ZEVRAN
A stream of sunlight peeks in through the alienage hovel's ragged curtains, illuminating the ever pacing warden, circling in front of her couch. She's been doing such for the past hour or so now, rarely so much as glancing in my direction before continuing on with her incessant fidgeting.
I watch her from the comfort of her dining room table, my boots propped up along the ledge, pretending to focus on sharpening a dagger.
It's a good show, I'll admit. One that's proved most entertaining.
It's such a rare treat to see the usually confident woman so innocently flustered. A drastic change from the wicked warrior side of hers I find equally alluring.
But I can't help but wonder about what caused the shift. What taboo subject she's struggling to broach.
Leliana must have spoken to her about our relationship struggles of late, the other day, outside the Keep. Of that, I have no doubt. The two have always reveled in their girl talk. The bard most of all. Yet, there's the possibility this may have been sprung on by something else as well. A factor yet unnoticed.
Either way, only one subject could cause the warden such anxious rattles: she must have come to some sort of realization regarding our current . . . status. A realization that now requires talk. Action.
I could certainly make it easier for her, I recognize, and try to reach out first, as I have done often, on many other such occasions throughout our past. What with neither of us being very well versed in matters of the heart.
However, I do also enjoy playing dumb like this. It's a favorite past time of mine, I've discovered.
And I do so adore that slight wrinkle she gets in her brow. 'The thinking scowl,' as Alistair once called it. Lovely, and oh so painfully obvious, watching those gears turn in her head, calculating her next move or action.
To interrupt such a marvel would be a crime. And to be perfectly honest, I also feel no burning need to do so, for it could lead to an answer I may not be prepared to hear just yet. Although, I remain forever optimistic.
And open-minded.
And oh so bendy.
'Ahhh, but that may be your undoing, Zevran,' my former Crow-self tries to warn me. 'Your warden, after all, has excellent taste.'
I struggle to suppress a smile at the thought, my memories wandering back to the rather handsome, forbidding elf and noble champion, watching us back at the Keep. Treats in their own right, and rare, delicious ones at that. Simply mouth-watering.
Tantalizing.
Serena stops her pacing and turns to look at me, breaking me free from such tempting thoughts.
Oh, is she ready? I perk up.
This should be good.
I hold her steady gaze, and Serena's lips part. Once. Twice.
"I-I have something to say to you," she finally musters, shifting her focus onto anything else in the cluttered room besides me.
I smirk and rise from my seat, drawn in by her meeker, prey-like response. Serena jolts. She gawks up at me, as I take a few steps closer to lessen our distance. "You call?" I ask with a teasing lilt of my voice, giving her a slight welcoming tilt of the head. The kind that beckons her to talk further or elicit even more interesting reactions.
Serena keeps staring up at me, frozen stiff. Her gaze eventually shifting downward, pausing at my lips. Lingering there.
It's harder to resist that earlier smile now.
I bend forward further, only slightly, still remaining enticingly out of reach. A struggle for me, personally, as I would much rather give in to our baser desires. To pick her up and claim her. To kiss her and wash all her thoughts and worries away to endless nights of hot, unbridled passion. Where I can show her just how much I ached for her. How much I yearned for her, and how much she means to me.
How I didn't simply forget her.
But, no.
I must respect her process. I want her to be with me of her own choosing again, not out of spurred lust, expectation, or duty. And to do so, I must earn her love and trust once more. A feat that seemed impossible enough the first time, without years of unfortunate misunderstandings creating a mountainous barrier between us. Yet, an obstacle I must overcome with care, nonetheless.
"Hm?" I inquire again this time, quickly recomposing myself, determined to push such conversations forward before I lose myself.
Serena snaps out of her daze, returning to her original panicked state.
How very novel that I can find her so breathtaking, even now. Bundle of nerves and all.
Goaded on by my taunts, Serena finally gets that flash of determination in her eyes that I've been waiting for—the likes of which I adore. That drew me to her to begin with.
And I'm ready for it. Prepared for it. Bracing myself in coiled anticipation for the potentially fatal blow. The final strike to this once-cold assassin's heart.
