Chantal bounced from foot to foot impatiently when they left the blacksmith. She reminded Zevran, rather endearingly, of a child denied a toy and told to wait. She cast a last longing look at the store when they left and Zevran chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist companionably. "My dear Warden, only you would be so thrilled to commission a new set of armor."
"Dragon skin armor!" Chantal pointed out, leaning against his torso easily as they browsed the marketplace. Wynne frowned at a rope of dried herbs and Zevran swore he could hear her critiquing them internally even from their spot near the weapons.
Truly, they made an unwise decision to wander through Denerim, but they had tried to avoid it mostly in spite of Arl Eamon's rather strict, paternal orders. Even Zevran could see the wisdom in it, perhaps more so because his fear that the Crows would find him had only grown upon their most recent return to the city.
And yet, Zevran could not bear to watch Chantal stalk the long hallways of the estate, pausing wistfully to look out windows as if she'd found herself back in her cage, back in her glass tower. In darkness, her nightmares drew her from the bed they shared to the windows. Twice, he woke to find it unlatched and Chantal nowhere to be found. He lay in bed, pretending to sleep until dawn broke and Chatal arrived in a flutter of feathers and quiet movements to slip silently beside him again.
She'd been free, marvelously and beautifully free, and she couldn't be caged again without damaging her wings. Zevran saw it quickly, but surprisingly he wasn't the only one. Morrigan returned after they'd gone through all the hard work to cure the blighted werewolves in the blighted forest, but she remained cold and aloof towards Chantal. Alistair hung his head like a kicked puppy (sad, Zevran thought, that this was the man they wished to make king). Shale and Oghren couldn't be bothered to notice anything that wasn't ale, pigeons, or glorious violence as usual.
But Wynne noticed. Leliana noticed. Trout whined when he shadowed her footsteps. Even Sten watched their Warden pace with a tight frown. And so, despite orders, despite the danger, they absconded into the marketplace.
Foolish, yes. But Chantal smiled in the sunlight and that made the risk acceptable to Zevran at least.
That, and the rather dashing pair of daggers he saw on display.
They found their way into his hands in a moment as he tested the weight and balance of them. He tossed one in the air, caught it in on the down arc with a broad grin. At his elbow, Chantal giggled. "Do you need more knives?" She teased.
He managed to look affronted. "Mi amor, there is never such a thing as too many knives. And…" He twirled one with a wiggle of his eyebrows that made her dark doe eyes sparkle. "These are daggers."
"I stand corrected." Chantal curled her arms around her torso and allowed her eyes to dance merrily around them. Zevran turned the blades over in his hands critically, considering the way they shone next to his new Dalish leather gloves. They were rather fine, of good quality. The dwarf at the stand leaned against the table, eyes flashing covetously. "Best Dwarven steel, straight from Orzammar. You won't find better."
"Ah!" Zevran smirked salaciously. "Dwarven steel is usually much more… rigid than this."
Chantal barely hid her giggle. The dwarf glared. "And for that, I've just doubled the price."
Now Zevran would need to haggle his way down. Still, he couldn't be too bothered. It'd been too good a joke to walk past. Beside him, Chantal hummed and examined a leather belt with many ingenious little slots in which to put potions.
"I do believe I have seen higher quality steel among the Merchant Princes of Antiva, my fair dwarven friend." Zevran harrumphed, reacher for a dagger of much lesser quality. "This, for example… a merchant would lose his hand in the market there for daring to display anything so…"
From behind them, Zevran heard Trout barking. Chantal's nose went up and twitched, almost like a hare's scenting danger. Zevran turned around as well, but the large mutt had simply found another stray child. The boy squealed as Trout gently tugged on his tunic.
"I think your mabari is attempting to steal another lad, mi amor." Zevran chuckled as Chantal put the belt back.
"Trout!" She called, dashing off. "Trout, drop him this instant we cannot simply take in every…"
"One hundred sovereigns for the pair." The merchant's eyes flashed stubbornly.
