CHAPTER NINE
Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.
~Arthur Golden
Zevran motioned towards the bartender. One hand reached for the coin in his pocket, the other tucked the free strands of his white blond hair behind a pointed ear. He glanced around to make sure he was still alone. Amidst the roomful of patrons, he knew he was. No one was watching him – well, at least not the way he expected under the circumstances. Not that he'd put down his guard – how could he when he had done the unthinkable?
How many Crow Masters have created a monster? How many men go around stabbing their own flesh and blood?
"Another one, ser," he said with a half smile, glancing into the empty stein.
He slipped two silvers across the table, as the barmaid refilled his drink, and then he returned to the table by the door, kicking up his booted feet and sipping slowly. He played the game well, forcing casualness he did not feel, and acting nonchalant when in reality he was more frightened than he could ever remember being.
He did not know if his father had survived.
Even now, a week after the deed, all Zevran could recall was the heat of the falling evening and the heaviness of his dagger as he had sunk it into his Master's back.
He knew that if Renaldo had survived the stabbing…
I am living on borrowed time. He will come after me. doubled in anger and make sure that I finish what I started here. Maker help me.
It seemed strange to Zevran somehow – he had always believed that to join the Crows was to sign away one's life. That wasn't really true, and he had realized that only after stabbing his Master in the back. Literally.
It was only now that his life was no longer truly his. The life of a Crow was not a bad one, and for one who had been from the Antivan slums, it was a good life, indeed. He had never wanted for food, wine, woman or man. Even though it came with a high price for murder was a crime punishable by death - if you were good you would not get caught.
Even though it had seemed like his life was not his, in some ways it had been. Now…
He spared my life once, because I am his son and he is proud of me. But will he spare me again now that I have done this thing? Surely not. If Father survived, he will seek vengeance. If he is dead, someone else will seek his vengeance for him. And if there is no revenge to be had, I will still have to murder Lucia to prove to my own Father that I am loyal to him. Literally or figuratively, I am a dead man.
He looked down into the full mug of ale deeply troubled, and decided that he would sit here even if Taliesen did not show himself. After all, it was either here or the trashy room he had rented in the eastern part of Denerim. There was nothing waiting for him there but a piss stained mattress and a strange, toothless man who demanded a silver for each night Zevran had spent there.
A blasted silver to sleep in a shithole! Maker.
He had not missed Ferelden at all. The weather was cool and wet, even though it was late spring. The sunshine was weak compared to the brilliance of his Antiva. And the last few days had been marked by torrential rains that he had never seen in his home land.
Truly, it was a miserable country. And here, he was nobody. No, he had not missed it, and yet, he had returned. His heart twisted. The only good thing that had come from this forsaken country had been Lucia Cousland. He took a sip of his drink.
That…and the ale.
Full bodied, fruitier than it had the right to be, with just enough bitterness.
He chuckled to himself to spite his misery.
Perhaps traveling with the drunken dwarf had painted his tastes. At any rate, he was glad for the ale. It made him feel warm, mellow. Though Zevran preferred the rich wines and the singular brandies of Antiva, sometimes one needed to get down and dirty and throw back a few mugs of brew. There was no doubt of that.
Especially now. Maker, I would like to drown myself in ale.
Getting besotted would do him little good, but it would help him forget why he was back in Denerim, why he had stabbed his father, and why he couldn't quite get a grip on his life anymore.
As hard as he tried not to, Zevran was faced with the same dilemma. Oh would it have been any other woman – any- and he would have done it simply because he was devoted to his master and his work, and to the guild. But – Lucia.
Can I make such a choice? Do I even HAVE a choice?
He wondered what it was about the Cousland family that had pushed Renaldo to such action – murder without reason seemed, well…it seemed-
Yes, murder is cruel but we have our reasons for it. Many of them in fact. Some people require assassinating but I cannot think of any justification at taking the life of a noble woman whom you did not truly even know!
There was of course the proverbial two sides to every story but Zevran was not sure he wanted to hear his father's side – and he certainly would never know Lucia's mother.
But even if there were a reason for Eleanor Cousland's murder it still does not help me!
Behind him the door opened just as he took another sip, and the elf turned around, dropping his feet on the dusty floor. Taliesen walked in covered in a heavy black cloak, but his shock of black hair and beady eyes were unmistakable. The man standing looked around the crowded tavern and spotted Zevran immediately.
