing where her eyes lingered, and huffed when he discovered the meager human. Without warning, the Qunari strode with fast and angry steps toward the man, grasped him by his collar and suspended him in the air.

"Where is my sword?"

Faryn was unable to talk, only able to struggle and gasp in the Qunari's iron grip. The dwarf that had been standing at his stand and looking at a sword before fled as fast as he could, leaving the blade to fall, clattering, to the ground. Some of the other merchants close to Faryn were even crying out for the guards.

"Sten, we spoke about this." Lenya let out a sigh, tsking as she slowly walked up to him. "Shemlen are not very talkative when strangled to death." She smiled sweetly at her giant companion. "Leave that for afterward, okay?"

He grunted in displeasure and let the human fall to the ground, who scrambled back in shock until he met the solid wood of his cart. Without taking his eyes from the Qunari, he pulled himself up, breathing frantically. "W-w-who are you people?"

"I think it is our turn to ask the questions," Lenya said, arms crossed and glaring. "If you cooperate you might come out of this unscathed."

"A-a-are you..." The man swallowed hard to gather his nerves. With it, his back straightened and he put his chin defiantly up to her. "Who are you? Some knife-eared wench trying to rob me?"

"Ah, a racist crack like that never gets old, no?" Zevran kept his tone neutral, but the brief, glowering look he gave the human belied his words.

Instead of confronting the human for his insult like Lenya used to do, she only sighed. She was tired, mentally and physically exhausted from the prior night, and had no desire to make the conversation any more complicated or longer than it already was. She looked at Sten with a cool, uncaring glance. "I've changed my mind. Rip him apart, and then we search through his useless frippery for your sword when he is dead."

"If the Qunari doesn't want to do this, I could stomp on it," Shale said.

Zevran shook his head, amused at that. "You, my stone friend, seem to have an unholy obsession with stomping on living things lately. Not that I'm complaining. As long this excludes me, of course."

Shale only heaved her stony shoulders. "I just like the sound fleshy things make under my heel." She chuckled. "Squiiiish."

Faryn nearly keeled over at the sight of both Sten and Shale coming closer, all previous bravado forgotten. Just before the Qunari reached out to grab him once more, he squeaked, panicking. "T-take everything. I don't care. It is stolen anyway."

"Stolen, hmm?" Leliana frowned at him. "This is not how a merchant should make business."

"Uninteresting," Sten said with a growl and shook the man like a puppet, even without lifting him up. "Where is my sword?"

"A sword? I have many swords, as you see." Faryn gulped at the blank stare of the Qunari on him: emotionless, stoic, and ready to kill. "P-pick the one you want. Please."

Sten only gave a snort. "I don't care for your useless human forks. I want my sword." He shook him again, the shift in his expression toward anger ever so slight. "It belongs to me!"

"Oh... that." The man blinked as realization dawned him. "I... I don't have it! I swear by Andraste's knickers! I sold it on the way here!"

Sten loosened his grip on the man, faintly aware of the sound of rustling armor coming closer. His stare still bored into the human and he did not look or inch away, even as he heard how Leliana started to argue with the arriving guards. "Where is it?"

"A dwarf near Redcliffe bought it. Dwyn, I think his name was."

Sten spun on his heels without giving the human a second glance. "Then we are traveling to Redcliffe."

Lenya groaned and rolled her eyes as she hurried after the already retreating Qunari.

Here we go again.

She stepped in his way, hindered him from walk onward. Hands propped on her hips, she glowered up to him. "No!"

"No?" he asked, a bit bemused by the attitude of that little person in front of him. He shifted his weight to the other leg and decided to play along. "How will you stop me from doing so?"

"I killed an ogre not much earlier today. So, if needed, I'm going to kick your giant ass, too."

He couldn't deny that this elf—little, boisterous and annoying as she was—had achieved this. He had been there, almost right beside her, as she plunged the blade into the neck of the behemoth. Even unwanted, Sten's lips twitched into something akin to a smile. It lasted only for a fleeting moment, washed away by the alien feel of melancholy and longing that he hid behind his stoic mask. "I need—"

"Yeah, I get that, Sten." Lenya's stance became more relaxed and less like an animal ready to pounce on something. "You need your sword, but you are not alone here, remember? We have business here."

