ZEVRAN

"Why is it you never take me anywhere nice?" Varric grumbles from his standing place beside Hawke.

The frowning dwarf passes the Champion yet another butchered dragonling limb from our earlier collected batch this morning, to add to the macabre pile of wyvern bait he's arranging at the center of an otherwise grand, grassy clearing within the forest.

"Oh, come on, Varric. Just admit it. You love this!" Serena grins up at him in tease. The impish warden's currently sitting cross-legged across from the duo, on the opposite side of the gory hoard, watching. Seeming undisturbed by the gruesome, bloody task, that would make most other women's stomachs churn. Perhaps even some seasoned soldiers.

"You know, you're right. This outdoors thing is growing on me . . . Like a tumor," he deadpans back.

Serena laughs and lowers her head, and I cannot help but smile at that as well.

Throughout our trek, she has started to act more and more like herself. Relaxing even, in our mixed company. A pleasant result. One I will attempt to maintain. The hardest part ideally behind us.

But we shall see if that lasts.

Optimism does not always translate well to reality, so I have learned.

Hawke grimaces as he takes the last piece of bait from Varric. A foot this time. Its sharp, curled claws pointier than the tips of any dagger. "Next time, can we hunt something small and cuddly? Maybe vegetarian?" He tosses it atop the grisly heap.

"And that doesn't spit poison?" Anders poses with a saucy, raised eyebrow.

"But that is, by far, the best part!" I gift him an incredulous look. "Think of the bragging rights, if nothing else!"

Serena snickers quietly at my half-sarcasm.

"Assassins . . ." Fenris huffs with a quick shake of his head.

Tallis flinches slightly at the remark. Barely noticeable to the most perceptive eye. But I catch it. Far too controlled to be out of mere surprise at the reveal.

Ahhh, so that must be related to her purpose here. She certainly has the skills—the disarming charm, the quick wit.

Yet, who could be her true target, I wonder? And for what purpose, if not to retrieve this jewel?

"Alright. I think that's all of it." Hawke stands up, wiping his hands, while I contemplate the rogue's potential motives and possibilities.

"Right, now the blood." I blink as Tallis smears some of our gathered wyvern blood across her light face, and Serena's and Hawke's eyes almost bulge out of their heads. "What? The prey needs to be moving, doesn't it?" she says.

She sighs and drops her bloody palms.

"Okay, I'll do the sounds. You get ready." She timidly glances around at all of us, suddenly hesitant, as if ashamed. Gaining my curiosity. "Don't . . . look at me while I do this."

Without another word, she prances off to the side, leaping like an amateur dancer, making ungodly chittering noises, which rise into a hissing cacophony.

"Was that . . . good?" Hawke asks after a particularly loud hiss, and I struggle not bite my tongue clean-through to suppress a mounting chuckle.

"You want to do it?" Tallis stops, tilting her head at us, causing her red bangs to sway to the side. "Didn't think so." She continues her jumping around, arms flapping wildly, while we all watch on. Myself in quiet amusement. Certainly better her than me. The others: more so in appalled horror.

Whatever her reasoning for her being here, she is clearly dedicated to her cause. That much is guaranteed, for her to go such lengths.

I snigger silently under my breath at the sight, covering my mouth with a feigned-contemplative fist, lest a small one escapes.

Tallis stops.

Crouching low in front of a narrow cluster of pines along the clearing's outskirts, she takes a few wary steps back.

There's a brief rustling in the treetops. Then, a massive, black creature with gold, fin-like appendages, extending out of its face, calves, and spine, hops out before us. It's appearance more akin to a tropical fish, should it for some reason merge with small, scaly dragon.

The chimeric monster roars at us. Loud, and shrill, on par with their so-called legendary cousins the nobles kept going on about earlier.

It seems we have found another lively one, wishing to play.

So be it.

The more the merrier.


"I don't know what I was expecting a wyvern to look like, but it wasn't that," Serena manages between pants, moments after the Champion landed the critical final blow against the swift beast. We all now stand gathered around it, in various degrees of dishevelment and disrepair.

"Tell me about it. I'll be having nightmares for weeks!" Anders pats some dirt off his robe, which he must have earned after getting knocked over by the beast at least once in the scuffle.

