Too long I have traveled, soon I'll see her smiling,
The girl in Red Crossing I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.
Chantal soaked in the warm bath until her skin pruned. She scrubbed away the sweat and grime until she felt as fresh as snow. She even asked Leliana to comb her hair, then arrange it in the exquisite braids Chantal couldn't form on her own. Finally, she donned the fine linen trousers Arl Eamon gifted her and the matching blue silk shirt with the embroidered daisies.
Zevran stayed. Her heart couldn't quite believe it even as she rejoiced. Zevran stayed even though he didn't have to, even though the archdemon breathed down her neck, despite the darkspawn taint coursing through her blood. When he was finally free he said he wanted to stay with her.
Chantal hummed brightly while she examined her reflection critically in the mirror. Trout whined from where he sat beside her, cocking his head as if to ask where exactly she thought she was going and who she needed to impress with her fancy outfit. She grinned down at him, hoping her mabari read the thoughts in her face.
He stayed. He stayed. Morrigan was wrong and she was going to tell him, she was going to confess…
She felt dizzy with elation, her stomach tied in knots, and underneath all of it a warm, certain glow like the sun outside. Everything was going to work out, she knew it would, because he loved her and she loved him. They'd defeat the blight and they'd travel the world, free as a pair of birds, with nobody to stop them. Nobody would ever hold his leash, nobody would ever lock her in a tower.
They were free. They were free and in love and together. Everything would be okay, as long as they were together, Chantal could believe that. She knew it in her heart. She stood from the dressing table, eager to tell him, emboldened by her hair, her fancy clothes. She whirled to the door, continuing to hum under her breath.
One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander.
Until I reach the love I'm longing to see.
O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.
"You look remarkably delighted with yourself." Alistair commented when she bounced down the steps of the mansion. She giggled at his unduly suspicious tone and paused to beam up at him until he was helpless to do anything but return her smile. Then she ducked forward, standing on her tiptoes, and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek.
Alistair's shocked laughter followed her down the rest of the stairs. Oghren greeted her with a belch and a wave in the great hall, she returned it with a cheerful wave of her own, but didn't linger. She rushed past, eager to get to the library where Leliana said she'd seen Zevran perusing the stacks. In her words, he was probably looking for something dirty.
Chantal's smile widened even further as she dashed into the imposing room, looking around the mahogany shelves stuffed with musty tomes. A part of her recoiled at the similarities to the circle, but she pushed those thoughts away. It wasn't the circle, she'd never go back to the circle. She was free, they were free.
Zev stood with his back to her like he hadn't even heard her enter. She grinned, wickedly thrilled to get the drop on him, changing her steps to approach quietly. Then he moved his head, just slightly to the right, and the sun from the large windows illuminated his striking face. The gentle light caressed him like she did, like it too loved him, like the entire world was as enamoured with him as she was.
How could it not be?
Her heart swelled in her chest and she couldn't take another step. She'd be content to stay exactly where she was and watch his eyes, uncharacteristically serious in this moment of solitude, dance over the books lining the shelves. The world could end, the blight could destroy them all, and Chantal would still be happy with what she had, even if only for a moment.
"Zevran." She breathed his name and watched his spine stiffen in shock before his smile curled ruefully on his face, shaking his head in exasperation.
"Little witch, is it really wise to sneak up on assassins? Former or otherwise?" He placed the book he held back on the shelf before turning to her. She waited while he took in her appearance, eyes sweeping from her braided hair and down her borrowed finery.
"Do you like it?" She asked, turning to the side so he could appreciate the coiled braids. "It took Leli an age."
His eyes sparked within their endless depths and he crossed the space between them without another word, reaching for her hand, twirling his finger to indicate that she should spin. She obliged, even though it only made her more breathless and dizzy. She giggled while she twirled under his arm, ending up so close to his skin she had no choice but to place a steadying hand over his chest. She tipped her head inquisitively.
"My warden, you are more breathtaking every hour."
She flushed with the compliment and lifted her chin to receive the kiss she knew was coming. Instead, Zevran pulled back. "I was just, in fact, thinking of your beautiful face. I have a gift for you. It seemed the least I could do, si? For all you have done for me."