But then, she falters.
That internal fire of hers dims, and with its swift departure, she retreats to the far other side of the room and picks up a book off the neighboring nightstand. "It's-It's nothing," she whispers. "Forget about it."
She then sits down on her bed and pretends to start reading.
The tension in my body and soul lifts—like a broken spring, torn loose from its rusted bindings—and I let out a loud sigh.
Perhaps another time. Patience is a virtue, and I have plenty of it.
FENRIS
A brisk, evening gust stirs up the scattered leaves littering the chantry courtyard. The force sends bulks of them swirling at my feet, creating mini-cyclones along my path, as I trudge toward the Blooming Rose.
Hawke's once again agreed to help Isabela in her search for Castillon there. Although, I do not know why he bothers. The pirate should clean up her own mess, so far as I'm concerned, after she and her crew incited the qunari incident three years prior due to her similar reckless exploits— regardless of how honorable her reasoning leading up to such a situation may be.
But to each their own.
I'm not going to argue, so long as coin and slavers are involved. I have debts to pay, after all.
However, I could do without this lingering . . . silence . . . or the additional exposure to Hightown, alone at night.
It invites far too many wandering eyes and ears.
I recall the distant past, before Serena and Hawke became the mighty Hero of Ferleden and Champion of Kirkwall. The two of them would rarely let me walk anywhere alone like this. for that very reason at night. Although, they'd never admit to it.
Did the silence always feel so dense then without their presence? So daunting?
I tense up at the thought, the pressure slowly rising inside of me.
Fasta Vass! I grimace and grasp at my ruffled fringe. There is no point in thinking of this now. I need to focus on the task at hand.
I clench my jaw and continue onward through the adjacent stone corridor, my head held high, Hawke's estate quickly coming into view. I round the corner beyond it to find Sebastian, Merrill, Zevran, and Serena all congregated in front of the noisy brothel, chatting away without a recognizable care in the world.
Serena notices me first out of the group, turning as soon as she spots me in the corner of her eye. "Fenris! You made it!" She beams at me with her usual excited cheer.
And for a moment, all seems well. The tension from earlier long forgotten.
But then, her smile fades.
A mixture of unspoken sadness and tenderness flickers across her face.
But why? Why does she look at me like this?
For what purpose?
That tenderness does not belong to me. It never can. I know my place. She knows it. So, why?
Torn by the conflicted, aggravated feelings stirring inside me, I simply nod and glimpse off to her right, taking in quick sight of Zevran. The Crow's watching me. Attentively. As always. His amber depths alarmingly cold and just as impossible to read.
I quickly gulp and look away, the thoughts and feelings still swimming. Sinking. It becomes harder to breathe. The air around me too thick to intake. Like Seheron's accursed damp morning mist, creating a muteless swamp, swallowing me.
" . . . Fenris?" Merrill's high-pitched voice calls out from its muddled outskirts. "Do you think he didn't hear me?" her voice becomes clearer now.
I look over at the observing group, the fog dispersing.
Zevran smirks and raises his eyebrows at me. "Is it my beauty you were distracted by, I wonder?" he teases with a mischievous, sideways glance.
"Zevran!" Serena playfully smacks his arm.
The assassin snickers, and the rest of the crowd take it as yet another harmless joke of his. But I do not miss the double-edged meaning to his words.
He is cunning. I'll give him that.
"Seems we're late to the party!" Hawke's voice suddenly booms behind me, making me flinch.
I whirl around to face Hawke, Isabela, Varric, and Aveline rounding the corridor I took earlier. Hawke immediately goes rigid upon laying eyes on Serena, but recovers swift enough. The slip barely noticeable to less wary onlookers.
"Are you all ready to head inside?" he asks with his typical, upbeat tone. Not a hint of anything weighing him down.
"All of us?" Serena squints at him. "Are you certain that's wise for this?"
Hawke pauses and strokes one pensive hand through his beard. "Hm. Good point," he says. "Let's split up a bit, then. Aveline, Merrill, you two stand guard here. Fenris, you keep watch from the crowd downstairs. And . . . Zevran and Serena, you two focus on keeping track of them from the shadows. Everyone else, you're with me. Sound agreeable?"