I resheath my daggers with a silent nod. The creature's appearance was a surprise, I will give them that. But the fight was marvelous! Yet another tale to add to the records.

But what else awaits us here at the chateau now?

A murder?

Deception?

Which will it be?

I eye Tallis, who is wiping some sweat from her smudged, bloody brow.

"Well, if it isn't the Fereldan turnip," an unfamiliar voice speaks up from behind us.

We all turn around to find a rather stiff-looking Orlesian noble with a hooked nose approaching, accompanied by a handful of armed men. His pitch-black hair is tied back into a short ponytail, the coloring a harsh contrast against his pasty skin. By his pompous, flimsy swagger, I would wager he has never been in a real fight. Much less seen a fair one, first hand.

"They say you are a champion of some backwater city in the east. Quite an achievement, I'm sure," he sneers, the way he says it coming off as an obvious insult.

Oh, back to the backhanded politics so soon, are we? Splendid!

I sigh and straighten my posture, prepared to partake in this little dance again, if we must.

The noble glimpses around at all of us, ending with the our slain prey, before lifting his chin once more, dismissively. "I suggest you run along with your servants while you have the chance. This wyvern was mine to kill, not yours!" His composure suddenly snaps, and he stomps one foot hard at the ground. "Mine, mine, mine!" he yells, swiping one hand through the air. "I paid good coin to be the one who wins this contest! It was my turn!" He stomps again like a fussing child.

I raise an eyebrow at him, half-believing the adult tantrum I'm witnessing.

"Oh, I didn't realize the duke was offering charity to his more useless guests. My mistake," Hawke snarks, his tone a bit more tired and intolerant than usual, the fight and long hikes this morning plainly having done a number on his patience.

I smirk at him.

Yes, good man. Remind him of his place. Perhaps then he will see sense, that we are not the type to be trifled with.

"I will not accept such talk from a backwater mongrel!" The noble stomps some more.

"Whoa! Okay! Calm down. Let's talk this out." Serena wedges herself between them, both arms held up by her sides.

"I will not negotiate with some knife-ear!" The noble swats his hand out at her.

My hands twitch and instinctively reach for my daggers, the blood lust rising witnessing Serena go slack-jawed from transparent, shocked offense.

"Kill them all! We can say the wvyern was too much for them!" the swine snaps at his men.

I don't hesitate.

Sprinting forward, I slide to the side of the closet readying guard, slicing his calve wide open, then hop up and stab him in the back.

That marks the start of war.

In the corner of my eyes, I spy Hawke, Fenris, and Tallis rushing forth to take on others—Fenris disappearing within a blue blur. The sound of battle rings out amongst us as our two forces collide. Between the sounds of clashing metal, angry shouts, and agonized yelps, I fixate on the noble that dared insult the warden earlier. He is swinging at her, driving her further back into the clearing. Not due to his strength, mind you, but due to his sheer reckless swinging and her obvious reluctance to fight.

Unfortunate for him I am not nearly as keen to stay my hand. Important noble status or no.

Adrenaline pumping, I dash up behind him and kick him hard in the back of his left calf. His knees buckle, slamming into the ground, and I pull his sword arm back, disarming it before quickly tugging it tight behind him, into a hold. "Too bad you chose not to negotiate with some knife-ears, yes?" I growl next to his ear as I press one dagger firm to his throat.

"Wait, Zev! Don't!" Serena holds out a hand out to us.

I peek up at her.

Her bright teal eyes are wide, panicked. Taking a slow step forward, she stares directly at me, hand still up, begging me silently to release.

With a begrudging snarl, I glare down at the whimpering fool and shove him in the back, as she wishes, forcing him to fall face first into the grass.

"Now what is going on here?" a familiar voice asks from the other end of the clearing.

We all look toward its source. It is Duke Prosper this time, along with several of his bodyguards. He surveys the mess of a clearing, now littered with much the offending noble's guards' corpses, though not all, and save for their most deserving leader.

"Prosper! This blasted turnip and his rabbits tried to steal my rightful kill!" The rat stumbles to his feet.

