Chapter 15: Old Friends, New Allies

One year later…

Marcus parried the thrust and plowed his shield into his opponent's. He might as well have been pounding a bolder for all the good it did. Bull didn't even flinch, and a sweep of the leg and a hip-check later, Marcus was flat on his back with the tip of the qunari's sword under his chin.

"Sorry boss," Bull said with a grin, "You're dead again." Marcus rolled his eyes and batted the sword away.

"So how many times is that this afternoon?" he asked.

"I stop counting after one." Bull reached his hand out and Marcus grabbed it and let himself be pulled to his feet.

"Don't waste your strength trying to bowl over a bigger opponent like that," Bull said. "Unless you're in a shield wall, all you'll get is steel between your ribs. Focus on technique, not strength. Like this." Bull demonstrated a move in which he slipped the bottom edge of his shield under Marcus' and flipped it upwards. Marcus repeated the maneuver several times with varying degrees of success until his arm burned and he waved Bull off. The two retired to the edge of the sparing yard, Bull setting their blades on a rack as Marcus began unbuckling his shield. It was custom made with a leather sleeve and several straps that secured it firmly to his forearm. Losing his hand had made him unable to weave many of the complex patterns necessary for casting spells, or to effectively wield a staff, and so his practical abilities as a mage had become extremely limited. Magic it seemed, was very much like playing the fiddle, difficult to do with only one hand. And so he had taken up practice with sword and shield, with Bull, Blackwall and Cullen each serving as instructors. After nearly two years of practice, he was still nowhere near being able to hold his own against any of them, although each had assured him he was a quick study. Life on the battlefield was much simpler when he could summon flame and ice as a weapon. He could still manage some simple offensive spells, but nothing remotely close to what he could summon during the war with Corypheus. He was dreading the day when he would have to take the field with only metal separating him from grim death, and he was certain that day was fast approaching.

Marcus pulled his shirt on over his sweat-slicked torso and took a long draught from the water skin that Bull offered. The cool liquid seemed to pour new energy into him and he drank deeply, letting droplets dribble down his chin and onto his chest.

"Hard to believe," Bull commented, "That they're still just over there, just beyond that horizon. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for one hour in those halls." Marcus looked over his shoulder and past the walls of Skyhold at the peaks of the Frostback Mountains, and occupied Ferelden beyond them. Two day's ride would put him in enemy territory, and he had been tempted many times to attempt that ride, but Ferelden was sealed tighter than a new mead cask. Word of the fall of Denerim and the destruction of Redcliffe had spread faster than Inquisition and Chantry messengers could ride. All of Thedas waited with baited breath to see where the invaders would strike next. They surprised everyone by not striking at all. They settled into their newly conquered lands and waited, fortifying and digging in. A string of forts now lined the Frostbacks and the Storm Coast, and Tamrielan ships patrolled their waters in force. The only information that came out of Ferelden came through spies. But that information was not inconsiderable.

More ships had begun making port in Ferelden barely a month after it had been conquered. Ships from across the ocean, from that strange continent of Tamriel that the invaders called home. The ships brought goods, and settlers, and soldiers. Each one that docked added to the numbers of the invasion force. They were bolstered further by Dalish clans who viewed them as liberators, Chasind and Avar barbarians bought with gold, and Ferelden levies that had bowed to the new order and now served the Tamrilic Empire. According to reports, their army had nearly tripled in size from the initial vanguard, and still they just waited, confident of their absolute security. Orlais had mustered its armies and they remained on high alert along the border. But the Orlesians were unwilling to press an attack through the narrow passes of the Frostbacks without allies, especially now that Val Royeaux itself was vulnerable to a naval attack by way of the Waking Sea. The Free Marches quickly unified their efforts in face of the Tamrilic threat under the Articles of Confederation, but lacked the manpower for any serious offensive on their own. The Tevinter Imperium had been surprisingly amenable to negotiations, but had made it clear that the prospect of pulling troops from their own borders was impossible as long as the Qunari remained a threat. From Par Vollen, Nevarra, Rivain and Antiva, there had been no word at all. Despite the fate of Ferelden, the people of Thedas remained unwilling to unite under a single banner. And so the Inquisition, with the sponsorship of the Chantry, had announced a Grand Conclave to be held at Skyhold in a few days' time. Orlais, Tevinter, and the Free Marches were all sending delegations which would include Empress Celene of Orlais and Archon Radonius of Tevinter, as well as several rulers from the Marcher city-states. Marcus hoped that at this conclave, the three countries would be able to hammer out an agreement and commit to an alliance against the invaders. Perhaps such a historic agreement between north and south would be enough to convince the other reluctant powers to throw in their lot for the common defense of the continent. If the Conclave failed, it would be only a matter of time before the new Empire swallowed up each sovereign nation of Thedas one by one.