This. This was her opening. Her tongue darted from her mouth to wet her lips anxiously and she opened her mouth, prepared to confess. "Zevran, I would…"
She would do anything for him because she loved him, but Zevran interrupted her with a kiss on her cheek, opening his palm in between them. She looked down, saw the glint of gold against his tawny skin. She stopped, frozen with disbelief. The tiny gold hoop looked familiar, but more to the point…
Jewelry. Zevran was giving her jewelry which meant…
She wished she could pause the conversation, run back out into the mansion, and ask Leliana and Wynne for advice. Instead, she looked up at Zevran, cautious and hopeful. "That's for me?"
"I know it isn't much…" Zevran's eyes glittered.
It was everything. If it was what she thought it was. Didn't Leliana and Wynne say men only gave jewelry to women to express a commitment? Maybe she didn't need to say anything to confess her feelings.
Perhaps she wasn't supposed to. Perhaps Zevran wanted to do this his way.
"Is it yours?" She asked instead.
"Alas, it used to be! But I grow tired of it. I want you to have it." He insisted.
That… didn't sound romantic. It certainly didn't sound like the tales Leliana spun or the dirty books she'd found scattered around their travels. Chantal frowned back down at the golden hoop. "Why are you giving it to me?"
"Are you the only one allowed to give gifts?" He asked pointedly. She could concede he was quite right, she'd given many trinkets both to him and their friends as they travelled. But this…
"Yes, but…" She looked back up at him, but her words failed her when she met his eyes. They burned with something that caused a shiver up her spine. A look that seemed more afraid than anything else.
"Zev, you don't need to give me anything you don't want to." Did he feel like this was what he was supposed to do? Did he not mean it?
She needed to tell him, but the brave part of her seemed to be shriveling up underneath his burning eyes, the towering bookcases heavy with the scent of old parchment and fading ink. She felt like a little girl who'd done something wrong, but she didn't know what, and she was scared too, scared the templars would find out and…
"Fine." Zevran snapped, closing his fingers over the small gold hoop and pulling away. "If you don't want the earring, you don't get the earring. Simple enough."
She only wanted the earring if he wanted her, but she didn't know if he did. She'd been so certain, and now… she took a step forward to close the sudden gap between them, but he stepped back. She froze again, tried to keep her voice calm as she forced the word through numb lips. "Come upstairs with me?"
They could go upstairs and talk, they could go anywhere else, the roof, the courtyard, it didn't matter. She couldn't handle his fury, not here, not with the rows of books standing silent witness, not when she swore she could smell lyrium and hear the templars' armor clanking while they walked their rounds.
"Don't you have more important things to do? Ones that don't involve me?" He asked dismissively, turning from her.
Chantal's heart shattered, she felt it crack like ice underneath Shale's fist. She choked on the pain, worse than any wound from demon or darkspawn. She stared at him while he returned to the bookshelf, scrambling for some way to make this right, paralyzed with indecision and uncertainty.
The door behind her opened slowly. She didn't turn away from Zevran and Zevran didn't look back. The air felt thick with recrimination, with hurt, with fear, and she didn't know why. She didn't…
"Chantal." Alistair called grimly. "We've got a bit of a situation."
This didn't matter, a part of her insisted. She, after all, was a Grey Warden. Hadn't she been warned that they didn't live happily ever after? She'd been foolish, naive, to believe she would be different.
She turned on her heel and walked, unseeing, past Alistair. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Grey Wardens, after all, did not cry.
Running through the streets, only silence follows.
Elven arrows sunk into the old ash tree.
O, I know she's there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.
As per usual, the situation was life or death and far more complicated than it should have been. Honestly, Chantal wasn't certain if she was being used or not. Nor was she particularly certain who was using them. Anora? Her handmaid? Arl Eamon? Why even bother with Anora if the plan was to put Ali on the throne? Could they trust the woman whose father kept trying to murder them?
Did she really have that much of a choice?
Zevran would have been the best person to ask, but she couldn't. She couldn't take him with her either, even though he'd have been among the best choices. She couldn't look at him without feeling the overwhelming, terrible urge to give up everything and let the blight take it all.
Perhaps it was too much to hope that nobody else would notice the sudden shift in her demeanor, her broken heart bleeding out while they snuck into Howe's mansion, but she caught the meaningful looks Alistair and Leliana kept throwing each other behind her back. She felt Wynne's sympathetic glances while they battled through the dungeon, stealth long forgotten, to get the key to Anora's blighted door.