"Ah, so I'm not to go inside, then?" Zevran sighs. "Tragic."
He flashes Serena yet another annoying grin.
Serena merely quirks an eyebrow at him, rubs the bridge of her nose, then stares down at the tiles in front of her. "Ignore him," she grumbles, not sparing him another glance.
Hawke glimpses awkwardly between the two, the Crow now back to his usual smirking, like a smug, triumphant child. "Yes . . . well . . ." Hawke blinks and clears his throat. "Let's do this then, shall we?"
He motions for the rest of us to pursue our agreed upon plan of action, and we all split up.
Yes, now it is time to focus.
The docks. I should have known they would lead us here.
We are dealing with infamous slavers and pirates. Or so Isabela claims.
I stare up at the 'warehouse' they've dragged her off to. It rests along the water. No visible, outward clue of its squatters indiscretions. However, the stench of raw fish and brine hangs ripe in the frigid, night air. More so than in most places, making my nose twitch, and earning the expected grumbled complaint from Varric.
"Sebastian. Merrill. Keep watch outside, from the shadows," Hawke directs, dealing the first of his new orders, since Isabela's 'capture'. "Provide reinforcements for the rest of us once Castillon arrives. Hopefully, with your help, we can flank them."
The two nod, and the rest of us proceed inside, trailing Hawke through the main entrance. A decrepit foyer awaits us beyond—empty, save for a barren table and chair.
Serena, Zevran, and Varric quickly slip into the room's adjacent corridor, off to the right.
I debate whether to follow them for a long moment.
But no.
There are two paths to our goal, and a good strategist never puts all their coin into one investment.
Sticking to this mindset, I focus on Hawke. He seems to reach the same conclusion, glances between Aveline and I, then juts his chin out in the direction of the other open doorway.
We creep closer to it and peer around its corners, into the heart of the establishment.
Isabela's pacing in front of a row of stone columns on the floor below, beside the man I believe Hawke identified earlier as Velasco. A few other guards wander about in the distance, sticking closer to the boats on the water. The undoubtable lifelines to their underground business.
"Why don't we work something out?" Velasco asks, loud enough for me to overhear. "If you're good, I'll tell Castillon to go easy on you."
Isabela snorts, her tan face scrunching up with disgusted derision. "Contrary to popular belief, I do have standards," she says with a quick shake of her head.
Velasco stands up tall and glowers down at the now frowning woman. "You're going to do whatever I want. I own you!"
Hawke strides through the open archway at that, his greatsword firm in hand as he approaches the second floor's overlooking railing. Isabela glances up immediately and smiles at him. "You sure about that?" She smirks over her shoulder, back at Velasco.
Velasco scowls up at us, his beady, dark eyes searching, then widening with enraged realization. "You! I knew the bitch was up to something! Kill them!" he shouts at the nearby guards.
They all turn, stare at Hawke, then sprint toward the nearby staircase, in a rush to face us. A poor move on their parts, as they've foolishly gifted us the higher ground.
Not that I will complain.
It makes killing them that much easier.
With a burst of lyrium infused mana, I lunge forward at the first of their group in a blue blur, slashing open their chests with one wide sweep of Lethendralis, then following up swiftly with another.
Their surprised yelps and blood fill the air. The blow sending the victims stumbling back down a step.
Hawke dashes to my side and helps me kick down two of their crumbling forms, straight into their gathered comrades, in the stairwell behind them. The combo sends the whole lot toppling over, down the remaining steps, sparing none completely in the tumble. Much less those already on the verge of death.
Our rogues barge through the other nearby door at that moment. A delayed entry, but a beneficial one that proves to be another helpful distraction.
Varric and Aveline move to block off the main exit in the guards confusion, while Serena and Zevran quickly leap over the second floor railing to join Hawke and I in the fray.
The four of us quickly work to cut them down, together.