"It has to happen soon," Marcus muttered, more to himself than Bull. The qunari turned his massive head and fixed Marcus with his one good eye. "All this time they have given us to prepare, they have been preparing as well," Marcus continued. He stood and put one foot on the bench and folded his arms over his knee. "We must be ready, the Conclave must be a success."

"It will be," Bull assured him as he stood and patted Marcus firmly on the shoulder. "And if it's not, well, who wants to live forever anyway?" Marcus chuckled despite himself and turned wearily toward Skyhold's keep, where preparations for the gathering were on in earnest.

"I should get back up there," Marcus commented. Bull cringed and shook his head.

"I'm glad I don't have your job, boss," he said. The pair began crossing the open yard and were halted just short of the great winding staircase that lead up to the keep by a familiar voice behind them.

"Quite the soiree you've got planned here, Inquisitor." Marcus and Bull glanced at each other and grinned. Marcus turned and performed an exaggerated bow, sweeping the dirt with his outstretched arms.

"Made all the more radiant by your presence, Viscount Tethras," he said. "We are honored to have you grace Skyhold's hallowed halls with your radiant presence once more!" Bull broke out into a robust laugh.

"Viscount Varric Tethras of Kirkwall," he commented, "I still can't figure out how you weaseled your way into that!" Varric chuckled as he pointed a stern finger at Bull.

"Watch yourself, Tiny," he said, "Or I'll send for a ladder and use this royal hand to slap the taste out of your mouth! And as for you," the dwarf turned to Marcus, looked him up and down, and smiled broadly, "Come here!" The two embraced heartily and Varric clasped Bull's forearm, all three men sharing a brief moment of unencumbered happiness.

"Maker's breath, Varric, you look terrible!" Marcus laughed, "What is that thing on your face?"

"Must finally be embracing his dwarven roots," Bull commented. Varric rolled his eyes and absently stroked the heavy blonde beard that now covered his once clean-shaven face.

"This?" he asked, "Well apparently this makes me look more…noble. As if that's what the people of Kirkwall wanted."

"The pretense won't last long," Marcus said wryly.

"It didn't last a day," he chuckled, "Got to keep up appearances though." Varric took a deep breath and looked around Skyhold. "Didn't realize how much I missed this place."

"I'm glad you're here, Varric," Marcus said. Bull nodded in agreement and slapped the rogue's shoulder.

"So am I," Varric said, but his smile quickly faded to a frown, "Wish it was under better circumstances," he muttered. Marcus and Bull turned somber as well at the comment. "We must be cursed," Varric said grimly, "One near world-ending calamity a millennium should be enough. What are we at now, three or four?"

"Five if you count the elf," Bull growled.

"Speaking of which," Marcus muttered. The other two men turned to see Solas gliding toward them, a serene smile on his lips. Bull muttered a curse and folded his arms across his massive chest.

"Master Tethras, it is good to see you my friend," Solas said with his hand to his heart and a slight nod.

"Friend?" Varric asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Are we allowed to be friends?" Marcus just shrugged.

"As long as we all cooperate, call it whatever you'd like," he said. Bull harrumphed and Varric looked at Solas suspiciously.

"Well then," he said slowly, "I guess I'm glad to see you too, Chuckles." Solas nodded again, but his smile lasted only momentarily as a troubled look crossed his face. The four men stood silently for a moment, shifting their weight uncomfortably. Marcus could tell the same thought was on all their minds. They were remembering how many times they had fought shoulder to shoulder. Each of them owed the others his life many times over. They had been friends, family, and then enemies. Now, it seemed none of them were quite sure what they were. "Well," Varric said tersely, "Gang's all back together again, what could possibly go wrong?"

"Aside from all of us dying of awkwardness, not a thing," Solas remarked lightly. Bull made a sour face and Varric's brow furrowed.

"Solas, was that…was that a joke?" Marcus asked. The elf shrugged.

"It seemed like the best way to ease the tension," he said. Then he looked at the stunned expressions of the other three men and turned his gaze sheepishly toward the ground. "Apparently, I was wrong."

"Well, don't worry," Varric said, "I think a dark cloud is on its way here to overshadow your faux pas." Marcus looked toward where Varric was nodding at the top of the staircase and grimaced as he saw Leliana striding purposefully toward them. "She back in the fold? Varric asked.