Serena joins me at my side, grasping tightly onto my right arm. Likely to keep me in place. Though, why she insists on permitting such insult to injury, mystifies me. He does not deserve the generosity.

Duke Prosper narrows his gaze at the noble. "Now is that any way to speak of the Champion of Kirkwall and Hero of Ferelden, Baron?" he asks.

"This is your fault for inviting them in the first place! Your mother would be ashamed!" he doesn't relent.

Prosper chuckles. "Says the man whose mother has slept with half of Val Chevin." He looks at Hawke, gaze cold, apathetic, yet also softly welcoming. "My apologies. Arlange has always been a cheat. What would you have done with him?"

Tallis gasps. "You're not suggesting . . . ?"

"Why not?" Prosper shrugs. "You believe Arlange would have stopped short of murder, given the chance?"

Never.

So, let us put a knife in him and be done with it.

One less weasel for us all to worry about.

The world will not miss him.

"Hawke, just let him go. He's not worth it," Serena says.

I whip around and furrow my brow at her.

What?

"My word! Such mercy!" Prosper chuckles.

Hawke and I both stare at Serena, the Champion's fierce scowl hinting that perhaps he sees reason, while she has allowed her sympathy to take over. But then, he closes his eyes. His shoulder slumps. Relaxing his sword arm, he heaves out a loud, resigned sigh. "His blood smells worse than the wyvern's. Best keep it where it is." He re-sheathes his greatsword.

I click my tongue and look away from them both.

"You hear that, Arlange? It behooves you to leave while you still can," Prosper warns the noble.

His jaw drops. "I..." He glimpses my way, and I flash him a scathing glare. Daring him to try. Wanting him to. To give me the excuse. He gulps. "Fine... I . . . will go." He nods.

He retreats back into the forest with his few surviving men, leaving me feeling on edge. Rigid. Unsatisfied.

Braska! The Champion and Warden are too easygoing and naïve for their own good. This is only going to bite us later!

But . . . I suppose that same kindness is what brought us all together, to begin with. And if this is truly what she desires, and it will help her feel better, how could I refuse?

Serena rubs the top of my back, offering a small, relieved smile. Perchance guessing my thought process. Her soft touch lessening the frustrated blood lust I feel, though not eliminating it, completely.

"Congratulations on finding the wyvern. It looks like a fine one, indeed!" Prosper steps closer to examine the wyvern corpse, while I struggle to take deep breaths in order to calm myself. To convince my gut to leave this be. "There will be a celebration in the chateau courtyard. Do attend when you're ready."

With that, he takes his leave. And none too soon.

"You let him go? That was . . . very merciful," Tallis hums upon the others gathering around Serena and I.

"That's not a bad word, you know," Anders quips.

"It is, if you think he will not be back," I scoff. "He is not the like to not seek us out again."

"Then so be it. You'll still be here, if he does." Serena shakes my arm. "And then you can have your way with him."

She smirks up at me, in scheming assurance, and I grin back down at her.

"My dear warden," I whisper, lowering my head closer to hers, until our faces are only a breath's width apart, "do not tempt me with a good time."


FENRIS

The incessant chatter of poisonous, gossiping nobles fills the chateau's inner courtyard. Enduring like omnipotent hailstorm.

Most seem to have already returned from the hunt and changed into their excessively colorful formal clothes, after the duke's conclusion announcement. The only notable individuals missing from the ranks? Serena and Tallis.

They have yet to emerge after rushing off to the guest quarters together with the other escorted nobles, with no word since Hawke has rejoined us.

I continue to glare over at the fountain, while Hawke, Varric, Anders, and Zevran yammer on on pointless casual talk. Its constant splashing, mixed with all the nearby whispering, and the interspersed roars from the imprisoned wyvern on the opposite side of the garden, prickles at and irritates my ears. All of it more exhaustive and overwhelming combined with every caught peeping look from the gawping nobility.

But so long as they keep it at that, I can contain myself.

For the mission. For Hawke . . . and Serena.

The second they dare cross that boundary, however, all cards fall off the table. I will not be their silent, exotic pet. Not if they wish to keep breathing anyways.

Paced footsteps approach from our left. "Well now, this I wasn't expecting," Zevran aims the regarding comment in the same direction.