More men pour out of the lower levels of the warehouse, some charging toward us, while others run to Velasco's aid, who's already engaged in a viscous knife fight with Isabela
The last of the men in the stairwell fall. Serena and Zevran dash to assist the pirate without so much as a word in passing. Leaving Hawke and I to handle the rest.
But so be it.
There is no one better I trust to have my back.
The subsequent battles are all brutal.
Seem endless.
With more men than I originally expect, and well armed and experienced on top of that.
After taking down perhaps half a dozen of them, single-handed, I soon find myself locked in an impasse with one the burliest of their ranks on the far side of the war zone. Another stray swordsman comes at me from behind, mid-block.
Before I can worry about my next move, a dagger flies off from the right, stabbing the advancing soldier straight in the center of his neck. He falls with a sputtering, bloody cough, and I glimpse in the direction the mysterious weapon flew from.
Zevran's crouched low over his most recent kill about fifteen paces away, panting, with one arm out-stretched toward me. A large cluster of forces clash with Isabela and Serena behind him.
We stare at each other a moment, then I gulp and nod my head. The most I can offer in thanks, while still locked in battle with my opponent. He returns the favor with that classic broad smirk of his, then turns around to take on the remaining stragglers harrassing Serena and Isabela, one less dagger in hand to assist him.
Not willing to let the Crow outdo me, or to owe him another favor should such a thing happen again, I focus back on my current adversary and push him back with all of my strength.
His defenses fumble, his sword dropping ever so slightly. Enough for me to parry, reach one arm outward, and crush his beating heart between one phased hand.
The brute collapses. His eyes rolling into the back of his head. The lyrium flaring in my veins dims and throbs as I glare down at him. His defeat still not satisfying enough. As though I haven't proved myself enough.
The thought irks me. . . Urges me to seek out battle once more, despite knowing it's unnecessary.
But when I turn around, none remains. Everyone has just finished off their last kills.
"Velasco sent word to Castillon!" Isabela shouts, glimpsing around at our blood-drenched group. "He's on his way. Let's look around first. I want to know why he's in Kirkwall."
"Agreed." Hawke steps closer to her and the two elven rogues. "Everyone, spread out!"
I click my tongue and pivot back around to pick my recent assailants pockets.
Nothing but torn thread and a few grimy coppers.
Seems my bad luck continues from earlier.
How infuriating.
With no further reward to be had from this victim, I move on to checking some of the nearby barrels and boxes. Most of which stand empty, or contain old, dusty bottles of red, the occasional misplaced crop, or a forgotten trinket. Definitely not what we are searching for, but I swipe anything of possible value, nonetheless.
No point in letting any of it rot here. The dead certainly will not miss them. And I will at least find use for them.
A few assets richer, and my annoyance somewhat satiated by the haul, I join the others as they branch out into another attached room. Isabela immediately opens a suspicious-looking lockbox on a nearby desk. A pile of papers reside within. The pirate scans over them and huffs. "So, Castillon's looking to expand his slaving business. Why am I not surprised?" She passes the paperwork over to Hawke.
Aveline and Hawke examine the scribbled notes together, the Guard Captain's brow furrowing further each passing second. "These documents should go to the Guard," she says. "We'll at least arrest his accomplices."
"Are we sure we just want to arrest them?" Serena scoffs.
"My thoughts exactly." Zevran points at Serena. "I can think of so many more creative ways for us to enact justice. Perhaps using a few acquired skills from the past? Hm?" He raises expectant eyebrows at the rest of us, his accented voice full of dark insinuation.
I smile at the suggestion.
It seems there is one thing we are in agreement about.
"No, we're not going to send an assassin after them," Aveline shoots him down with a firm, forbidding scowl. "Not yet anyway."
Zevran and Serena both sigh, but continue exchanging scheming smiles together, nonetheless.
The visage doesn't hurt as much as it did before, I realize, compared to back in the Keep. However, a slight pang in my chest remains. Its enduring presence like a coiling serpent, strangling my innards.
I try to dismiss the fleeting feeling, for I am aware I must.
This is our new reality. I have come to accept it, to concede to it. For what else am I to do?