"No," Marcus said tightly, "She's on loan from Her Holiness as an official observer and representative of the Chantry. Her network and talents are, of course, completely at our disposal."

"That's a sword that cuts both ways, Inquisitor," Varric said. Marcus and Solas glanced at each other.

"At the moment, we need all the swords we can get," Solas replied.

"Yeah," Bull said with a huff, "Just be careful you don't fall on it. Speaking of which, I'm out. If I die today I don't want it to be because the Left Hand looked at me the wrong way. Stop by the Rest later, Varric, you still owe me some money." Varric laughed and nodded and Bull took his leave, walking just a bit faster than normal, as Leliana reached the bottom of the stairs. She spared a brief nod toward Varric who arched an eyebrow.

"They're here," she said simply to Marcus.

"They?" Marcus asked.

"Our contact brought along a companion, I don't know who he is. They're waiting in the war room." With that, she turned briskly on her heel and marched up the stairs back the way she had come.

"Nice to see you too," Varric muttered behind her back. He looked up at Marcus, "Who's the contact?" he asked.

"The Antivan Crows," Marcus said with some obvious distaste. Varric made an annoyed sound and grimaced.

"Not those guys again," he said.

"Remember, as many swords as we can get," Solas reminded them. Marcus sighed and looked up the stairs.

"Right, well, let's get on with it," he said. He paused and looked at Varric, "Care to sit in?"

"Me?" Varric asked with a frown, "A well-known scoundrel and a foreign sovereign, sitting in on a secret meeting between the Inquisition and the most notorious assassin's guild in Thedas? That sounds like a bad idea. Let's go." Marcus chuckled and the trio ascended the stairs and found their way to the war room.

The scene that greeted them was rife with tension. Blackwall and Cullen stood behind the massive war table, both looking extremely aggravated. Leliana stood to the side, scowling. In front of them, a blonde-haired elf sat with his hands behind his head, legs stretched out and resting on the edge of the table. He wore very strange armor that fit his body like a glove and was obviously made of some kind of leather, yet it also looked as if it were hard as steel. A sword hung over his back and a long dagger was on his hip. He had a wide grin on his face and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Marcus almost missed the other man in the room. He was draped in a black cloak with the hood up, standing motionless against a far wall. Despite the chamber being very well-lit, he seemed to be shrouded in a shadow that fell only on him. Marcus couldn't make out a single detail of the man's face, but he radiated a cold menace which made him feel distinctly uneasy.

"You could have announced yourselves at the front gate like normal bloody people instead of sneaking on in here," Blackwall growled. "That's a good way to get a sword in your gut." The blonde elf chuckled and shrugged merrily.

"Oh, I really don't think there was much danger of that," he said in a thick Antivan accent, "Considering the poor eyesight of your guards." Blackwall looked like he was ready to lunge across the table, but Cullen put a firm hand on his chest to restrain him. The elf laughed as though it were the funniest thing in the world. "It is not as though we were trying to 'sneak in' as you put it," he shot a curious glance at Leliana and winked, "We are just that good." Leliana's face reddened as she folded her arms and clenched her jaw.

"You really have not changed in the slightest," she said. The elf's eyes went wide and he put his hands to his heart.

"Well why on earth would I want to do that?" he asked innocently. "Being as handsome, and skilled and important as I am…" Marcus had enough and cleared his throat loudly, drawing all eyes to himself, Solas and Varric.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked as evenly as possible. The elf's face lit up and he hopped to his feet and bowed deeply.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," Leliana said dryly, "I present Zevran Arainai, First Talon of the Antivan Crows." Before Marcus could respond, Zevran crossed the space between them, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks. Shocked silence hung over the room for a moment, even Solas' mouth dropping open in surprise, before a poorly stifled chuckled from Varric reeled everyone back in.

"Inquisitor Marcus Trevelyan!" Zevran said, beaming. "It is an honor and a privilege sir, to finally meet you in person. I feel as though I am meeting a long lost brother for the first time!"

"Well, ah, it is certainly an honor to meet you as well, Master Zevran," Marcus said after recovering his composure from the initial greeting. "I had no idea the First Talon would be visiting us personally."

"Some things are just that important," Zevran said cheerfully.

"Speaking of which," Cullen interjected, "You wrote to us four months ago that you were following a lead that could prove to be of some value. We haven't heard from you since, so why are you here now?" Zevran looked over his shoulder at Cullen and winked.

"Straight to business then is it, Commander Cullen?" he asked, "I like that." He sauntered back to his chair and sat in it, arms folded and legs crossed. "The long and short of it is, the princes of Antiva have been holding secret negotiations with these Tamrilic invaders, and they are coming very close to entering into an alliance."