I look up, curious to see what has gained his vocal admiration, and I'm struck breathless.

It is Serena and Tallis. Both are in formal attire now. But Serena . . . she is in a floor-length dress. An elegant, blue one with off the shoulder sleeves and a gold, cinched belt. The likes I have never seen on her before. And in addition to that, she is wearing dark eyeshadow and rouge, as well. The whole visage . . . stunning. Fit for the highest ranked nobles in society.

"Wow!" Hawke gasps, uncrossing his arms as he takes in the sight.

"This wasn't my idea! Tallis insisted!" Serena holds her hands up in front of her defensively.

"Then for that, we must express our heartfelt thanks, for gifting us with such beauty! Do you not agree, Fenris?" Zevran side-eyes me.

I flinch and glance between her and him, Serena's attentive stare suddenly making my mouth run dry. "Yes," I barely choke out, then shift and clear my throat. "You look . . . beautiful. It suits you."

Serena's cheeks pinken, and I feel mine burn as well.

The Crow's smug, lingering gaze somehow intensifies the tingling sensation.

"Ma serannas," Serena whispers. She stares down at the ground and tucks a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear—the action swiftly recapturing my focus, in an almost hypnotic spell. Recomposing herself, she looks up at Tallis again. "Well? We're here. What now?"

"I had a quick look around, while you were finishing getting dressed. There's one door into the castle that isn't under heavy guard," she explains.

"I hear a 'but' coming," Varric mutters loud enough for us all to hear.

A sentiment I share.

"So, what's the problem? It's underwater? Enchanted with ancient Tevinter runes? Covered in Spiders?" Anders offers each guess with a haughty smirk.

"I can't get it open!" Tallis throws her arms up in exasperation. "And believe me, I tried. Bent a nice set of lockpicks in that stupid door." She scowls at her feet, shaking her head. "One of the duke's guardsmen must have the key. They wouldn't just lock themselves out of the castle! I hope . . . "

"Why else would the party be in the garden?" Hawke chuckles. "He probably has someone breaking a window right now!"

Tallis seems to think on that statement. "I . . . could make that work, actually," she says with a faint, appreciative smile. "But in the meantime, let's find someone with a key."

Serena shifts her balance onto one foot. "Please tell me you have an idea better than just asking strangers if they have one?"

She puts one hand onto her curvaceous hip. The sudden placement, and enhancement, re-earning a second look. Prying my attention to her again.

"Of course! I promise, we'll handle this quietly," Tallis insists.

I forcefully pull my gaze away from Serena once more. Trying to fight the pull she seems to inherently have over me, however unintentionally. "We draw too much attention to ourselves. We should spread out," I offer. A part of me disliking the suggestion, but knowing it is a requirement for the success of our mission.

Serena nods. "Zev and I will work on distracting the nobles. Varric, dig up any intel you can. Anders and Fenris, it's probably best if you two stick out of sight. Scout out the castle, in secret, for another way in."

"Tallis and I will look for the key, in the meantime," Hawke adds.

Our group splits up with those final orders—Hawke and Tallis proceeding over to Prosper and the other Orlesian nobles on other side of garden, while the rest of us go our opposite ways.

All the while, however, I know: I will likely think of little else but Serena.


SERENA

Zevran walks up from behind me, carrying another plate of sliced cheese he's snatched from a nearby serving, elven attendant.

"I can't believe you're eating that." I gawk at him as he plops another thin piece into his mouth.

"Oh? And why not?" He arches a curious, cunning eyebrow at me. "Not to your satisfaction, my dear?"

I squint at him and lean in close to whisper, "No one should eat cheese that tastes of despair."

'"But it is fascinating!" He grins, eyeing his next slice like an enraptured researcher.

It's impossible for me not to roll my eyes at him.

The servants did say artist's are fond of it. But I didn't think he'd enjoy it that much.

The Duke's wyvern, Leopold, roars in his cage on the left side of the garden again, and I wince.

All this mingling and noise, on such low energy levels, is starting to give me a headache.

I really didn't miss the intricacies of court—the fake pleasantries, the endless prodding. The only reason I've even been able to put up with any of it today, until now, is because of the others presences. Leli's and Bann Teagan's being a pleasant surprise.