He snorted. "The only business that should matter is the Blight."

"Exactly." She nodded with a tired sigh. "So don't run blindly in need after your sword, when our business is all but there."

He watched her for a long moment, somehow surprised that she did not wither under his cool gaze like that human before. "You say that, elf. And yet I don't see how coming here helps."

"You benefited from this, as well." The soft tone had subsided from her voice, as the irritation at his behavior became too overbearing. "We have discussed that before and I'm tired of repeating myself. Go, if you want, but I'm not following your giant, egotistic ass up to Redcliffe. I have business here!" Without waiting for a reply, the Dalish whipped around and stormed away toward Orzammar's gates.

"We are leaving."

Leliana hesitated. "B-but... what about Sten?" Her eyes flung over to him, noticing his unmoving form, almost like a statue framed by the bright midday sun. As Lenya left no doubt that she didn't care for her objection, nor did Sten showed any signs of following, the bard had no other choice but to run after her companions.

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"Ah, so this is Orzammar. It is a bit... stony, no?" Zevran looked around in the great hall of heroes, his eyes marveling over the molten red-glowing lava at the side, and then to the high-arching stone ceiling above. "And grand. Ironically so, for people so little."

"It speaks of 'little people?'" Shale scoffed. "It has hopefully detected the irony in Its words."

"Ah, yes. I'm very sorry if I have offended your kin, my lady," the elf said with a grin, which only broadened as the creature whirled, annoyed, around to him.

"I am a golem."

"Yes, yes. Obviously so, but aren't we here to find out if you were a dwarven woman once?" His eyes wandered to the carved stone figures and chuckled. "Oh? Relatives of yours, Shale? Or why are all these statues here?"

Shale turned to Lenya. "A bit of time passed since I last asked. So can I stomp on It now, perhaps?"

"No. And Zevran, they are called para... err... something," Lenya answered, not truly bothering to search for the word that had temporarily slipped her mind.

Arching an eyebrow, the elf laughed. "Para-something?"

"Paragons. The dwarven ancestors. Their gods," Leliana said. Biting her lip, she looked at Lenya, who strode through the hall in a fast pace. As the doors toward Orzammar's commons snapped open with a near-deafening creak, she decided to ask, "Why did you leave Sten behind?"

The Dalish didn't turn around. "He prefers to leave for Redcliffe to search for his sword, it seems."

The bard frowned. "I see... will he be back?"

"Why? Do you miss him, my dear?" Zevran's mouth quirked up into a smirk. "I'm ready to offer you solace, or distraction, if the pain of parting is too much for you."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "This is so thoughtful of you, really."

"Well, that's me. Zevran, the gentleman. Never say I don't worry for my friends."

Lenya stopped right before the wide area of the commons and rubbed both of her temples with the fingers, feeling a headache forming behind her eyes. She couldn't even differentiate if their endless prattling or being once more confined within a giant cage of stone and lava was to blame for it. Probably both.

She sighed, throwing Zevran a pointed look. "I know this must be hard for you, but could you do anything other than just be noisy? We need new gear and supplies and this must happen before we go to the Creators-damned shithole of the Deep Roads."

"Well, about that, "Leliana said, rummaging in the pocket of her belt. "You asked me to count the money we still have, which I have done..." She paused and cleared her throat, somewhat embarrassed. "I don't think we can go far with it."

"How much?"

"Err, with the copper I found in the other bag, we have... thirty-two silver."

Lenya blinked, unable to grasp the problem. The shemlen currency with its many different values had been always confusing to her. Back in her clan, there was no such thing as currency, because there was no need for money. They had shared all supplies equally within their close-knitted community. It had been...easier. Now she needed copper, silver and all these many coins that looked no different to her to get the same things.

Stupid.

"Is that... much?"

Zevran burst out in laughter. "With that, my dear Warden, you don't even get the half of a decent looking whore for a night."

The heads of all three companions whipped toward the elf and glared at him.

"My offer is still valid," said Shale.

Lenya nodded toward the golem. "I know, Shale, thanks." She sighed again, feeling the headache getting stronger. "So we need supplies and have no stupid shemlen money to buy them? Brilliant."

