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con·ver·gen·cy. the coming together of two or more things to the same point; to connect something
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No. Just no. Vaughan had come closer, so close. Had she had more air, she would have noticed it sooner, soon enough to have stopped this from degenerating. By instinct, the elf stopped tearing at his fingers and aimed at his face, fingers tightening and nails digging on his skin. The effect wasn't complete, he was still holding onto her but it gave her enough to swallow a mouthful of air, desperation and relief mixing in a split second.
"Maker's breath, you fuck—"
Whatever he muttered, whatever he cursed, Kate didn't hear. Little could be heard over the persistent ringing in her own ears, sickening in its loudness. The elf kept struggling but no consciousness was needed to know she would die if he didn't let go. Every inch of skin whispered that, the flow of blood in her ears screamed it over the shrill sound. Maker, it seemed too ridiculous. To die because of what a human always took for granted and right after she had thought to finally be safe. So ironic, so wrong. It wasn't fair.
That last thought was interrupted abruptly. Kate was able to grasp something of a crack, like glass cracking underneath a booted foot, before the pressure against her throat vanished into nothing. There was no time to make conclusions about it either. A second after, she crumbled against the floor; boneless, confused and hurting. But if she was hurting and thinking, her mind whispered urgently, then there was a high probability of her being alive and breathing. Inhale, expire, inhale; giant mouthfuls as the elf tested her lungs quickly, almost desperately. An unfamiliar ache persisted in her throat whenever blessed air passed by, filling her chest, expanding, before repeating the process all over again. Kate never noticed the shadow by her side or the hand resting on her back until actual physical contact was made.
"Men will be men," said a, curiously enough, male voice. "And humans will always be human. Perhaps this would be a good moment to attempt to breathe more slowly."
Her body shifted to avoid the contact, managing only to crawl slightly to the side as her legs failed to obey her properly. There was the chance whoever this was could harm her, that was true. But she couldn't stop it before her eyes opened, before she could breathe right again. It didn't sound like Vaughan. That was a plus.
When Kate opened her eyes, the man had moved from her side, shifted until he was right in front of her; one knee on the ground, a steady hand by its side. And to his right was Vaughan. Unconscious. She blinked slowly, turning from her… savior, she supposed, to the felled man; unconscious, pathetic against the stone floor. And more than that, his hair. She leaned a little forward, trying to focus with the faint light from the street lamp. His hair, it was red instead of the usual brown. A dark red, liquid, sluggishly dripping onto the ground right by his side. She hadn't done that.
"I would say a brink to the head is much less than he deserves but we must make do with whatever tools we have, wouldn't you agree?" The newly arrived man – elf, actually – smiled, all tooth and mischief. He had the softest looking blonde hair, barely whispering against his leather-covered shoulder whenever he moved, eyes gleaming cat-like in the early darkness; playful and taunting, she would dare to say. Little more features could be discerned.
The girl closed her mouth when she realized she was gaping.
"And while I wouldn't mind to continue exchanging gazes—you do have lovely eyes if I might say so myself—I don't think we should linger. We have, after all, assaulted a human. Yes, yes, I know, self-defense. When does that matter? And I think..." Kate remained quiet – which apparently wasn't a major obstacle for the continuation of the conversation, Maker, the man spoke as easily as she breathed – watching as he turned his head to one side, listening carefully for something. A bell sounded sharply in the night air. Then two more times in the same of a heartbeat each. Vaughan groaned. "Yes. Three. Time to go."
He didn't merely have cat-like features, he moved as one too. In but a moment, the blond haired man was by her side, gripping her arm and pulling her upwards, holding tightly when she wobbled on her feet. "Can you walk by yourself?" he asked.
She straightened, testing her weight carefully. Yes. There would be some bruises, some bumps where she had been pushed against the wall. And there was that nagging pain on the back of her head where it had hit the bricks but it shouldn't be serious.