But now that we're all split up again, and we've been talking to pretentious nobles in this garden for at least a couple hours, I'm just about at my wits end. And with that waning last bits of sanity, and the growing weariness, up pops questions.

Such as: is it even wise for me to be doing this to begin with? Won't it make me more of a target for my adversaries? For the Grey Wardens? The magisters? The chantry?

Rumor of my appearance in Kirkwall is already bound to spread. But coming here, doesn't it risk leaking to these foes sooner?

There's a bunch of people from Orlais here, the heart of the chantry. Nobles who more than likely possess close contacts with the Grey Wardens or Tevinter, and who knows who else.

Overall, it's just more and more starting to sound like a terrible idea.

"Enjoying the party?" a familiar, male voice calls out to us.

I jump, and we both look toward it to find Hawke and Tallis.

"Not nearly as much as you, I'd say," I tease, grinning back at them. "Touting a brand new wyvern skin belt? And you've been quite the social butterfly, flitting between nobles, servants, and guards, from what I've seen?"

"Well, what can I say? I'm a people person." He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

I laugh and shake my head. "That you are."

Hawke chuckles and scans over me with greater scrutiny. "You seem a bit . . . tired?" His tone turns wary at the end, as if uncertain, worried by his wording.

"You think? If I'm asked one more time about how I founded the Silver Order or how the Crows stole my 'living' sword in Amaranthine, I might just lose it," I joke, half-heartedly.

"Speaking of," Zev angles himself toward me more, pausing his snackage, "when did that latter happen, if I may ask?"

"Sometime after I arrived in Kirkwall. Nathaniel told me when he was here."

"Hm. What a shame," he hums. "I will have to give our next batch our regards. But," he flashes me a mischievous smile. "I regrettably must agree with our Champion about the present. I am surprised you are growing weary so early into the festivities, as well, my dear. Could you be losing your touch? Been gone from court politics too long?"

"If repetitive comments were it, then yes. But unfortunately, I'm not too fond of ass pinchings, either." My eyes widen, realizing the mistake I've just done.

"Oh?" Zevran's right eyebrow twitches, gaze growing colder than an artic winter. "And when was this?"

Murder burns in both his and Hawke's eyes, while they watch me, fixedly.

"When I . . . was getting some wine. It's no big deal, so settle down," I shush them. "And don't you dare say a word to Anders or Fenris! They're riled up enough being here as it is. I don't trust them to resist tearing or burning any of these nobles hearts out, if they find out!"

The two huff and relax, appearing to understand, but not completely willingly. I'm sure.

"Now, enough about me," I turn to Tallis. "Any news on the key?"

"The servant said she gave it to the duke's son, Lord Cyril. If we find him, I can try to get him alone and-"

"Ah! Ah! I'm going to stop you right there," I interrupt her with a pointed finger. "That won't work. Lord Cyril is the stereotypical, human noble. He doesn't care for elves. Speaking from experience."

"Well, do you have a better idea?" Tallis sighs.

"Leave it to us." I smile at her, gesturing with one waving hand at me, Hawke, and Zevran. "We can handle it."

The two men grin, and walking away from her with a wink, we approach the black-haired Lord Cyril and his blond crony closer to the fountain.

"Lord Cyril, my good man!" Hawke calls as we draw close. He waltzes right up to Cyril's right side and wraps an arm around his slim shoulder, giving the lad a firm pat. "That wyvern blood has some kick, doesn't it?"

Zevran promptly takes the spot to Cyril's left, and I stand directly in front of him. "Yes! However does your family prepare it? I've never had anything quite like it before," I draw his attention over to me next, while Zev works his pickpocket magic.

"Ah, well, you see . . ." He sends the other noble away with a silent scowl. "That is a long held family secret. Only a handful of individuals know the ancient recipe." He glances up at Hawke awkwardly and clears his throat, obviously surprised the Champion's still leaning on him, but attempting not to come off visibly or audibly displeased by it. "You both have never been to Chateau Haine, yes?" he asks, trying to change the subject. "Please, allow me to give you this Caprice. It is an old custom." He pulls two gold coins from his green coat's pockets and passes one to each of us, disregarding Zevran's presence entirely. Probably thinking he's only my colleague or servant. Him still holding the cheese platter most likely enhancing the effect. "My mother spoke often of Leandra. They were great friends when they were young. It is a shame neither could be here."