"Well, I could try something, perhaps," Leliana said, glancing past the Dalish to the glowing heat of the huge lava vent in the center. "I know Orzammar well enough from my time spent here, while you were in the Deep Roads. So, I could go and roam around, see if I can find any work that brings money."

"Great. More errands, this is just what I need." The acerbic nuance in her words made Leliana wince and she even took a step back as the elf went on. "It is not that I haven't done enough of them in this stinking stone place alre—" Lenya stopped herself and drove a hand through her blonde hair to relax. But the tension never really left her posture. "Abelas. It's just—"

"You don't like being here, right?"

Instead of retorting with a sarcastic comment as usual, the Dalish only nodded. "I thought about making the stay as brief as possible. The others need the supplies as soon as possible, too. We hardly have any food anymore, or sufficient gear due to the attack."

"Hmm," Leliana said, trying to hide the surprise at her reaction. "I understand your concern. All the more a reason to look around." She turned on her heel, only to stop midway. "We should probably go to Tapsters first. It is always a good start and an even better source for rumors."

Zevran shared her enthusiasm for the idea. "Marvelous. I can't wait to see more of this dwarven culture."

"You mean dwarven women, more like, no?"

He tsked, tone all mocking. "Ah, you wound me, my dear Leliana. I'm not that one-sided. My taste is rather, let's say, versatile."

"How wonderful to know," Shale said in the driest way possible before following the bard to the tavern.

Orzammar hadn't changed much since their last visit, but one difference was already visible. Amidst the many dwarves roaming through the commons in a hectic rush to reach the various merchant stands, Lenya recognized some tattooed faces.

Brands.

There were definitely more visible than before, so it seemed that the durgen'len king had kept his part of the promise to deal with the caste problem.

"Recruiting for the war against the Blight. King Bhelen wants every able and willing man and woman to come to the royal compound tomorrow," the crier announced as they walked past him, right before entering the tavern.

Apparently, the king was living up to that part of the promise, as well.

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Tapsters was not just full, but stuffed.

In every corner possible sat or stood dwarves of all castes with their ale, eying the strange group of new arrivals curiously as they passed by. The tangle of voices and music were nearly deafening and the air thick and smelly within.

"Aye, Warden!" A deep voice from across a large table in a corner made Lenya look up. "You looking for a stool to share a brew?" A male dwarf smiled at her, his finely made heavy armor casting shadows over the carved stone floors that were bigger than the man himself. Lenya was hesitated, but not so Zevran, who immediately turned into the dwarf's direction and alighted himself right next to him on the stone bench.

"Ah, this is too kind of you. Nice armor you have there."

"T-thanks." The dwarven man blinked, confused, before his eyes flung over to the Dalish, who groaned in irritation. She didn't even know why she took the elf back with her to Orzammar. Probably because he was overexcited to accompany her, where others like Oghren or Morrigan showed less enthusiasm. That, and his incessant squall of words and innuendos that only ended as she was willing to give in, only to start later on the road again.

Sighing, she went over to the dwarf, who strangely sat alone at this large table in despite of the large crowd present here today. "Good to see you back here, Warden. Name is Nevin." He pointed toward the big throng of dwarves in the middle. "Lady Orta and her entourage are celebrating her renewed status as a noble and deshyr. And that's all due to some dusty old papers from the Deep Roads that a drunken fart gave her. Life is funny sometimes, eh?"

Lenya gave in the urge to blink. "From the Deep Roads?"

"Aye." His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled at her before regaining his prior thoughtful demeanor. "You know from what I'm talking about, right? Darkspawn flooding every corner of this corrupted, forsaken place, the air so dense and stinking that you think you can't breathe?"

He watched her reaction, saw how she involuntarily shuddered, her eyes unfocused and lost in an unwanted memory. Nevin nodded, expression friendly and sympathetic. "This is why you Wardens are a good folk. You know what's at stake when we lose the fight to them in the Deep Roads. Not many do. Not even the ones who live this close. You have to be on the front lines for that."

Nevin stopped to take a sip from his ale and observed her strange companions that sat beside him, while the Warden herself still stood. He found the golem standing in the corner next to them extraordinarily impressive. His eyes wandered back to the elf's lithe form and couldn't help but to wonder about that odd tattoo on her forehead. It looked like a brand and yet so... different.

"Heard you did a fantastic job cutting through their lines down there, though."