It is in the best interest of the group that I step back and forget. That I bury this deep inside me, forever. Pretend it doesn't exist.
'. . . Or is it?'
The unbidden doubt penetrates the back of my thoughts, growing stronger when I look up and meet Serena's light-hearted gaze.
Her teal blue eyes act like a whirlpool, sucking me in. I can't tear myself away.
Only Hawke moving back into the other room breaks this spell.
I gulp and hurry back into line behind him, hoping no one else noticed the momentary blunder. Otherwise, who knows much further taunting I might have to deal with from the Crow later tonight.
"And Velasco told me you were all tied up! A lovely present just waiting to be opened," an unexpected, lilted voice greets us the second we step out into the central warehouse.
I instinctively reach for Lethendralis, stopping just briefly after Hawke.
It's a human with short, brown hair and well-kept armor. He approaches us with his arms spread out wide, pausing by Velsco's tattered corpse—examining it, as if admiring an abstract painting. "I see he's paid for that little mistake," he says, sounding perfectly unperturbed by it or the accompanying carnage, surrounding it. "What a pretty smear he makes."
The stranger tilts his head to the side and looks back up at us.
"Well played, Isabela. Crossed and double-crossed."
Isabela rolls her shoulders, her guard back up, looking just as poised for violence as I am, if need be. "You want to talk? Maybe we should talk about these documents?" She waves the papers at the stranger. "Slavery in the Free Marches? They're not going to like that."
The man, who I can now only assume to be Castillon, crosses his arms and glares at Isabela. Any earlier amusement he had gone in an instant. "Get to the point," he says.
Isabela stands up tall, rolling the papers back up in her hand. "Give me your ship, and your word to leave me alone, and you can take these papers and go," she offers.
Serena gasps. "Isabela!" She gives the pirate a harsh look.
"What?" Isabela shrugs at her.
The two stand their ground, neither of them yielding, but Serena's jaw drops further and further the more time passes.
It is remarkable she is surprised at all, truly. It is not so uncharacteristic of Isabela, I think, to make such a deal in exchange for her freedom. Though it doesn't make it any less foolish.
"If you want the ship, can't we just kill him and take it?" Hawke asks, at last bringing logic to the conversation.
"You don't just kill a man and take his ship!" Isabela frowns at him. "That's crude and amateurish! How will he tell everyone how I bested him if he's dead?"
This earns yet another admonishing glare from Serena. But rather than saying a word this time, she puts one hand to her head and shakes it, clearly at her limit. And I'm nearing mine as well. The only reason I haven't torn the slaver's throat out just yet is to honor Hawke's decision, as he in turn has always respected mine. But there is a cap to my patience, and this arrangement's already unpleasant.
"Can you even trust him?" Hawke persists. "He trades people . . . for money!"
"Castillon's a businessman, and this is a business deal. He'll keep his end of the bargain." Isabela nods.
Hawke groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Why can't you surprise me in a normal way? With flowers, maybe? Or a cake?"
He gives her a teasing yet exasperated look, and Isabela smirks.
"I saw his ship docked in the harbor." She shuffles her feet. "She's new, fast, and I want her."
"Righttttt. Of course. That's it." Serena sighs. She tilts her head back with a roll of her eyes. "What was it you said in Feynriel's nightmare again three years ago? 'I like big boats, I cannot lie?'"
Castillon grins at her. "I see I wasn't the only one played today." He glowers again at Isabela, his air of seriousness quickly returning. "Give me the documents, and you can have the ship. And you will never hear from me again."
"Swear it." Isabela scowls at him.
The slaver gives an elegant, graceful bow. "I swear it on my mother's grave. Give me the documents."
Isabela reaches to hand him the papers, seeming convinced by this folly, but Hawke grabs her by the arm, stopping her. "Sorry, Isabela. Castillon dies here today, if I have anything to say about it."
I blink at him in surprise.
Castillon chuckles. "Enough with the blackmail then," he says. "Let's settle this like civilized people."
"Wait!" Isabela holds her arms out between them.
But it's too late.
We draw our weapons, and our new fight begins.