The blond noble Cyril sent away, Lord Perrin of Denerim I believe Teagan said earlier, shouts something at one of the De Launcet daughters over by the fountain. Meanwhile, the dark-haired daughter merely sashays away, full cup of wine raised in her lofty hand.

Lord Cyril shakes his head. "What . . . entertaining manners our guests have. Don't you agree, Hawke?"

"Quite." Hawke smiles at the slight dig, glimpsing at Zev over Cyril's head, who nods. "Anyways!" He smacks him on the shoulder again and steps back. "We would hate to take you away any further from your other guests. Why don't we talk again, after the party?"

He moves to make our retreat and I follow. "Until then, my lord," I curtsey.

Together, the three of us leave Lord Cyril gaping at the lot of us, in confusion.

We return over to Tallis, hidden around a bend in the garden, wearing our practiced diplomatic smiles, side by side.

"You have it! Tell me you have it," Tallis whispers.

"Was there ever any doubt?" I smirk, gesturing to Zevran, who slyly offers her a peek at the key tucked in his hand. She reaches out, and he passes it to her in the disguise of a handshake.

"Good. Then we can find the . . . jewel and get this over with." She sighs.

"You don't sound excited." Hawke narrows his brown eyes at her. Something I end up doing as well. Her hesitance and insistence there's a jewel, less convincing and suspicious than it was before.

"It's simply been a long time coming, that's all." She glowers at the ground. "I want this part of my life finished."

"And here I thought we were all getting along so well! Making up such a great team," I tease, crossing my arms. My comment surprisingly genuine, but with a dash of concealed sarcasm, certain now she's hiding something.

Tallis beams up at me, the warmth back in her gaze. "I can't imagine any other team I would rather attend an Orlesian party with," she says. And that, I'm positive is sincere. Making this all the more confusing. "Let's find that door and get inside."

She and Hawke both make a move to leave, but I grab both of them by the arm. "Wait. You two should go in alone," I whisper. "The less people from our group that go missing now, the less noticeable. We'll tell the others, so just get in and get out. Alright?"

"In and out. Got it." Hawke nods, and Tallis steps away again.

I move in closer to Hawke and grasp him firm by the wrist. "Be careful, Hawke. Don't let your guard down." I glimpse over at Tallis.

He grins at me like an innocent school boy, not relaxing my nerves in the slightest. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises.

But for whatever reason, watching the two of them leave together, I feel like it'll be anything but.


What could be taking them? I wonder, as I stare out at the swarm of gabbing nobles, smushed up close together in the chateau's grand ballroom. A magnificent sea of candles and florals serves as their personal backdrops. The tables of food and wine just lesser attractions.

Hours have passed since Hawke's and Tallis's departure, and it's now dark outside. Meaning, we're now far behind schedule. Escaping down a monster-invested mountain in the dark was never part of the plan. Nor should it be.

And the rest of us now being stuck inside, under even heavier watch, doesn't bode well either.

I refill my empty goblet of wine from a keg on the side of the room again.

If they insist on making me this nervous about their—our—safety, surrounded by a bunch of arse-kissing nobles for hours on end, I'm at least going to try to enjoy it, in any way I can. And since the ham and cheese are out of question, wine will have to serve as their substitute.

I take a gulp of the fruity red. Its hint of smoked oak tingles delightfully across my tastebuds.

"Warden-Commander?" An armored guard walks up beside me.

I look over at him, and his matching partner, standing him.

"The Duke wishes to speak with you. Please come with me."

My heart drops. "Oh . . . um . . ." I glimpse out into the noisy crowd, to search for the others. "Then, I'll just grab-"

"Now, please." The guard steps closer. His strict manner promising to use force, if necessary.

I gulp. Seems I'm not being given much of a choice. Hawke and Tallis must be in trouble.

"Very well." I nod and place my goblet down on the table with the kegs.

Now our real test begins . . .