"Highway robbery!" And Zevran, really, should know. "Where is the city guard? I should report you for extortion, si? Sixty sovereigns, really, is too much."
They went back and forth for some time, the merchant's face becoming steadily more scarlet, a vein throbbing nicely in his temple. A small crowd gathered to watch them exchange barbs, but in the end, Zevran exchanged a nice sum of gold for the two daggers, plus the clever little potion belt Chantal had been examining. A warm laugh from behind him made Zevran turn as the Merchant took his coin and stomped away.
"Very well done." Wynne complimented, bundles of herbs in her arms that smelled sweet and faintly of mint. "Perhaps we can learn something from you indeed, Zevran."
"I assure you, if you gave me a chance, I could teach a woman even of your experience many things." Zevran swept his eyes down Wynne's form suggestively and she sighed wearily.
"You're lucky she's not a jealous girl, Zevran." Wynne rebuked primly, scanning the market. "Where has she gone?"
Instantly, something like dread pricked the back of Zevran's neck. He looked up, searched the crowded market for Chantal's slight form, hoping to catch sight of her swinging plaits of dark hair or the massive hound at her heels. Despite his keen eyesight, he could see no trace of her. He frowned and picked up the blades, slinging them into his holsters and rearranging the older pair into his jerkin and belt. "She has flown the coop, it appears."
"That child…" Wynne sighed, exasperated. "She was never so wild in the tower, I swear on Andraste herself."
She could never be herself in the Tower, the same way Wynne was not the same woman she could have been if not for the tower stealing her youth. It mattered little, however. His little witch was free now, and always would be.
"She was near that charming and decrepit alley with Trout." Zevran rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the itch between them. "Perhaps she has gotten into some amusing and naughty shenanigans?"
He could hope, but he doubted it.
He saw Chantal and Trout at the bottom of a flight of stone steps down one of the long, twisting alleyways. She cut an unmistakable figure, wisps of hair coming undone from the plaits as if she'd been running, the color in her face up, Trout growling in front of her at someone up the stairs. Others surrounded them, four rogues with devilishly sharp blades and…
"Where is Zevran?" The voice at the top of the stairs demanded. "All I see here is a mage and a mutt."
The voice. Taliesen. For a second, Zevran's heart stopped, memories crashing over him. Rinna's throaty laugh, her pale eyes flashing with mischief and her hands against his chest while Taliesen's arms embraced him from behind.
Taliesen's pale, furious face and Rinna at their knees begging for her life.
"Zevran?" Chantal asked breathlessly, her eyes at the top of the steps, her face drawn grave and serious. "Zevran who?"
Taliesen laughed, and it was the same laugh Zevran recalled from when Rinna begged for her life, a mocking and cruel jeer. "Don't bother. I know very well he travels with you."
Beside him, Wynne dropped the bag with her herbs and drew her staff from under her cloak. Zevran didn't wait for her to cast a spell, he couldn't when that laugh rang in his ears and Rinna's bleeding form swam in front of his eyes, one of Zevran's daggers in her pale, slim throat, and the thought of Chantal, on her knees, begging for her life and his blade at her skin…
He was beside her so suddenly, it was as if Chantal herself did not know where he appeared from. She tensed, her eyes still up on the steps, wary as Zevran stepped beside her, just in front of her slender form. "Here I am, Taliesen! Tell me, were you sent?" The bile rose in his throat and Zevran nearly spat out the next question. "Or did you volunteer for this job?"
"I volunteered… of course." Taliesen's smile was a challenge, all bared teeth and hidden malice. "When I heard the great Zevran had gone rogue, I had to see it for myself."
"Is that so? Here I am, in the flesh." He shrugged nonchalantly. At their feet, Trout dropped further to pounce, growling long and low, teeth bared the same way.
Taliesen's expression morphed, changed into something… perhaps almost vulnerable. "You can come home, Zevran. I know why you did this and I don't blame you. It's not too late. You can come back, we'll make up a story."