And when she opened it, she came face to face with the queen herself and felt… underwhelmed. She was milky pale, pretty in a highbred way she supposed, with an arrogant tip to her nose. Chantal frowned at Alistair and he frowned back.
Yes. Anora would at least attempt to use them. There was little doubt. But, perhaps, Chantal was simply made to be used. Grey Wardens were tools with only one use, killing darkspawn or whatever else threatened. It was, after all, what Zevran had done. Bought her with his sad story and witty one-liners, used her, and then tried to pay her for services rendered.
Anora, she suspected, would probably try to cheat the bill.
She didn't expect to be proven right immediately.
Zevran would have seen it coming, would have quipped some dark lesson about trusting people. Chantal hoped she learned her lesson while Anora fled, claiming to be kidnapped. She was so lost in her thoughts, she nearly missed the assassin creeping behind them. Didn't raise her staff up quite quickly enough to block the blow in its entirety, although she swept it aside to somewhere rather less fatal. It broke through the leather on her shoulder instead, dug deep into her skin. She conjured up a blast that swung the assassin away from her while one of Wynne's barriers burst to life around Chantal's form, saving her from the loosed arrows.
Wynne should have put the damn shield up in front of herself. From the corner of her eye, Chantal watched one of the arrows embed itself solidly in the old woman's shoulder. Chantal's vision swam red, bloody rage pounding in her shattered heart. She slammed her staff down on the ground and reached out to the fade, pulling…
Pulling…
The lightning came, but it cost her an incomprehensible effort. The guards with Ser Cauthrien shouted and scattered, but the spell left Chantal nearly empty. Her mana pulsed sluggishly. She reached her hand up to the wound on her shoulder, pulled it away to stare at the crimson blood mixed with something slimy and green.
Magebane.
"Leli!" Her shout came out strangled, "Take Wynne, run! GO!"
Alistair unsheathed his sword, but he turned to look at her, startled by her directive to retreat. They didn't retreat, after all, not from dragons or darkspawn or werewolves. She met Ali's eyes, swallowed the dread.
"Their weapons are poisoned. I don't have my magic." It'd been stolen from her, just like her life, just like her happiness. Ali's expression darkened and he roared, storming the guards, giving them time to retreat.
"Chantal!" Leliana cried.
"GO!" She ordered, reaching to pull the blade Zevran gave her, back when she thought…
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except her friends, and she couldn't leave Ali, not when he was one of the only people she could trust in the whole world. She watched Leliana vanish and snarled viciously.
Then she lunged into the fray.
xx
Zevran would never forget the look in Chantal's eyes if he lived to be a hundred years old. The shock when he pulled back from her, looking heartbreakingly young as the shelves of books loomed over them. He'd been a fool. A damn fool, from start to finish, and of course she didn't want his earring. Of course she didn't want him, if she had, she would have asked him to stay after Taliesen.
Instead, she gave him freedom. Perhaps she felt it was the sweetest gift she could give him, but he did not wish to be free, he wished…
It did not matter. She was a hero, and he… he was not. This was for the best. He would make sure she survived this blight and then he would let her go, let her be free as he was. It did not matter that his heart felt as if it had been pierced by his own blades.
"HELP!"
Leliana's scream cut through the silent air of the palace, but it hadn't even faded before Zevran leapt into action. He jumped out of the library's comfortable armchair and began to run so quickly that his feet barely touched the wooden floor. Leliana kept yelling, their names, all of their names. His, Shale's, Oghren's, Morrigan's, Sten's…
But not Chantal's. Why was she not calling for Chantal?
They'd gone together to rescue the queen. They'd left and Zevran watched Chantal's beautiful braids disappear from the library's window. He waited for her to turn around and look, to spot him watching, but she didn't. She stared straight ahead like a soldier, like a warrior, a queen herself.
He found Leliana collapsed in the imposing entryway, Wynne laid out beside her, blood seeping from her robes. Leliana herself looked worse for wear, hair frazzled, armor stained crimson. Morrigan beat him to them, was already kneeling next to Wynne, observing the wound laced with something Zevran did not recognize.
Leliana spilled out the story, hands shaking, but Zevran only heard one part before everything inside him froze and shattered.
"They took them." Leliana sobbed. "They took them and I couldn't stop it."
Ruby on the green, petals lost and drifting.
Take her to His side, Andraste hear my plea.
I found her lying there, daisies in her hair,
Waiting by the chantry to marry me.