Her eyelids fluttered, feeling uncomfortable with all this talk about the Deep Roads. "Err... yes. It is what I do, I suppose."

"Hah!" Nevin laughed, its tone a deep, rumbling sound. "Appearances can be deceiving then, it seems. From what I heard from my fellow men, I had rather expected you to be an axe-swinging giant, so double respect for you and all you have done for House Aeducan, Warden." The dwarf took a deep breath, noticing how the elf and the human at his table were attentively listening to his words. "I met one of yours when I was in the Deep Roads. What was his name? Doocan, Dunca? Something like that."

Lenya's eyes widened. "You knew Duncan?"

Nevin nodded. "Good man, he was."

Without a second thought, Lenya whirled around. "Did you hear th—" Frowning, she stopped her words and mentally berated herself for speaking into thin air.

He wasn't even here.

Leliana giggled at the perplexed expression in Lenya's face. "Missing someone, are you?"

She bestowed the bard with a furious glare, which was more for the purpose to cover how incredibly awkward she felt right now than genuine petulance. Apparently, Lenya had grown so used to his company that she hadn't even thought of him not being here before turning around. Now she felt truly stupid for her action. She fidgeted with her buckles that sat all too loose, makeshift repaired as they were, grumbling under her breath.

"So, Warden, you prefer standing there all day, or care to join me and your friends for a lichen ale? Maybe a nug... or two, even?" He chortled. "By the stone, but you people can eat." There was nothing condemning in his voice, just honest amusement and a hint of adoration for the Grey Wardens, perhaps.

For all their love for the dead, unchanging stone and living without a sun or sky, she really liked the durgen'len for their stance toward the Grey Wardens. As a Warden, she felt accepted and respected here. No one looked down on her for being female or even more so, elven. This was obviously a trait exclusively given to humans, reminding her why she didn't like them much in the first place.

She blinked at him, recalling his offer, and sighed. "I... well... I don't think I can afford that."

"Broke, huh?" Nevin shrugged with a smile. "Being a Warden seems to be a terribly paid job then. Remind me never to give up mine. Come on, Warden, round is on me then." He waved one of the many hostesses to him and placed an order.

Lenya's lips quirked wanly up as she seated herself across Zevran. "You have no idea. We constantly need new supplies and gear because the tainted bastards like to—"

"Oh! Oh!" someone gasped behind Lenya, making her turn around just in time to see a young dwarven woman striding toward her with a fast pace, smiling. "You are the Warden, right?"

Lenya sighed. "Yes. Obviously. What do you want?"

Nevin appeared startled. "L-Lady Orta..."

"No need to be so formal, at least tonight." She laughed, her cheeks were almost glowing as red as the color of her hair. "I'm so glad you have returned to Orzammar, Warden. It gives me the chance to thank you for all that you have done for me."

Lenya only stared blankly at the dwarf as if she had become mad. She was certain, by all Creators of her people, that she had never seen this person before in her life.

Zevran noticed her hesitation and talked for her instead. "Ah, yes, you are very welcome, my lady. That is what the Wardens do—they always help people and are ridiculously awesome." Lenya threw him a confused look, but the elf ignored her. Instead, he paused to observe the exquisite garment she wore, a smirk formed around his lips as the impression settled in.

That woman certainly had money.

"So, if I might ask: Are there any ways to show your gratitude other than with words alone?"

"Oh, of course. The other houses repaid their debts to my house and I had enough money to send an expedition into our old thaig! We found so many things!" The words seemed to spill out of her mouth. "Your companion said I should give the reward to one of the Wardens, should they ever return here. And here you are. What a coincidence!"

Lenya perked up, the previously bored expression washed away at once. "Reward? Companion?"

"Yes. Oghren is traveling with you, right? He brought me the needed proof from the Deep Roads and now I'm a noble and a deshyr, even. They're opening rooms for us in the old Ortan estate, can you believe it? Because of you and your companion, my family's dreams came true!" Lady Ortan was bouncing up and down in excitement, which stood in stark contrast to Lenya's bewilderment. She made a step forward and placed a small pouch on the table right in front of the Dalish. "Here, I know I will never be able to fully repay you, but that is the least I can do."

As Leliana took the little bag and opened it to glance inside; her eyes widened, followed by a gasp.