Make it all go away, as if it could return to the way it was before he killed Rinna for nothing as she begged for her life. Before he tasted Chantal, before he experienced her power move mountains, before…
"Of course." Chantal said levelly, her eyes not moving from Taliesen. "You'd have to kill me first."
Taliesen was sent to fix Zevran's mistake and kill Chantal. She was the target. She was the mission. She…
She was his heart, tender and bloody, ripped out of his chest to flit through Ferelden on a hopeless quest. She was light and laughter, quiet songs in the dark, flickering firelight and sweet ale and she made him good, she made him belong to something great and…
Better creatures could have loved her, but they would have to get through him first. And if Taliesen wanted her blood…
He turned to look at her, to fully see the emotions in her face. The sheer determination, the fear, the brash defiance, all of it sinking into her warm, brown eyes.
"And I'm not about to let that happen." Zevran promised. Chantal's lips quirked up in a soft smile, although her eyes never moved from Taliesen. Zevran looked back at him as well, saw his former lover's gaze sweep between Zevran and his Warden, heard the scoffing laughter.
"What! You've gone soft!" Taliesen accused.
"The answer is no." Zevran drew his blades and shifted into his preferred stance. "I'm sorry my old friend. I'm not coming back, and you should have stayed in Antiva."
He heard the arrow loosed from their left, but he wasn't worried. Wynne's barrier sent it flying back towards it's sender, followed by a mountain of fur and teeth.
Three rogues left then, and Taliesen, by far the most dangerous of the lot. Chantal turned on her heel to face the ones coming from behind them and Zevran felt the prickle of white hot electricity as she pulled the storm from inside her and released it as neatly as the first rogue had released an arrow.
Which left Zevran to bolt up the stairs toward his old comrade, clashing steel against steel. Zevran dropped his blade, digging for the unprotected seam in the leather and chainmail. Taliesen whipped to the side and kicked his leg out to try and catch Zevran's foot. Zevran jumped back.
"This is insanity!" Taliesen spat, striking like a viper. Zevran ducked the blow with a mere inch to spare, rolling onto his heels. "For a woman, Zevran! A mage bitch who should never have left her tower!"
"For freedom, Taliesen!" Zevran's slash met Taliesen's parry. Taliesen's thrust met Zevran's block. He had forgotten, truly, how evenly matched they had been. His heart pounded against his ribs, a mess of adrenaline and power and yes…
A thrill. Always, just a bit, the thrill of the danger.
"You are not free!" Taliesen snarled, a lucky kick catching Zevan off guard, causing him to roll backwards before regaining his feet. Zevran caught the next downward swing of Taliesen's blade and the man's handsome face stopped mere inches from his own. "You've simply handed your leash to a different master!"
"At least I have chosen mine then." Zevran huffed, using the other man's momentum to turn on his heel and bring his blade down towards unguarded neck. Taliesen dodged, but just a bit too slow. The blade sliced a narrow scratch into tanned skin, blood welling to the surface and falling in crimson beads.
"A wise choice." Taliesen remarked snidely. "A witch with nothing to her name. A grey warden who will die, as they all do, and this one sooner rather than later."
Zevran saw his opening and moved for it. He launched into a flurry of thrusts, strikes, slashes. Taliesen faltered under the onslaught and Zevran's blade finally found the seam between leather and chainmail, the blade slicing through skin like water.
They were, really, worth every sovereign. Fine Dwarven steel, straight from Orzammar.
Taliesen stumbled off the blade, one of his own dropping from his hand. Zevran swung his leg out, catching the man at the ankles and sending him sprawling. The final blade clattered to the cobblestones and Zevran kicked both of them efficiently away.
Taliesen did not beg. His eyes, bright and hard, glared up at Zevran. Blood dripped in a steady stream from the blades in Zevran's hands. At the bottom of the steps he heard a shriek turn into a gurgle, knew his Warden had the situation below handled securely.
"Everyone dies." Zevran said softly. "But she doesn't die at our hands, old friend. Not this time."
Zevran crouched down, bringing the blade to Taliesen's throat. He paused and Taliesen's mouth split into a bloody grin.