"I think so." Her voice sounded estranged to her own ears. Swallowing tightly, Kate licked her lips, releasing herself from his hold a little too fast. "Yes. I'm okay. Can you…"
Her own words resounded in her mind as she shook once more, gripping for the wall nearby, searching for support and reassurance. She was okay. This had just been a small attack, darkspawn were so much more dangerous. I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm just fine, I really am and the mantra ran on and kept going as her breathing returned to normal.
"Good." The elf reached for her hand, again, smoothness of movements she could barely describe and tugged her with him. Her feet, however, had other ideas. Both locked against the floor and her free hand scratched the wall uselessly. No. She had just been attacked; the fact that this man had pointed ears and, apparently, had helped her couldn't mean he wasn't dangerous or on her side. She couldn't be sure.
"I need to reach the Wardens. Wherever they are." Her indecision probably showed in her face because what she could see of the man's face smoothed, became kinder, his smile losing that edge that spoke of inappropriate jokes and abrupt moves without explanation.
"You're harmed," he said, touching his neck where her own ached. "Let's get that looked at. Oh stop wondering if I'm going to drag you to a dark alley. He did that already and myself, well, I do like to be original. We go, you get checked, you go. Simple."
It felt familiar, this situation. It was how they usually met others on the run. An attack, some kind of trust formed when someone came at them with a weapon. Kate hesitated again, just a little, her fingers rapping on the stone wall she was supporting herself on before leaning in. He had chiseled features, she noticed, mocking, youthful and sincere all at the same time.
"Please?" the man added. It sounded pathetic on him, like a little boy asking for a treat.
Kate lowered her head in an affirmative nod, instinctively. It was all he needed. Her head had barely straightened and the man was already pulling her along, carefully making sure both of them stepped on Vaughan in some way or another before leaving. Kate had no shame in pressing especially hard on the man's arm as they took off running, weaving through the dark streets like children. He jumped from shadow to shadow like someone born to do it, someone who had been raised on those paths. He ran without worries, like it was a game, barely remembering he was dragging someone with him, someone who had just been nearly killed, thank you very much.
The man did, however, stop at every corner, carefully dipping his blond head to see beyond, twisting and turning whenever he found the path to be inadequate. Kate didn't notice. All she could see was his back, carefully enfolded in dark leather, the arm that guided her, muscles moving and rippling with each movement when he turned sharply.
"Look." There was a small sound from the man, so small she almost missed it in her mindless run. It was a snicker. Kate was pushed in front, cornering one of the grey houses only to see a large wooden door. By its side slept a human, obviously uncomfortable due to the late hour. Her guide walked nearer, dragging her with him, and waved a gloved hand in front of the closed eyes. He tutted lightly, tongue clicking in disapproval. "Second time. Good guards aren't made right anymore."
But he did nothing about it. Her hand was finally released, leaving her to cross her arms over her chest. The man didn't bother to notice. His hand closed into a knuckle, knocking against the door in a careful manner. Two quick beats, three, one, a pause. Kate tried to memorize it but it was a purposely fast rhythm, meant to be used by those who needed it and forgotten by those who didn't.
The male elf entered first and she followed cautiously, trying to see everything at the same time. There was little to discern, however. The thick wood door gave entrance to a gloomy hallway, poorly decorated, or so it seemed in the dim light. There was a door to the immediate right, closed with its key hanging precariously on the lock. Three steps ahead, the first piece of furniture, a course wooden table containing little more than a jar of flowers. As Kate passed though, she noticed something else. Various pictures – painted, not photographed as preferred by the higher classes – smiling expressions on solemn features.
"There we go." Her guide opened the door at the very end of the hallway, entering completely and moving quickly to light up a vast array of candles. Kate stopped, hesitating at the very entrance of the room as if expecting something to happen. Something unexpected, it wouldn't be the first time that day. Nor the second or third, now that she thought about it. "You can sit down, I will get someone to look you over. He never sleeps properly anyway."
