Surrender

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: yes
Nudity: partial (m)
Sex: some (m/f)
Other: noncon; and don't be eating during part of this chapter

Author's Notes:

More All the Good Stuffs!

Surrender

==#==

Riordan insisted Bannon eat breakfast - the forced march would take a heavy physical toll, emotional strain notwithstanding. They ate and drank on the move at midday, only stopping at nightfall, with scant time to set up camp before full dark. The Grey Wardens were stationed a short distance away from the main body of troops, and their elite forces - Alistair and Bannon's ragtag band - ranged near them.

Bannon ate methodically, sitting in front of his tent, staring at the small fire and trying not to think the terrible thoughts that had taken root in his mind the instant he heard the Blight was striking for his home. Weariness helped. It was a few minutes before he noticed the silent shadow standing beside him. He looked up at Zevran.

"Can we talk? Somewhere private perhaps?" the assassin asked him.

Bannon swallowed. "Um, sure." He looked around. "Not much of that, here."

"Inside is fine." Zevran tipped his head towards the tent.

"If you want. People might think-"

"I don't give a damn about what people think."

Bannon nodded and put down his bowl. The two elves ducked inside the tent and sat down cross-legged on the mat. They sat for a few minutes, not looking at each other. Zevran picked at the edge of the blanket. "I um...," he started slowly, "I heard what you said to Alistair this morning."

Bannon tipped his head, one eyebrow cocked. "Eavesdropping?" he asked, without malice.

The assassin half-smiled. "What can I say? Occupational habit."

"So you heard-?" Bannon's eyes widened.

"Everything, yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize."

Bannon shook his head. "But I shouldn't have been telling him those things about you; I don't even know if they're true."

Zevran shrugged. "I will not say you were wrong. My father was not really a Dalish elf. I have no idea who my father was, actually. In fact, I am not quite sure which of the whores was my true mother. They all looked after us, those who weren't busy." He folded his hands in his lap and looked at them. "They were not unkind to us. And it was not that type of brothel that catered to those whose tastes were for the young and helpless - you mustn't think that. There was only that one incident." Bannon nodded to show he understood. "The worst part about that," Zevran added, "was never getting paid."

When he said it that way, without his usual cocky arrogance, the phrase took on a whole new meaning. The money was all that mattered, not a young boy's feelings or well-being. Bannon reached out and took his hand. He did not say anything, he just held it.

"I knew that there were real families out there," Zevran continued quietly. "But I convinced myself that I was better off - without all that stifling coddling, without weakness and dependence, without ties to anyone. Never caring for anyone more than I cared about myself; I was the most important person in the world. I never needed anyone. So went the stories I told myself, and anyone else who cared to listen." He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "And three coins to buy a child, that was a paltry sum. At least with the Crows, I found my true calling. Something I could excel in - and I did. They could not have created a better, more heartless assassin if they had tried."

Bannon squeezed his hand. Zevran shifted to face him. He said, "When you told Alistair what you wanted... if you had told me those words to my face, I would never have believed you. I would have scoffed - I would have laughed in your face, the same way I la-" His words went dry. He swallowed once, then went on. "But since you said them to another, and had no reason to lie, I know them to be true." He closed his eyes and looked away. "I have always believed that such things were not for the likes of me. And I... I don't know what to think."

Bannon put his arm around him and drew him close. "I think you are more than worthy of such a thing." The elves kissed, softly; sweetly. Zevran leaned closer and Bannon encircled him in his strong arms.

They began to kiss more deeply when suddenly the tent flap was torn open. Bannon flinched as if he were about to be attacked. Zevran narrowed his eyes and looked up, reaching for his blades. "Morrigan," he snarled.

"So sorry," the witch said, voice dripping with honeyed acid. She seized Bannon by his collar and half a fistfull of hair, and hauled him to his feet. "But you're not going to fuck him tonight, elf." Her golden eyes blazed down at Zevran. "I am."

"Let go of me, you bitch!" Bannon gripped her wrist and tried to twist from her grasp.

Morrigan simply let go, causing him to stumble towards her to regain his balance. "Did you forget our bargain?"

"I did what you wanted," he grated.

"Once," she said icily. "That's hardly a guarantee it will catch, now is it?"

Bannon only stood glaring at her, shaking with rage. Zevran got to his feet, pulling his dagger fully from its sheath.

The witch made no move to defend herself. "If you want him dead, elf, by all means, attempt to skewer me." She sneered at Zevran as he too froze. "Better yet, why don't you just do your damned job and stab him through the heart right now? Though your chances of success are quite slim - it is such a small target."

Zevran sheathed the weapon - carefully, for his hand shook. "Go," he said softly. "Go with her."

"Zev-"

"I do not want you to die." The assassin lowered his head and turned away. "Do what you must."

"Very sensible," said Morrigan, turning. "Come along," she called to her prey.