"What!?" Blackwall exploded, "They wouldn't!"

"They would and they are," Zevran said coolly. "Antiva will remain an autonomous kingdom within the Empire. They are assured Imperial protection of their sovereignty and will be the beneficiaries of lucrative trade agreements which will give them access to goods and treasures from Tamriel itself. In exchange, Antiva will provide added tax revenue to the Empire and contribute to military operations." Zevran paused and looked squarely at Marcus. "And they will grant unlimited rite of passage to Tamrilic troops in Antivan territory." Marcus glanced at Solas and Varric, then at Blackwall, Cullen and Leliana. They had all suddenly become much more serious and introspective. Marcus paced slowly to the war table and regarded the large map that covered it.

"That would give them overland routes into Rivain, the Free Marches, and Tevinter," Cullen said.

"And several ports a stone's throw away from Par Vollen," Blackwall added.

"They can already strike at Orlais, Nevarra, and the Marches by sea or land," Marcus said. "If they can get a sizable force into Antiva, they can attack every kingdom in Thedas simultaneously." He looked at Cullen and Blackwall, who both nodded in agreement of the assessment. "This is what they've been waiting for," Marcus continued grimly, "They've been placing their pieces all this time, building up their strength to take Thedas with one massive push rather than wage war one nation at a time."

"Well, shit," Varric said as he began nervously stroking his beard.

"Why are you telling us this?" Leliana asked Zevran suspiciously, "What's your stake?"

"Would you believe me if I said it was out of a sense of patriotic duty?" Zevran asked. Leliana's eyes narrowed dangerously and Zevran sighed and shook his head. "Look, it might come as a surprise, but the authorities of Antiva are not exactly enamored of the Crows. We have been intertwined at every level of society for centuries, so they cannot get rid of us by force. But this Tamrilic Empire, it is another creature all together. If their troops set foot on Antivan soil, it will spell the end of the Crows. They will crush us, hunt us down one by one if necessary."

"And why would the Tamrielans go through such efforts to destroy the Crows when they could very easily buy them?" Solas asked coolly, "You are, after all, mercenaries. Hired blades. I see no reason you could not continue to operate under the Empire. In fact, given their ambitions at conquest, your lot seem to be the kind of ilk they would readily employ." Zevran glared at him with a look that was both accusing and incredulous.

"Have you met these people?" he asked. "They are not ones to suffer the existence of groups like the Crows in their domain."

"Maybe they aren't so bad then," Blackwall said acerbically. Zevran stood suddenly with a flash of anger and Blackwall's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword. Once again Cullen interposed himself between the two with outstretched hands, and Zevran slowly backed up a step as Blackwall released his blade.

"I mean," Zevran said, "That anyone who does not offer absolute devotion to their god-Emperor is utterly crushed underfoot, or did Redcliffe not make that message perfectly clear to you?" Zevran slowly sat back down, his hands on his knees. "We have agents in Ferelden, I myself have been there since the occupation. I have fought against hordes of darkspawn, witnessed the horrors of the Blight, seen the sky ripped open and demons fall to the earth, but I have never seen anything like this. Did you know that the Tamrielans do not have a single religion? Some of them worship gods that others believe are pure evil, and yet these people live side by side, completely unified. Because there is one deity that they all worship and obsess over, their Dragonborn Emperor. His cult now has temples and shrines in every city, town and village in Ferelden. Everyone is required by law to pay their respects at one of these holy sites at least once a month. It's nothing really, just tossing some incense into a brazier and writing your name in a book. But the penalty for not doing so is death. Not a fine or even imprisonment, no warnings, execution for the first offense. The heads of Andrastian faithful who refused to honor the Emperor as a god adorn pikes that line the roads all over the kingdom. Priests and laity, men, women, even children. Although not so many now as there were during the first few months of the occupation. The people of Ferelden have learned." Zevran paused and let the full weight of his revelation settle on those in the room. Marcus himself had never been particularly religious, but the very idea of what Zevran was saying made his skin crawl. "The Antivan Crows are not without honor," Zevran said sternly. "Yes, we kill for money. But there are lines, lines that simply cannot be crossed, acts of horror so grand they cannot be abided. The Tamrielans have long since crossed those lines, and are still going. Even if the Crows could survive under their rule, even if we could thrive, I would slit my own throat before throwing in my lot with them. I did not fight to rid Thedas of an archdemon to see it return in the guise of their Emperor!"

"So," Marcus said slowly as he straightened and folded his arms. "You want to ally with the Inquisition?"