The man hummed as he moved, the same natural grace she had seen while on the streets showing clearly even in the homely setting. And there was something so painfully familiar about the brick walls, the way the candlelight would lighten just the barest space around, the soft humming which hinted at words long unheard. It reminded her a little of home, of her father in the kitchen – and her throat constricted a little thinking of it – how her parents would move in what was their space as she watched. And it seemed even more nostalgic when he turned and the light hit those carved features, the trace of a tattoo painted on skin ever so close to his eye. Eyes which were light, blue as a summer sky.
Something slid down her cheek. Fluid? How inopportune.
Her mouth opened and whispered a name, coming closer without seeing how her feet were moving as all hesitation faded into nothing, fingers reaching out to trail the side of his face. Just as his eyes opened wider in surprise, confused even before recognition dawned in him. And there it was; the reason why his grin seemed familiar, why she wasn't thoroughly scared out of her own skin even after following this man who she thought to be unknown and possibly dangerous.
"Kallian?" The elf muttered, ever present smile already tugging his lips. It sounded as an address to an apparition.
"Zevran."
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"So you see. I just had to bring her here. It was nearly an obligation."
There had been no time for the knowledge to sink in. Zevran had winked before pushing her into a small couch, patting her cheek lightly like she was the kid he had known, and vanished to Maker knew where. From then to now, Kate could wager she had spent a little over five minutes alone, trying to put some order in the maelstrom of thoughts which had overtaken her mind. Not a lot of time to focus or put anything into perspective. Just some to try and stifle her grin to something that seemed more of a sober smile and push her tears back before she made more of an utter fool of herself.
But it was Zevran, her mind repeated over and over. Logic had told her that it was possible to find one of the many people met on the run but it had been an odd sort of hope. The kind stashed away at a corner, to be touched rarely; cautiously because too much hope could be one's undoing. It was bright and conscious right in front of her now, even as she focused her gaze on her closed knuckles, tightly closed on her knees.
The man Zevran had brought upon return was taller than both of them, older by far, she would say. His head was carefully shaved until no shadow marred the pale skin, his eyes so light and serene that they were almost painful to gaze into. But the most amazing thing to her wasn't those details. It was the tattoos, drawn beautifully on his aged features, weaving through the skin like they belonged to it. Kate couldn't look away from them, barely noticing how her smile persisted in going nowhere.
He commanded respect the moment he had crossed through the threshold and her body had reacted automatically, straightening like a soldier ready for inspection. Then childish wonder had taken over.
"You need to stop bringing trouble upon yourself, Zevran." He had a deep voice, assured; a little like the Commander even though both men seemed as different from each other as night from day. Good thing Kate was sitting too. When the older elf looked at her, she felt like a little girl facing the school master for the very first time. He bowed a little, fingers reaching for her face, pulling it upwards so he could touch her neck. His eyes were still difficult to face but she found staring at that spot of skin just beneath was easier. "What is your name, Da'len?"
Was she supposed to answer? Answer what? Her confusion probably showed since Zevran's head appeared somewhere in her line of sight, barely above the other's shoulder. The man was having way too much fun in leaving her in the dark. If she wasn't happy – ridiculously so – she would have kicked him that moment. Taking her track record with authorities into consideration – including her attempt to threaten the Commander at some point – she would likely miss and hit the healer.
"She just arrived, Keeper."
Zevran said so to her, enunciating the words like they explained everything; the reason for her reticence to speak and the one that, in his point of view, would change her mind.
"I see." Calm, slow, evaluating all over again. "I am Zathrian, current Keeper of this Reservation." His fingers barely touched her cheek, splayed out, tips on her skin while his eyes searched for hers; light, sharp and stronger than many people she had met in her life. It didn't become any less unnerving. If anything, the skin underneath his fingers twitched and tried to recoil. "Then tell, Da'len. What is yours?"
Kate swallowed, wincing as her throat complained about the movement. Even her voice was lower than usual. It was hard, didn't they understand that? Elves didn't share their names, especially among humans, as that was often all they had. They shared with other elves – the ones who knew their struggle and their beliefs, the ones who would use her name as something precious instead of using it as a brand in some notebook. But the girl had spent enough time on the run for even that act of trust to be complicated. The simple act of giving her name, trusting someone she had never seen in her life had turned into a struggle. Still, he had told her his, he had trusted her that much. It was a matter of giving what one received.