Seething, Bannon followed her into her tent. He ducked under the flap, then shoved her, hard. She fell to the mat, barely catching herself on her hands. She whirled on him. "What do you think you're doing!" she hissed.

"Rutting with you and getting it over with," he snarled back. "Since that's the way you like it!"

She slapped him across the face hard enough to stun him. She gripped his arm and shoved him down onto his back. He struggled as she yanked his pants down to his knees. With but a gesture from the witch, vines sprang out of the bedroll to snake around his thighs, his wrists, his throat. They pulled tight.

Bannon choked, face reddening, and he had to cease fighting. Morrigan pushed his shirt up, then ran her nails lightly over his exposed flesh. "This will not be pleasant in the slightest," she warned. The vines on his legs sprouted thorns, piercing the tender skin in the crease of his groin. He gave a strangled cry.

==#==

Zevran sat before Bannon's tent, head buried in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair. He swallowed bile. How could he have mistaken sobs of pain for the sound of love-making? He pressed his fingertips against his skull, hard. He should get up, take a walk, get away from here. But no, Bannon needed him to be there for him. He wouldn't abandon his lover. Maker help him, even if it was only for two more days...

After an interminable time, Bannon staggered from Morrigan's tent, clutching his pants to hold them up, his shirt loose. Zevran was at his side instantly, helping him. Bannon was limping. "Get me inside," he hissed. "I'm bleeding."

Zevran half-carried him to his own tent, and eased him down on the mat. "Shall I fetch Wynne?" Zevran asked in fear. Bannon shook his head, and pushed his pants down his legs. blood streaked his thighs. Zevran found him a towel, and scrambled in the pack for some bandages. "How bad is it?"

"I'm fine," Bannon insisted. "Just a few pinpricks. Andraste's Tits, they hurt, though."

"Let me see," the Antivan insisted. He carefully wiped the blood away with the towel and inspected the skin. As Bannon had said, there were only a few scattered points where blood drops welled up. He breathed a sigh of relief.

They wrapped some bandages around Bannon's legs, then curled up together under the blankets. Exhaustion finally claimed them.

==#==

Red rage filled the skies over Denerim; the city was burning. Black wings cut through the smoke as the Tainted dragon form angled over the buildings. The great club tail smashed walls, stove in rooftops. Neither stone nor wood could stand up to the unnatural force.

Screams rose from the wreckage; the pitiful cries of the living creatures. Then an answering chorus of guttural cries as the darkspawn horde poured into the city, flooding through the broken walls like the sea breaching a sinking ship. The screams intensified momentarily, and then there was the sound of feeding.

The great sacred tree arose from the center of the elven alienage, the last bastion of a time long gone, sheltering its children in the modern age. With a roar, the Archdemon spewed its blue-black fire over it, and the tree began to burn. The flames licked so hotly that the air above it screamed. There was a great CRACK! as the mighty heartwood broke.

The Darkspawn horde was driven before the black wings. Ghoulish beasts tore down doors, seized the inhabitants, and dragged them into the streets. The men, they butchered, and the women...

The Archdemon thrust its head down a narrow street. There was one prize it wanted to take away from this city. There... down this lane, to the right, near the end, up those wooden steps, that third step that always creaked. The door burst open and four genlocks carted out a flailing body. They threw Cyrian to the cobblestones and started tearing his flesh, eating his innards even as he still struggled, screaming.

A skull-faced hurlock appeared in the door a moment later, dragging ShiannI by one arm. She screamed in horror as she saw what they were doing to her uncle. The hurlock had no lips, only spikes where its teeth would have been, curved in a malicious permanent grin. It bent and seized a gobbet of flesh from the mouth of one of the genlocks, yanking a gooey hunk free. ShiannI shrank back as the hurlock held it up to her face. It bent and opened its mouth; its purpled scaly tongue coiled out and licked her cheek. When she screamed in revulsion, it shoved the elf flesh into her mouth.

"Shianni!" Bannon screamed, and leaped from the bedroll. Zevran shielded his face and chest with his arms as the other elf flailed to tear himself free from the blanket.

"Wait!" The assassin rolled to his feet and followed as the Warden fled the tent in a panic. Outside, more fellows of the auxiliary were stumbling awake. Alistair screamed and barrelled out of his tent. Wide-eyed, he looked around. He met Banon's eyes and froze. Both Wardens stood there, panting, faces pale. They trembled as if ready to bolt at any moment.

"What's going on?" Wynne demanded, clutching her robe about herself.

Riordan moved quickly out of his tent at the same time. He went straight to Alistair and Bannon and grabbed them by the arm. "Calm down!" he ordered. Suddenly, both started talking, a jumbled pile of breathless phrases-

"It's attacking Denerim!"

"-the alienage. It burned the Tree!"

"-pouring through the walls; everything was burning-"

"They ate my father!"

"They took my sister!"

Riordan yanked them hard as they seemed about to tear out of his grip and run off. "Calm down!" he said again.