"No," Zevran replied, "We want to fight alongside the people of Thedas against madmen who slaughter children for not praying to a mortal who thinks and behaves like he is a god." Zevran's eyes settled on Solas with a knowing glare, and the other elf flinched ever so slightly, but Marcus took note of it. He eyed Zevran curiously and pretended to consider the offer, although in truth it was one he could not afford to reject.

"Very well," he finally said, "We are allied." Marcus extended his hand and Zevran jumped back to his feet and grasped it firmly. There was no grin this time, just a steely resolve in his eyes.

"And how many soldiers will the famed Antivan Crows be bringing to this alliance?" Leliana asked, venom dripping from her voice. Everyone, even Blackwall who had been openly hostile at the beginning, looked at her in surprise. Zevran however, did not seem taken aback. He grinned dangerously and raised his eyebrow.

"Do not worry, Nightingale," he said knowingly, "After this conclave, you will have all the soldiers you need, that I promise you. We Crows will do what we do best: Murder and Mayhem. Before your grand army takes the field, your enemies must fear you. Right now they do not, but they will. We already have targets marked in both Antiva and Ferelden, operations have already been set in motion. Knives, my friends, knives in the dark. By the time you meet them on the field, our enemies will fear the people of Thedas." Marcus pulled his hand back and looked intensely at Zevran. This was not the jovial, eccentric elf he had met a few minutes ago. This was a predator, deadly and cold, and Marcus understood why he had survived the Blight and risen to become First Talon. Leliana was looking at him as well, and the scorn slowly melted from her face as she nodded in understanding, and Marcus thought he saw the ghost of a sinister smile on her lips. He looked back at Zevran curiously.

"You said after this conclave we will have all the soldiers we need," he said. "How can you know that? It is a long shot at best." The twinkle reappeared in Zevran's eye as he sat back down in his chair, looking like a man who knew the punchline to a joke no one else had heard.

"Because the only serious impediment to an alliance between Orlais, Tevinter, and the Free Marches is the Qunari, am I right?" Marcus nodded slowly, not able to quite hide his confusion. "We can deliver the Qunari to you." Marcus had not expected that, apparently no one else had either, as confused glances darted around the room and Zevran's mischievous smile reasserted itself.

"What do you mean, 'deliver the Qunari'?" Cullen asked.

"How is that even possible," asked Leliana with renewed suspicion.

"I mean that we can definitely get the Qunari to stand down against Tevinter and possibly even get them to join your alliance," Zevran said confidently. "We have friends very high up in the Qun."

"Friends high up in the Qun?" Blackwall asked incredulously, "What does that even mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Zevran said, "Specifically, the Arishok." More stunned silence.

"You're telling us," Varric said slowly, "That you, the head of the Antivan Crows, have a personal relationship with the head of the entire Qunari military? Sorry, but that's a story even I couldn't write. The old Arishok died in Kirkwall over fourteen years ago and no one even knows who replaced him." Zevran chuckled.

"That's not entirely accurate," he said cryptically. "And forgive me for misspeaking, I do not have a personal relationship with the Arishok, nor do the Crows in any official capacity." Zevran jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "But he does." Marcus had completely forgotten about the other man in the room. He stepped forward now and slowly drew back his hood. He was another elf, with sharp features that might have been beautiful or even delicate if not for the hardened expression of a seasoned fighter he wore. His hair was shaved down to a fine stubble, and especially dark Vallaslin tattoos crisscrossed his face, thickening considerably around piercing eyes the color of emeralds. He put his hands on his hips, which pushed the folds of his dark cloak back, revealing armor that was almost identical to Zevran's as well as the handles of two vicious daggers on his hips and dozens of smaller knives sheathed all over his body. Leliana gasped audibly, and Marcus turned to see her steadying herself with one hand on the edge of the table and the other covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide and the color had all but completely drained from her face.

"You…" was all she managed to choke out. Marcus turned again to see the strange elf nod slightly in recognition.

"Who are you?" Marcus demanded. The elf remained silent and fixed him with those hard emerald eyes, and Marcus had to force himself not to shrink from his stare.

"This is Feanor Sabrae," Zevran said, "He is my blood brother, as well as Kadan to the Arishok of the Qun who, when we met him, was a Sten of the beresaad." Realization dawned slowly on the faces now staring at Feanor, and Marcus suddenly recalled all the stories he had heard.

"Are you…?" Blackwall began hesitantly.

"The Hero of Ferelden," Zevran finished with a grin and a hint of pride. "I probably should have mentioned that earlier."