"Kate." But she still couldn't do it properly. The girl shuffled a little in her place, trying to stop the recurring wish to push away – one common to every sick patient in front of a particularly serious doctor. "Kate Tabris."
"Hm. Tabris." A non-committable sound if she had ever heard one, not a comment about her half-truth. "I think we have some here. Do we, Zevran?"
Zevran didn't reply, busy moving all over the room but Zathrian didn't expect one. Words to fill up silence, that was all they were. He was much more interested in her neck, long fingers prodding gently at the pained skin. Kate found herself watching the drawings on his skin all over again, dark brown against the paler tone, vines weaving through his traces delicately. It was beautiful and indeed distracting.
It made it easier to ignore the first signs of magic but there it was. Her eyes widened and shifted below, following his arm to where it connected to her skin; light burrowing through it, sweeping through her blood with eerie smoothness. The conclusion was too shocking – too dangerous – to be spoken outloud. Zathrian, Keeper or not, was a mage.
The man didn't react visibly; eyes meeting hers with no worry, only calm and an unspoken certainty of her silence. A corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile; it wasn't even a sign of amusement. It was as if he could read her mind and knew exactly what she was thinking. It wasn't anything wrong either, Kate continued, a hand rubbing the no longer pained skin. A mage in a Reservation. He had to be oddly good at hiding himself.
Kate swallowed the little voice before it could blurt out 'you're a mage!' to someone who was helping her. He surely didn't need her help to realize that.
"You're good to go," the man evaluated, resting his large hand on her hair. It was heavy, comforting; she could see the small spots in his skin which told of age, the wrinkles here and there. "We have a couch upstairs, feel free to use it for the rest of the night."
"I can't stay." Kate shook her head lightly – an unspoken request to be released – before rising from the chair she had occupied, patting away any dust off her uniform that either wall or ground had left behind. It was a wonder in itself that Sam hadn't already crossed the street calling her name or spelled his position so she would be able to find him. She moved around, trying to identify the way out when someone caught her arm, tugged and pushed her right into her original position.
"No?" Zevran leaned in front of her. He was smiling again; when they were kids that had usually meant mischief. "But we can exchange stories, perhaps braid each other's hair and in the morning?" Cue little dramatic pause. "I'll make pancakes."
Kate bit down any urge to snicker, swaying a little on her feet while worried hands moved behind her back. "Sam's here," she informed quickly. "And he doesn't know where I am. I need to get back before he notices and begins to worry."
If his smile was dangerous before, it became downright terrifying, glinting like gold in the half darkness. She had forgotten, of course she had. Zevran and Sam were opposites, different as night and day itself. Only where Sam would rather avoid the other elf like the plague, this one had always had a different approach.
"Aw, little Sammy's here. Still attached at your heels? My, now I just have accompany you back."
Attach himself. Bother. Chatter. Follow him around because, it seemed Zevran didn't understand how one just couldn't like his personality. Kate could think without effort of the several times the blond elf had pestered the other merely because it amused him.
"Don't hit on him."
How useless to try and stop it. Zevran's answer was a low chuckle, brief but very honest.
"Now where would be the fun in that?"
They were no longer children, that was obvious. But the way Zevran touched her shoulder; same grin, same way to act, similar person. She felt like burrowing against him like then, huddled all together in a pile because that was the best way to keep warm. Momentarily, she forgot what would happen once the blond elf found the mage. And to have such an event observed by the Commander, Sam would either harm him or face no one for weeks to no end.
"Go upstairs," the younger elf advised, shutting further protests down with a firm raised hand. "I am serious, Kate. Get some rest. I'll go get Sam. Who knows?" That ridiculous smile again, the one that made her think of rotten eggs hidden in inappropriate places. Or a dagger slipped in from shadows. "He might just have missed me enough for…"
"For?"