"But I saw it!" Bannon insisted. "The Archdemon is attacking my home! They took Shianni!" He tried to pull away, but Riordan held him fast.

Zevran frowned thoughtfully. "You, Riordan," he said, "this thing they see; is that happening now, or only what the Archdemon wishes to happen, perhaps in the future?"

"I didn't see the same thing," the Orlesian said. "The Archdemon is making the horde push for Denerim, but I do not believe they are there yet."

"How does it know about my sister?" Alistair demanded. "I haven't told anyone; no one knows about that!"

Riordan shook his head, and reluctantly released the other two Wardens. "I don't know. Perhaps the Archdemon has read these things in your dreams. Or perhaps they are only your fears incorporating themselves into this vision."

"It can read our minds?" Alistair shouted.

"No one knows," Riordan said maddeningly. "You must put this out of your m-"

"No!" Bannon started pacing around furiously. He tried to pack, picking up things, trying to sort them, but his mind was still scattered in a panic. "We have to get to Denerim - now!" He ducked into his tent and grabbed his boots and armor.

"I told you, there is nothing you can do there by yourselves," Riordan insisted.

"We can go on ahead. The elves can go with us. They don't even need the road to get there, they can cut straight across country!"

"That is not faster!"

Bannon didn't listen. "We can scout around; we can have information for the army when it gets there." He stamped his feet into his boots.

"And what if you do see the Archdemon attacking your home? Are you going to wait for the rest of the army, then?" Riordan grabbed his armor as he started to put it on. "Or are you going to throw your life away trying to save your family?"

Bannon snarled at him. Zevran put a hand on his arm. "Listen to him, mi amore."

"There is nothing we can do now," Riordan stated firmly. "The army can reach Denerim perhaps by nightfall tomorrow. But only if we are rested."

"Should we tell them what we saw?" Alistair asked.

"It might lend their feet some haste," Riordan mused. "Or it might drive them to panic and to spend all their energy before the battle."

They looked to Bannon. "What are you looking at me for?" he said.

"You're the general," Alistair reminded him.

"I'm not the general!" Bannon looked at each of them in turn. "Riordan's commanded. Alistair, you've had military training. Even Zevran's been in a war! All I am is a back-alley thief! I don't know anything about generaling!"

Zevran rubbed his chin. "If the army were your mark, and your goal was to get them to Denerim as fast as possible and in good shape to fight... would you tell them, or no?"

Bannon blinked. "Uhm. Hell, yeah; I'd tell them. But I wouldn't say it's attacking the Alienage. I'd say something like, 'it's striking at the heart of Denerim.' And the Darkspawn are taking our women."

Riordan shrugged and said, "Well, that settles it. As for now, difficult as it seems, we should try to get as much rest as possible."

"I can't sleep," Alistair said. "Not after that."

"Lie down and close your eyes anyway," Riordan told him. "That goes for all of us."

They moved slowly, glancing at each other, bundling back into their tents. Zevran put his arm around Bannon's shoulders and gently guided him inside.

"Lie down," the Antivan told him. He stroked Bannon's arms soothingly.

"I can't sleep," Bannon insisted. "You should get some rest, instead of fussing over me." But Zevran didn't listen. He made Bannon sit down, then sat beside him, still embracing him with one arm. With his free hand, he stroked Bannon's hair, his cheek, in slow, calming motions. "I can't get that vision out of my head." Bannon shuddered.

"It was only a nightmare," Zevran told him again. Before the other elf could protest, he added, "That was not real. It did not happen. It won't happen, mi amore, we will see to that."

There was a scratching at the tent flap. Bannon tensed, and Zevran pulled out his sword. He used the blade to twitch the flap open. Alistair crouched outside, not even seeming to notice the weapon. His eyes were pinched; his lower lip trembled. For a minute he did not move, then he said in a tiny voice, "Can I sleep with you?"

The two nodded, and he came inside. He hunkered down on the mat with them, hugging one knee to his chest. Zevran slipped his free arm around the man's shoulders. Bannon moved closer and embraced Alistair from the other side, until all three huddled in a circle, comforting each other.

"It was only a nightmare," Zevran repeated, rubbing their backs. "Put it out of your mind. Think about our battles we have won; how closely we have fought together." He turned and kissed Bannon on the cheek. "Two street rats against the world; they cannot stop us, hm?" He gripped Alistair's shoulder. "And our noble knight. That Archdemon doesn't stand a chance."

Alistair nodded wearily. Bannon's tension began to unwind. Zevran bade them lie down. Alistair curled up on himself, fear warring with a desperate childlike need upon his face. Bannon reached out to him. He brought the human's head to pillow on his arm, putting his other arm around Alistair's shoulders. Zevran curled against Bannon's back, enfolding the elf in his embrace. He reached across and gently gripped Alistair's arm, so he could hold the both of them.

They closed their eyes, and Zevran murmured tales of their previous exploits until they drifted off to sleep.

==X==