HAWKE
"Now what am I supposed to do with these useless documents?" Isabela paces back and forth in circles in front of me.
The sound of crashing waves, colliding against the nearby ships and dock, echoes behind me. Their sporadic sprays and breeze a welcome cool down after our last successful fight inside against Castillion.
"I hate to state the obvious." Aveline walks up. "But . . . I could use them."
Isabela glares daggers at the waiting Guard Captain.
She's the only one who's dared approach us since we excited the warehouse. Her rivalryship with the pirate probably being the only reason.
"Fine! Take the blasted things!" Isabela shoves them at her. "Go . . . dispense justice or whatever."
Aveline smiles and bows her head, quickly turning to rejoin the others, who've gathered a few paces away. Out of earshot distance.
Isabela closes in on me again once we're 'alone'. "After all we've been through together, how could you do that to me?" she asks, her voice almost lowering into a heartbroken whisper.
I smile and shake my head at her. "Remember the time you ran off with the relic?"
Isabela mouth falls wide open.
She lets out a swift, wry laugh. "You're not still using that as an excuse, are you? Oh, Hawke."
She sighs and lowers her head. A moment of pensive silence passes between us.
"Castillon deserved what he got, didn't he?" she mumbles, still staring down at the ground. Her gaze narrows, and she scowls up at me again. "I really hate it when you're right."
With that final, abrasive comment, Isabela struts over to the others as well, swishing her hips with each calculated step. Her anger seemingly dissipated
Serena passes by her on the way. "Good job today. As always." She stops to sit on a crate next to mine. "I know Isabela's not one-hundred percent pleased with our result, but . . . I for one am certainly glad you chose to take a stand and fight him. The blighter really did deserve it."
I chuckle.
Of course she would think so.
"If I didn't, I'm pretty sure you or Fenris would have beaten me to the punch—and I can't let that happen," I tease.
Serena bobs her head and snickers. "Always the competitive one, aren't you?" She grins, the lightness behind it enough to make my heart flutter.
I beam at her and shrug my shoulders. "Hey, we all have to strive for something, right?"
That makes her raise an eyebrow at me. "What? Being the Champion isn't enough?"
I laugh at the quip.
But the joyous atmosphere between us quickly dies. For although I know she's just poking fun, as everyone else likes to, the words also sting a bit, coming from her—knowing its consequential implications its had to our relationship. And if her crestfallen expression says anything about it, she perhaps feels the same as well.
I glance over at the others in the tense subsequent silence. They're chatting together, just off to the side of the warehouse still, oblivious to the intensifying storm cloud brewing beside them.
It's now or never.
I need to talk to her. To address . . . this. Otherwise, we'll never be able to get back to how things were, or even close. And although I'm terrified to hear what she has to say, and I've tolerated this until now, since I know we all needed some time to process, I can't stand what we've become.
Like strangers, dancing on broken glass around each other.
I'd prefer going back to whatever we had before, over it.
I gulp and glimpse over at Serena again, my entire body tingling, but mind and nerves made up.
She's staring down at her boots, appearing deep in thought. Her gleaming scythe rests straight across her blood-speckled lap.
"I . . . I know things between us have been a bit awkward of late," I somehow manage to spit out, recapturing her attention. "And I . . . apologize. I know a part of that is my fault. I've been far too busy with my duties as Champion over the past several months. But . . . I want to change that now. And—if you are willing—I'd like to speak with you in private sometime soon. To get everything out in the open. As I dislike how things currently stand between us, all things considered."
I force myself to stop there, lest I continue to enter the endless spiral of word vomit Bethany calls 'Leandra's accursed legacy'.
Serena gawks up at me and blinks. She gives a slow, considerate nod. "I-I agree," she whispers. "I'd like to talk and clear the air as well."
I inhale a relieved deep breath at the acceptance, realizing only now I'd been holding it in. "How about tomorrow then? My place?" I ask, heart racing. "That way we don't have to reek of fish or guts at the time?"
Serena lets out a shy, suppressed half-giggle. "Of course." She bows her head.
"Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow."