"For something you are neither old nor experienced enough to watch, never mind participate." Zevran pushed her in the direction of a door, barely hidden by a pair of old curtains, caring little how she delayed her steps in order to watch her surroundings. He would have done the same in her shoes, more than likely. "Don't act like the jealous sister, looks bad on you."
"Zevran, please be silent for a moment. You will have time for that later on." Both quarreling elves shut up immediately, staring at the Keeper with the strange sensation of being unruly children. There was something about the older man, that was all. It commanded respect even from her who had lacked an older figure to respect for a long time. His hand rested on her shoulder briefly as he passed. "You have been attacked, Da'len. It might have not settled then but it will."
It hadn't been the first time it happened, she almost said, it was okay, it was really fine. Zathrian had a manner that calmed people though, that kept them silent while he spoke. She felt that as the intensity of his gaze fell on her, heavily lidded eyes, serious like a blade against skin. Kate closed her mouth, hands tightening in front of her all over again. The older elf made a small sound – possibly of exasperation – before leaving.
"Guide her upstairs, Zevran," his voice instructed. "Then we will find her companions."
All thoughts of disobeying faded into nothing as Zevran took her side, held her arm without permission and pushed her upstairs. Kate had time to see a small room, stains in wallpaper made into veritable blotches in the light filtered by the curtains, before her body found a bed underneath. An honest to Maker bed. She needed only a pillow beneath her head to rest.
"He's a mage," she whispered to the cat-like eyes, ever so close to her own. The bed underneath her, the worn covers, the lack of artificial light, the old blanket he was now pulling over her—it felt odd because it was too familiar. If she closed her eyes a little, it could really be her father over her. But the safety didn't keep the thousand little questions running through her mind.
"And a Keeper," her companion confirmed. "And a grouch. But he grows on you. I believe it's a mage thing."
"But aren't we in…?" His hand found her mouth in the darkness and covered it, silencing all the comments which would eventually follow. How he was there, why, wasn't it dangerous for he and them, he wasn't a Warden and... Maker, she thought too much.
Zevran chuckled somewhere in the darkness. "Sleep, Kallian. You'll get your answers in the morning."
She obeyed. After that, Kate remembered nothing, not even the male elf's soft goodnight.
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Sam hadn't run outside even after one hour had passed since Kate's disappearing act. It wasn't so much about his self-control as it was because of Maric's comments, randomly reminding him that they were in a Reservation and Fiona would more likely shoot a human than she would allow them to harm an elf. It was little more than nonsense and everything in the mage wished to disregard it immediately. But when it wasn't Maric, it was Loghain's eyes, staring him down every time they rose from the weapon he had been cleaning. As he couldn't leave without drawing everyone's attention, Sam used the time to rationalize the matter. His exchange with Fiona, for example, led him to believe she was, in theory, more adept of fairness than useless cruelty. Forcing himself to trust in that notion, he sat by a corner, looking out the window, never noticing how his fingers were crisped strongly around his staff or the agitation which filled up the small house.
It had been supplied by the Lady herself. As simple as every other inside the village, sparsely furnished but warm and comfortable. It even contained small luxuries such as warm water for their use and a few very precious electric lamps. Other than that, it was nondescript. There were no decorations to make it a home; no pictures, no paintings, and no flowers. Just an empty frame of a house, filled with machines and no actual life. Their presence had changed that, if only temporarily.
Oghren and Cullen, he had learned, tended to spend their time in some form of companionship. Maybe it was self-defense since Loghain and Maric had their own way of shutting others out but it was near constant. Sitting front to front, playing cards were exchanged with the seriousness of a battle, sometimes interrupted with a chuckle or a complaint about cheating. Sam frowned, feeling Kate's absence more acutely. He was used to her, to her presence even when in silence. Fade, he couldn't even remember a time they had slept less than five meters from each other. Last time, when had it been? When she had been caught in… was it Amaranthine? Or was that only where he had found her days after?
It certainly hadn't been by his own choice.