"I wish you all the best, Warden. May the stone never leave you!" With a polite nod, Lady Ortan turned on her heel and vanished under the mass of her celebrating people again.

Leliana tried her best from getting too excited, but she couldn't help herself. "Lenya, you won't believe how much she has given us. Oh, Maker."

"How much?"

Leliana bounced up and down, couldn't still believe it. "Fifteen sovereign!"

The Dalish blinked. "Is that a lot?"

"That, my dear Warden," Zevran said as he chuckled, "would be enough to buy the finest whorehouse, to use my prior analogy."

"Hah, seems like you aren't broke anymore, huh?" Nevin asked, grinning. "All the more a reason for ale."

Lenya couldn't object to the durgen'len's logic, nor did she want to, as the hostesses brought the plates with food and the ale to their table.

She made a mental note to thank Oghren later.

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The evening turned out more enjoyable than she thought it would be.

Lenya basked in a comfortable glow after a few ales and a sufficiently Warden-sized meal, only half-listening to the conversation of Zevran and Leliana. Shale had long stomped off before they had finished their feast, seemingly bored of their long stay here. Nevin had left shortly thereafter, leaving only the three of them and their weird conversation about... urges.

Lenya made a face. Ugh.

"I mean no offense." Zevran then smiled suggestively to Leliana. "I simply offer my services should you ever feel the need for... release."

"Let me think about it, then." Leliana feigned a thoughtful pose, her face resting in one of her hands, and smirked. "Mmhmm, should every man in Ferelden suddenly die, you may yet have your chance."

"Hah!" He laughed. "See, we are making progress here." Zevran took another sip from his beverage, and then his head turned to the Dalish, observing her for a longer moment. "You are so taciturn, my dear Warden."

"And you are staring at me." Her eyes narrowed. "Stop that."

"Ah, sorry, I was just marveling at how well this tattoo of yours suits and frames your lovely face."

"Vallaslin," she said quickly, still glowering. "It means 'Blood writing' in your tongue. It sets us apart from elves like you."

"From elves like me?" Zevran asked in false shocked tone and laughed. "Tsk, are we really so different, my dear?"

Her stare bore into him. "You are elven like me, but you are no Dalish. You know nothing of the way of our people, the Elvhenan, nor what it means to be Dalish. You are what my clan would call a seth'lin, a flat-ear, one that has forgotten the old ways."

The sarcastic tone in his voice was overly apparent. "Your ability at observation is very astute. I'm impressed, my dear Warden." He slanted his head, leisurely rested it in one of his hands. "Would it be very surprising if I told you that my mother was, in fact, Dalish?"

Lenya's scowl abated, replaced by sheer astonishment. Zevran enjoyed watching the shift in her expression. "Thought so." He laughed, its tone somewhat gleeful and mocking to have her caught in her prejudice. "Always judging one by looks. You like to do this, no?" He paused to let the words sink in, and was amused that she reverted back to scowling. "But fear not, I have no illusion about being Dalish, my dear. I'm as Antivan as one can get. I mean, I was a Crow, even."

The scowl deepened, but rather in a confused notion. "How—"

"What?" Zevran asked, grinning. "How it did happen that I ended up in Antiva, instead of frolicking with your people as I should?"

"We don't frolic," Lenya nearly growled under her breath, posture straightening.

"Ah, yes, sorry. I meant no offense, my lady" Zevran said, not really caring, "I was just saying that she left her clan a long time before I was born. Naturally, love was to blame, an elven woodcutter, to be exact. She followed him into the city and there, of course, the woodcutter died of some filthy disease and my mother was forced into prostitution to pay off his debts." He sighed, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation. "Oldest tale in the book. I didn't know my mother, either, of course. She died giving birth to me. My first victim, as it were."

Lenya, and even Leliana, stared at him, at loss for words. Seeing her reaction, he chuckled. "I see, I have your attention now. I feel honored."

"How can you be so cheery about it?" Leliana finally managed to ask.

"Ah, what you expect me to do instead? Cry in a corner about life being cruel? No, I would rather enjoy what it has to offer." Zevran leaned toward her, his bearing confident, flirting. "And what about you, my dear bard? Your life surely hadn't been all idyllic, either. People like you and I are not the product of happy lives of contentment, after all."