"Shame." Taliesen whispered between cracked lips. "Isn't that the freedom you were looking for? What would Rinna say?"
The words shocked him, gave Taliesen a momentary edge. He shoved Zevran's arm away, the dagger falling from his grip, Taliesen reaching for the matching blade in his other hand.
But Zevran had always been just a bit faster.
The remaining blade moved as if enchanted on its own, thrusting into the neck of his friend. Taliesen's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't scream. Blood bubbled at his lips and he clawed for Zevran's arm, uselessly.
"She… she doesn't… love… you." Taliesen whispered, the light dimming in his eyes as he blinked, slowly.
"Tell Rinna I am sorry." Zevran whispered through a throat gone hoarse with emotion. Taliesen's hand fell, the light gone, blood pooling on the stones.
"ZEV!" Chantal's cry cut through the air, bright and clear as a bird call, and Zevran pulled tear filled eyes from Taliesen's face to peer at the sun barely visible over the gabled roofs of Denerim. Taliesen was dead. Rinna was dead. He…
He was alone. Unmoored from his past.
Chantal managed to haul him up by his leather jerkin with more strength than many would suspect she had. Her big brown eyes darted over his form, her shoulders only beginning to relax when she confirmed that the blood covering him was not his own. Then, her slim arms were around his waist, her face against his chest as she babbled. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, I don't know how they found me. I told them I didn't know you, I tried to lie, I…"
"I know." Zevran let go of the last dagger, their first blood drawn his friend's, allowed it to fall with a dull sound. He tucked his arms around Chantal's waist and pulled her closer, lowered his nose to her hair. She smelled of the harsh, metallic tang of lyrium. Singed hair, not her own of course. Elfroot and honey. "I suppose I am finally free of the crows. They… they will assume I died alongside Taliesen. If I were to vanish, that is."
Beneath his spread fingers, the muscles of Chantal's back stiffened. She pulled away to look into his face and her fingers reached up to brush a piece of hair from his brow as she spoke. "You are. I… I hope you enjoy your freedom as much as I have enjoyed mine."
She held his gaze and Taliesen's dying words repeated themselves in his head, a chant, a mantra. She doesn't love you. She doesn't love you. She will never love you.
"Of course, there is the matter of my oath to you." Zevran tried for a charming smile, but he feared it was more a grimace. "I swore to assist you with stopping the blight, did I not?"
"What do you want to do?" Chantal asked, her somber brown eyes glistening with emotions he could not fathom. Her eyes were as dark as the night sky, as beautiful, and equally mysterious.
"I am a man of my word, my dear Warden, I would not break my…"
"I release you, then." Chantal dropped her hand from his face and stepped backwards from his embrace. From far beyond their bubble, he thought he heard Wynne muttering darkly to Trout about the mess and shenanigans. He could smell bruised verbena drifting in the air.
Chantal's eyes were endless. Her face completely devoid of emotion. "My little witch, I…"
"I am not your keeper." Chantal let her arms rise to her side as if she could encompass the world, all that was, all that ever would be. "You're free, Zevran. Your life is what you make of it now. Stay, if you wish. If you would rather go…"
Something cracked in her features, something that made hope rush to his heart, but still the words taunted him.
She doesn't love you. She doesn't…
"In that case." The choice was obvious. It was always obvious. He should leave. He should leave before he died in her hopeless war, before she broke the fragile shell around him and left him a hollow husk.
He should. And yet, he could no more turn away from her than he could dim the sun. "I should, very much, like to stay."
Chantal swallowed something and her lips broke into a shy, sweet grin. "Good." She said, her relief evident in every relaxed line of her posture. "Good, I was… I was hoping you would."
She doesn't love you.
Maybe she did, Zevran thought as Chantal surveyed the carnage around them with distaste, her nose wrinkling. Perhaps, just perhaps…
He had no leash. He had no master. And if he gave himself…
It would be his choice.
It tasted more bittersweet than he thought it would.