A sigh escaped his lips before his resolve was formed. Enough waiting. He abandoned his vigil, reaching for the staff unconsciously, feeling the magic sparkle underneath his fingers in momentary happiness. His body reacted easily to the newfound ability to show off his magic at any moment he wished, like the time he had pushed it down and constricted it was suddenly a bad dream. Sam went nowhere without the outward symbol of his status, danger or not. A coat was placed over his uniform and he was less than a meter from the wooden door which led outside when he was interrupted.
"Where are you going?" Maric had mastered the ability to show up exactly when and where he wasn't necessary.
Sam stopped, a hand resting on the doorknob, eyes on what he supposed to be his superior officer. Superior officer. What an odd notion, he thought carelessly, staring at the blonde man. He was no soldier and his notion over chains of command was limited to follow whoever knew the best way out. He wasn't ready to obey this man – especially this man, more often than not so unrealistically driven by his own wishes at a given moment.
His frown was back in full force.
On the other hand, Maric was smiling. Granted, it didn't seem at all amused. If anything, it seemed judging. Expecting to run now that he had the resources and opportunity to do so? Fools, he wouldn't leave Kate behind. Though not a completely stupid idea, he would have to admit; the possibility of escape was still in the back of his mind as a last resort.
"Every time each of us steps outside," the human continued, uncaring of Sam's visible distraction. "We end getting lost. For such a practical person, Fiona doesn't know how to design a city to save her life. She has circular streets getting into more circular streets, how practical is that?"
Was he joking? Maric spoke energetically, with his hands even. He seemed honest, an honest fool. Sam opened his mouth to state these words before deciding against it. Alright, the man had managed to use an excuse to stop him which was so irrational that he had no answer to give him.
"Ka—" No. Not her name. Maker, he was distracted tonight. Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly, swallowing the sigh hiding behind his lips. "I can find my way. Tabris hasn't shown up yet and she is the one who might be lost. I prefer to search instead of wait."
"Hm." For such a non-committable sound, it sounded incredibly loaded with meaning. The human's eyes lowered to his, a little curious. "You two really rely on each other, don't you?"
Defensiveness came to the surface, instinctive as breathing. "Why are you asking?"
Maric raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture, his grin sedated. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say it was a forced one.
"No reason. I just noticed." Right. No meaning whatsoever behind his words. Did this man take him for an idiot? "You two are never more than ten feet away from each other," the blond man continued. "When you fight and she tries to take the lead, you are two steps behind. You sleep next to each other, back to back. I'm presuming you're not married otherwise you'd sleep actually together. By your reaction, it's a no."
Sam had winced visibly, the sheer idea bringing something very akin to disgust to the surface. Kate was his sister or as good as. Anything else could only be thought of by someone who spent seventy per cent of his time chasing skirts. Of course, the idea of being watched by Maric wasn't as pleasant.
"Come on, I'll go with you." The gigantic greatsword was tugged out from its place behind the door, straps carefully tightened over the man's shoulder before Sam could tell him company wasn't needed or wished. "Loghain! I'm going out! Don't miss me!"
"I won't," the Commander commented back, not bothering to look towards his friend in favor of a rapidly growing amount of paperwork. The gun he had been cleaning rested by his side on a table, ready to be used at any given moment. "Don't spawn. And if you get drunk again, don't get arrested."
Damnit. Now he wouldn't be able to get out of it. Sam breathed deeply, trying not to let any annoyance show. It was fine. It was better to have someone watching his back, even if it wasn't the person he actually trusted to do that. With that in mind, he focused on the door, reaching for the knob again as Maric complained loudly over some thing or another, likely to do with the Commander's vague insinuations. Who knew?
He would have waited for a mere minute – no more – for the man to get moving. It wasn't needed. Sam was about to open the door when the knob underneath his fingers twisted. On its own. Without thinking, Sam turned to the door, releasing the object like it was suddenly scalding him. His eyes followed the movement of the silvery globe as the lock clicked, the bolt loosened and, finally, the door opened into the darkness. Then they met lighter ones, blinking slowly in makeshift confusion.