Leliana didn't answer. Instead, she took a huge gulp of her beverage to avoid having to. He watched her a moment longer, noticing how her ice-blue eyes flickered to the twirled, black lines on the left side of his face.

"So... this tattoo of yours, have these symbols any meaning?" Leliana asked.

"Some do... some symbols are sacred to the Crows. I am not permitted to tell you what they mean." He shrugged almost apologetically. "Mine, however, are more to accentuate the lines of the body... its curves and musculature. But they are in the places you have not yet seen, hidden by clothing and armor, as they now are." Smirking, he waggled his eyebrows, his voice a single purr. "I can show you where they are, if you wish."

Confused, Leliana jerked back, blinking as if awakening from a spell. "Err, thanks, I admit they have a certain appeal, but no. No."

Zevran leaned back as well, pleased to have a reaction elicited out of her that contradicted her words. "Have it your way, then. Should you ever change your mind..."

Leliana took a deep breath. "You will be the first to know, don't you worry."

"Anyway." Zevran turned back to Lenya, who fiddled, bored, with the handle with her empty tankard. "All this talking about me, how boring. I'm more interested in the meaning of your intriguing tattoo, my dear Warden. Is there one?"

At this question, Lenya's head shot up and she stared at him as if he had gone mad. She took a sharp intake of air, and her eyes narrowed almost in an instant. "None of your business," she snapped and darted from her seat to storm off.

Zevran watched her as she left, one eyebrow raised. "Ah, so this is a touchy topic for a Dalish? Good to know." Shrugging, he turned back to Leliana and smiled. "I guess we won't venture into the Deep Roads today anymore, no?" He leaned in to her. "Now, it is such a lovely evening, nonetheless. Let's have another drink, no?"

Leliana's only reaction was to sigh in resignation. "Fine. Just one more."

.

.


.

Shale glowered at the Dalish as Lenya entered the Warden quarters. "So, the painted Warden has returned? Has it indulged enough in this useless eating and drinking?"

Lenya chose to ignore her caustic comment. "We will leave for the Deep Roads tomorrow, after I have slept and restocked our supplies." She stretched herself, feeling the exhaustion in every fiber of her body. She gave the golem a pointed look. "I hope you really know where we need to go to reach the Cadash thaig. I don't like the thought of stumbling blindly through this shit-hole. At all."

"Of course I know that," Shale said quickly, and then shifted from one foot to the other, the stone creaking with the motion. "I guess."

"Brilliant." Groaning, Lenya turned toward the room she had occupied the last time she had been here. The need for rest was too urgent now that for her to bother working up the energy to argue with the golem.

She already knew she wouldn't find much rest this night. Here, deep under the earth where the dark pull of the taint was so concentrated, with the prospect of entering the Deep Roads once more as soon she had awakened. Lenya shuddered despite the heat of the various lava hearths that covered the halls in a red, glowing, warm light. Still, the mansion felt empty, devoid of any life and simply too big for just one single Warden. Her thoughts wandered off to Alistair, almost naturally, and yet unwanted.

For Lenya, he was the personification of the Grey Warden, the only other existing link to this new identity and life. She could barely imagine how these halls had looked like in better days, bustling and full of people, other Wardens. It was an abstract thought in of itself, because ever since the fall of Ostagar, it had been only her... and Alistair.

Kin...

The thought flashed again in her mind, though this time she didn't shove it aside, but instead, considered it. It seemed less bizarre than before, more acceptable in all its contrariness, even if it went against all she had learned.

Both thoughts and motion stumbled into a stop when she saw the giant figure standing across the room, her room.

Sten.

He surveyed the grand portrait on the wall, unmoving as ever, fully concentrated on his task of staring.

When Lenya came closer, he still didn't move, and appeared rigid like a statue within the glowing light of the lava hearth. Even more was she startled when the Qunari suddenly started to speak.

"In Seheron, we have heard much of the Grey Wardens. The old stories of their flawless strategy and prowess. Their sense of duty, order, discipline." His head inclined only slightly to her, his eyes not leaving the picture before him. "You are nothing like them."

She cocked an eyebrow, advancing closer to him still until she stood right beside him. "Thanks, I guess."