"There you are," he said, sinking into the chair opposite the elf's.
Taliesen's eyes reflected shock and what Zevran hoped was relief. A secret part of him hoped that in this man he had true friend, someone who would miss him if he happened to be slain. After all, every man needed a friend like that. He would be ever grateful for the deed Taliesen had done the night Renaldo had fallen – without his help, surely Zevran knew he would be already dead.
"Here I am," mocked the elf smoothly, taking another swig of ale. Ah…perfection.
"I am glad to see you are alive," said the dark haired man, sighing as he removed the cloak. "I was sure that after what happened at Alfieri's estate…oh mi dios!" he hissed leaning towards Zevran. "You should be dead!"
"I should be, but alas, I am not," replied the blond man. "I am surprised that you were not the one sent to kill me, my friend," he added, suddenly wondering if he had been right to trust Taliesen in spite of their long time friendship.
The other man ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I did as you asked and I took my leave of you, but I could not return to Antiva– I do not even know if Renaldo lives," he admitted, his eyes down-turned.
The silence between them was heavy and tense. The dark haired one finally spoke, voicing his questions, the same questions he had asked on the boat the night they had fled Antiva City.
"Will you tell me now what happened between you and Renaldo?"
Without looking up, Zevran spoke.
"It is much more complicated than you know, my friend. I could not take the time to explain. It started shortly after I was sent here the first time."
Yes, that day – the day the two sitting together had slain their companion, watching her fall as she choked on her own blood. Zevran could not remember a moment in his life when he had felt more sickened, more deadened, than the day Rinna had been killed.
"Que paso Zevran?" His voice was more muted now. "How did the assassination of the Grey Wardens go so awry? I had heard you left Antiva after Rinna…I believed that you would never return, that you were fleeing for what had happened."
He couldn't speak for a few moments and Zevran refused to look up, afraid his own rattled emotions would be readable on his face.
"I had hoped to die," he agreed, nodding towards Taliesen. "It was supposed to be I or the Grey Wardens," he finished, his tone souring.
"I hear through the vine that your mark is to be the new queen within the month," Taliesen said, and the two assassins exchanged a look which spoke much without words.
"Indeed," Zevran stated matter of factly as he took another blessed sip of ale, "I had two marks, and both are still living, and the other will be Ferelden's new king."
There was no making sense of the tone of voice with which Zevran spoke, or why he was making light of a grave situation.
"When I arrived at your camp," began Taliesen in a lower voice now, "I was certain you had sent for me because the deed was done. But she was not dead! How could you have turned your back on that job, gone against Renaldo? And what happened last week at the estate – Zev, have you gone insane?"
Zevran let out a sad laugh, his fingers clasped around the large mug now half full of that night's salvation. Love was quite the insanity, in fact.
"To be perfectly honest, I do not think I could have killed her. There were…unexpected complications. And she fights as I do."
"You've faced other rogue fighters."
"Yes, but along with her she had a fallen templar, a sultry apostate, a lovely bard and that sodden Qunari soldier. None would have sat back and allowed me to take her life. Perhaps had I ambushed them at the beginning of my travels, I would have had a chance. But I did not do that."
Taliesen laughed.
"The Zevran I know would never shirk at the challenge," he replied, growing naturally suspicious. "What was the real problem? Why were you so eager to get away? Why did we not kill her when we had the chance? You know Howe is already wondering what happened, which makes me wonder why Renaldo spared your life."
Zevran sighed then, tapping his booted foot against the ground.
"That part is unimportant," he replied, for his true parentage was something he would not disclose to anyone – even a friend. "What is more troubling is Renaldo has sent me here once more to finish what I had started and I do not know if I can, even though…a part of me – wants to."
There was a silence and Taliesen looked at the other man thoughtfully.
"And why is it you cannot?"
Zevran looked up at his friend.
"It is her – Lucia Cousland. La amo."
"You love her?"
"I never believed there would be a situation that would make me hesitate in doing what Renaldo asks of me, but – she has changed everything about my life. From the moment I laid eyes on her the option to kill her went out the window. He backed me into a corner and I…I panicked," he admitted shaking his head.
Taliesen stared, his dark eyes widening.