An elf. Taller than him, bald, Sam would guess at least, fifteen, twenty years older, dressed simply in a shirt and dark brown slacks. His left hand rested on the now open door, the other on the doorframe, a foot almost crossing over. Apparently, he hadn't expected to be confronted so quickly and without warning.
"I was told the Grey Wardens were housed here?" he asked carefully, looking at him up and down and, apparently, not finding him much.
"I'm a Warden." Said out loud it sounded doubly as odd.
"I see." Again, up and down, a judging look, almost skeptical. Sam wasn't a prideful man, not in a normal situation. His light annoyance, probably born from human prodding, Kate's absence and now this man's intervention, had to be smothered beneath an empty smile and an urge to leave as fast as possible. "I have a word to be said to your leader, if you would?"
He didn't wait for permission. Without a single added word, the man passed by him, by Maric who said nothing, swift and silent, dignity rushing off him in waves. Sam wondered if he should be bothered by the man's attitude but decided there was little reason to. If anyone should be offended, it would be the Commander. And that one wasn't inclined to show it. There was a glimmer of recognition in the man's eyes as he turned from the paperwork, placing the sheets he had been scribbling on down and standing, arm outstretched for a greeting.
"Commander Loghain."
"Zathrian."
Hands shook as civility – hardly warmth – settled in.
Sam's curiosity picked up, his mind temporarily forgetting about his chosen task. Who was this man anyway? From Loghain's look, someone to be taken into consideration. Also from his gaze, Sam would wager it wasn't someone the human trusted even though there was respect somewhere in his expression. The mage pulled a little back, ready to pay; maybe hear whatever this visit brought with him. But that was when… "Surana." Warm breath slipped across his ear accompanying an arm, all too comfortable around his waist. It startled him out of his reverie like a snake on his skin would. "Missed me?"
His eyes widened, body rejecting contact so quickly that he was already turning, staff held as a barrier between him and whoever it was before the action registered. Blond hair, longer, a tattooed face for a reason the man had never explained, eyes which were, at the same time, dangerous and amused. The name came unbidden to his lips, brimming with disbelief. "Arainai?" The blond man smiled again, lacking anything Sam would call actual amusement. If a lion could smile, it'd smile like Arainai. The mage's hand tightened around his staff so hard that the knuckles strained, white due to effort. "What are you doing here?"
"Your welcome leaves much to be desired, Surana." Arainai had a way to move, to look at you and make you feel self-conscious. Sam didn't like it. "Tabris' was much more acceptable." But with those words, he had all his attention.
"Where is she?" He asked quickly, forcing his tension out of his muscles by pure strength of will. "Why isn't she with you?"
"Better question is why isn't she with you." It was a recrimination and the mage didn't like it. Later. Later he would feel free to dislike the elf for this. First, information. But Arainai wouldn't lose his time bantering if Kate wasn't fine. That was obvious. Not even he could be this callous. Right? Maker damnit. "Breathe, Surana," he added when he received no reactions. "She is fine. Just went through the usual. Betrayal, darkness, a bit of physical violence."
What? Sam's heart stopped for a moment before restarting, thundering in his chest as if out of control. "What?"
"Boss will explain. You should pay attention."
"You just said she was attacked and you want me to—"
"Be calm and wait. That was always your thing." Zevran wasn't playing around anymore. His expression was locked, serious. Completely focused on whoever he called boss when all Sam wanted to do was shake him and demand replies. It wasn't needed. On the opposite side of the room, the older elf had, apparently, relayed the exact same information to the Commander. And he hadn't liked it any more than himself. Loghain had stood from his chair, paperwork forgotten behind him, a look in his eyes that Sam hadn't seen yet. Not outside of battle. Dangerous, a metaphoric knife, as cold and deadly as the real deal.
A tool, that was what he had called them according to Kate. Of course. A human wouldn't want its tools broken using that property.
"Very nearly killed," the elf confirmed serenely. "You owe Arainai your gratitude for not losing your Warden."