"Parshaara, you don't make any sense. You are a woman, yet you fight. You speak of strategy, yet you ran in front of an ogre." He let out a disapproving grunt. "You are an infuriating little person."

Lenya couldn't help but grin. "I get that a lot, Sten."

"Unsurprisingly."

"And?" She craned her neck, looking up at him. "Did you find your sword in that shemlen village?"

"No." Sten paused a moment, a corner of his mouth slightly raised. "I have business here."

She smiled. "I'm glad you are back."

The Qunari snorted, but didn't answer; instead, his eyes flung back to stare at the painting. With the stillness stretching, Lenya had no choice but to do the same. She noticed that the painting was some kind of battlefield, a heroic picture of slain darkspawn, of victorious Grey Wardens in a sea of fire and blood.

She frowned. "Why are they... sitting on... birds?"

"Griffons."

"Okay, abelas. Why are they sitting on griffons?"

Sten let out a snort, head shaking. "You claim to be a Grey Warden, yet I know more about their history than you."

"Well," Lenya said, drawing the word out, and then shrugged. "All my knowledge about the Grey Wardens, I have from Alistair."

"That explains it."

She laughed. "Don't be so hard on him." Lenya hesitated a moment. "He... has helped me a lot."

"And you have grown soft."

It was just a statement, bare and without emotion, as usual of Sten. Still, it reminded her of the last time she had been here in this room, bitter and resentful of her fate as a Grey Warden. She still didn't love it, but accepting what her life was now had become easier.

"Perhaps," she finally answered, smiling despite herself. "But that is okay." Lenya pointed at the painting, specifically at one of these majestic and giant birds, and pouted. "So why don't we have griffons? I could really use one, you know."

"I'm not here to teach you, elf." He glowered down at her. "Learn about your history yourself."

"Right." She sighed. "Still, you like this painting, huh?"

Sten shifted on his foot, the armor clanking with the motion. "It is not… bad. The artist managed to catch the chaos of battlefield. The use of dominating colors red and yellow composed to contrast the blue and black is... decent."

She gawked at him, completely taken aback by such an extended answer. It was surprising.

"To skillfully handle a brush is the same art as to wield a sword properly. It deserves respect," he said with a nod when he saw her expression.

"I see." She looked at the painting again, letting a moment pass before she spoke again. "You know, I used to draw when... when I was still with my clan. I liked to sit down away from camp, amidst the trees and simply capture what saw. It always helped me to calm down... when, well, everything was too much." She smiled, unsure. "Stupid, isn't it?"

"Elves create art?"

Lenya was amused rather than angry at the unusual bewilderment in his voice. "Yes. My people are quite skilled in forging weapons, as well. We are the only ones capable of bending ironbark without breaking it. We have also made statues of our gods, which is—was—quite nice to return to after a while of wandering. It gave a sense of... home, I guess."

He made a noise, whether approving or not, it was hard to say—as it always was with this stoic Qunari. Still, she liked him; his calm yet observant way made it easy to talk to for her.

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Drawing."

"Oh, that." Lenya fiddled with her hands. "Well, I don't know. It's not that I was good, anyway." She pointed at the picture again. "Not like that. I guess there was so much happening the last time that I haven't given it much thoug—"

Sten's snort interrupted her. "Petty excuses."

She shrugged with a smile. "You are right. Maybe I'd pick it up again, but I fear darkspawn gore doesn't go so well with coal on vellum." Lenya suppressed a yawn, and rubbed wearily with both of her hands on her face. "Can we talk tomorrow, Sten? I'm tired. I haven't rested since the ambush."

Sten nodded, but made no sign to leave. "Then we return to the Deep Roads?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Unfortunately."

"This doesn't make sense." The Qunari shook his head, growling under his breath. "Why return to where we just have been?"

"I gave Shale my word. I can't break it."

He watched her a moment longer, in his face a flicker of comprehension. "That, I understand." With that, the Qunari left her behind, vanishing within the dim light of the long halls outside her room.

Lenya closed the door and sighed. She was barely able to peel herself out of her armor, before falling tiredly on the bed. Pressing herself deeper into the soft mattress, she feared the dreams that would follow, the painful memories bound to this place.

Fortunately, the lure of sleep and her exhaustion was so strong that she hadn't really time to dwell on those dark thoughts.

.

.