"For that woman you would risk your own life? Compromise your very being and everything you have known?" He asked incredulously. "I have seen you do stupid things in the name of so called amor in the past, but my friend, you have gone too far! You cannot return to Antiva until the job is done, yes? And if Renaldo survived the stabbing surely you have angered him and whether or not you finish the mission successfully may no longer matter. The Crows will find you sooner or later, if Alistair and Lucia do not kill you first."
The elf raised an eyebrow which caused Taliesen to snort in contempt.
"If you met your would be assassin on the streets would you not want him dead?"
"You have a point."
Taliesen wore a smirk touched by concern.
"No matter how you look at it, you are a wanted man, and I'm no longer sure I can rescue you a third time."
Zevran's honey brown eyes sparkled.
"You certainly saved this damsel in distress at least once," he agreed, heartily avoiding the answers to his questions. "I would not ask you do that again."
Taliesen stared, shaking his head.
"And you return here then? Of all places?" he questioned, raising one heavy dark eyebrow. "For you still hold a candle for the soon to be queen?"
The answers may have been written on the elf's face, but his companion hated to assume anything and Zevran remained silent in a maddening way. Sighing, the other assassin gave up.
"So you will not tell me," he guessed with resignation. "I warn you, I bought you time by alluding that someone else attempted Renaldo harm while you hurried to Ferelden to finish your mission. They may not look for you immediately but once Renaldo awakens and he speaks to them the truth, I do not know-"
He took a breath and leaned in towards Zevran, his eyes serious. The other assassin looked no way near as troubled, though perhaps it was simply the effects of the ale.
"Here is how it is. Renaldo will come after you once he is well and Ferelden will be the first place he comes. He may come to find you, but it will be more likely that he will come to ensure that you have done your job. If you care for the girl as you say you do, neither of you are safe here."
Zevran's eyes flickered as he registered Taliesen's words, but his face remained stoic, his lips pressed together in a hard line as he stared into his empty mug. He could not – would not – express his fear at those words, for to admit fear was to embrace it in welcome.
"And?" he questioned tersely.
"And?" mocked Taliesen, his words tinged with surprise. "You want more?"
"No hay dos sin tres. Bad news does not travel alone."
Taliesen sighed.
"And the King believes you are to arrive in Denerim tomorrow night. He has had you followed all this time, perhaps since your arrival," he guessed.
The look on Zevran's face was grim when he looked up.
"You may be right," he murmured under his breath. "I have little time to waste here."
"Indeed, as far as I am concerned, you have NO time to waste here. You should leave. Tonight."
Zevran's face was unreadable. The rain fell outside in sheets – alas – he would never be used to such weather. He stood, shrugging on his cloak and pulling the hood over his crown of white gold hair. For awhile at least the glow of the fire and the ale would keep him warm when he left the tavern.
"Thank you my friend," he said then, nodding just as Taliesen also got to his feet. The two regarded each other in comfortable silence. "I owe you twice now."
Taliesen returned the nod, his own much lower.
"En las malas se conocen a los amigos. Be well, Zevran. I had hoped to find you alive. And stay away from the Pearl. It will be the first place Alistair will ambush in looking for you."
Zevran threw his head back, laughing richly.
"How….predictable of him then!" he stated with another flash of a confident smile. "I appreciate the warnings, my friend. I will heed them well."
He took two steps away from the small wooden table and turned to Taliesen once more, wondering if he would ever see his old friend again. At least alive that was.
"Allow me to embrace you properly," Zevran said reaching to hug his friend a moment.
He stepped back then. "Go with the Maker," Zevran murmured his eyes gazing with fellowship at his comrade for a split second, and then he slipped through the door.
He hurried out of the tavern into the rainy, cold night. The path ahead of him was studded with muddy puddles of water. Gripping his dagger underneath the cloak, Zevran hurried forward and out of sight, swallowed up by wallowing shadows. As he hurried along the alleyways and the least traveled streets, he was sure of one thing only. He would not leave Denerim, could not heed Taliesen's warnings. Not until he had seen her once more. His life meant much to him but he wasn't stupid and he knew that somewhere along the line his love for her had become more important than anything else. And he did not know how to rectify that.
Nor do I want to.
A/N: I have a coworker who helps me with the Spanish phrases. Taliesen's comment translates to 'a friend in need, is a friend indeed'. LCailan