"And my control the fact that he didn't lose a second," Zevran completed.
Loghain looked at the blond elf, noticing his presence finally, disregarding the way he still kept by Sam, his arm uncomfortably close to his. The rogue gave them a delicate shrug, as if it was obvious. "I can connect the dots as well as anyone else. Same uniforms. It was one of your own that tried killing her. And don't come tell me it wasn't an assassination attempt." His teeth shone as he smiled. "I know a lot about that."
"Ah fuck. I told you, damnit. I told you that idiot was going to let himself do something stupid."
Words blurted out of Maric's lips as usual. Unlike usual though, he was speaking them in a harsher tone, directed at his friend and not the newcomers.
"Shut up, Maric," replied the Commander, visibly avoiding the other's gaze.
"Loghain."
"I'm serious. We can discuss it later." Sam could see his jaw locked, expression so impassive that it told exactly of how much anger was right underneath as he turned towards Zevran. "You. What did you do to Vaughan?"
To Vaughan? Who cared about him? Sam sure didn't. No one should. He had tried killing Kate, Maker damnit. If it was up to him, he would… Zevran's hand clasped on his arm. Oh. His hand. The mage lowered his eyes to it momentarily, watching as the light which had been moving around his skin subsided. It had begun shining, a sure tell of magic right at his fingertips – literally – leaving his control without permission.
"Head wound,"
Everyone had taken a step back from Loghain. The Commander had started pacing, slowly, heavy steps as his thoughts wandered. Whatever he had in mind though, Sam could see it wasn't pleasant. His brow was furrowed now, hands opening and closing continuously as if to relieve tension.
"Cullen." The name was called out softly, no nonsense. It made the mage stand at attention as if it had been barked.
"Sir?"
"Retrieve him and take him to the infirmary."
The human mage didn't move. Instead, he seemed almost confused.
"Wouldn't it be better if I brought him he—"
"Infirmary," Loghain repeated, a hiss through barely open lips. "Make sure every elf there knows exactly what happened. Stay with him till it's done and don't interfere unless he raises a hand against anyone."
It was useless to argue. Cullen nodded, retreating to search, presumably, for his staff. The rest of them waited while Loghain stared at each in turn, lingering a little on Sam in unspoken evaluation before moving onto Zathrian. His mouth opened, words formed and…
For the first moment, Sam had no idea what was going on. There was light, filtering through the window. But it wasn't daytime yet, the night was still young and hours would pass until sunlight rushed in. His mind grabbed all these assorted details without truly making sense of them. Then there was the noise, the loud explosion which rocked the floor underneath his feet, the air which suddenly pushed the windows inside, mingling with broken glass. Someone screamed 'get down', the very same someone who pulled on his arm, taking out of the way of the crashing windows.
Sam tasted blood on his lips as his face smashed against the floor. He spit out quickly, trying to see in the newly arrived darkness.
"Was that an explosion?"
It was a stupid question but Sam wasn't inclined to point it out to Oghren. Outside the window, there was the orange glow of fire and shouts were beginning to replace the night's former silence. Maker help him, Sam found himself praying, Maker help them all.
"Everyone outside! Now!
The Commander's voice rose above the agitation and everything else – Kate, Vaughan, attacks and retribution – faded into the background as he obeyed.
xxxXXXxxx
AN - Four months to write a chapter. I swear, this will be over when I'm over sixty. Thank you for the patience and hopefully no one has given up on this just yet. Hopefully? Crossing fingers on this side. I just ask that, while I adore every single word said (feel free to drop them :D), just don't review continuously telling me to update. If I'm not, it's because I'm busy with work or just lacking inspiration. I can't do better at the moment.
Huge thank you to Josie Lange who bashed this into shape with the mighty beta-hammer.
And, as always, a big big thank you for the reviews, guys: Josie Lange, Shakespira, Roxfox1962, Enaid Aderyn, ChampionTheWonderSnail and Judy. I'm hoping the next chapter doesn't take other four months...