As always, a huge thank you to Brelaina for her beta work. :) Next chapter brings the warden and Zev together - finally! :D
CHAPTER TEN
"...but her eyes had had too much in them and his heart way too little for things to keep going."
J.R. Ward
When the rest of the inhabitants of Eamon's estate were long in their dreaming, a faint light issued from the future king's bedchamber. It was from the fire that was burning in the grate nearest to Alistair's bed. Lucia sat on a small settee by the window, the book she had been perusing now in her lap, finger marking her place. Her mouth hung open.
It had been a long day, one filled with waiting for Lucia and meetings for Alistair, as the eve of his coronation drew near. It seemed strange to them both that something like ending the Blight had not put pause into anyone's heart, and that life was moving on just as it would have at any other time. Yes, the Blight was over, but now…now it was time to crown a new king! It seemed that the city was all a flutter with the news and with preparations for a celebration that none had seen in a very long time.
Alistair looked rather well rested for being the center of attention, as he was being pulled in every which direction, between the tailor and the cook, to the advisers and his royal army generals. Lucia had not seen or spoken to him since his return from Fort Drakon, that was, until that evening. She had finally brought up the questions that had arisen from the conversation with Perth. Lucia's heart hammered at Alistair's words. He was deep in thought she knew – his hair was messy from his hands and his cheeks flushed in a way that was only because of his inner turmoil and perhaps some excitement. She watched him as he began his nervous pacing - a habit she had noticed in him a long time ago. Alistair wore all emotion on his rather awkward sleeve. It was endearing yet at the same time it was sometimes all together irritating. Like now.
Lucia finally stood, putting her reading aside and moved towards her husband to be, her long nightgown fluttering around her toes. Her hands were tucked behind her back, wrung together so tightly her knuckles were turning white.
"Al, I'm not trying to be ungrateful," she said then, her own words sounding slow and garbled in her ears. "But I…I don't think…you don't need to be involved in this. I mentioned Zevran because I can't seem to move past what happened with my mother and the fact of what he did to us," she said, careful to include everyone in her statement because she wasn't ready to admit that it bothered her more than it had bothered anyone. She wondered if Alistair would have even given it a second thought had it not…
He watched her, running his fingers through his hair in agitation.
"Look, Lucia, when we get married, that's what I want you to be thinking about!" he exclaimed his eyes bright. "I know he hurt you and don't you think that it's time he faced the consequences? He's not dealing with just Alistair anymore," he added with a haughty lift of his chin. "I'm the king now, or soon to be, and I have powers beyond his own and he deserves…"
Lucia thought once more how undeserving she was of Alistair, especially since her love for him was not even half as pure as the love he had for her. She reached up to stroke his face in hopes of calming him.
"Please calm down," she breathed, her heart catching at his expression. "I didn't bring it up because I thought you had done something wrong. I just…was surprised you had gotten involved at all. How are you so sure he'll even be in the city? He's a Crow," she grumbled, her lips pursing together in a frown of distaste.
The soon to be king stopped pacing, and now the room was in complete silence as his footfalls had been rather loud on the wooden floor.
"Lucia, you know he'll be in Denerim!" he stated firmly, his eyes widening. "It's my coronation! Everyone will be feasting, celebrating, this whole city will be up in arms!" he exclaimed, opening his arms wide. "I kept thinking about what he had done, and how he had treated you...and me, and everyone really, and then I just...I just couldn't believe he'd just...disappear the way he did! So I talked to Dorvell, and now I'm sure of it. He means to come here – now – during all this confusion and revelry. It would be easier to hide."
That was when his expression faded, replaced by uncertainty and...perhaps sadness.
"He probably means to see you," he finished, his words trailing away into silence as his gaze dropped.
Lucia took a step forward, her hand covering his within seconds, hoping to reassure herself as well as him.
"Alistair..."
He hesitated and then allowed her to wrap her arms around him.
"I'm just saying," he muttered blushing just a touch. "I know...what you had is over, but...well I can't help wondering...what if-"
Yes. What if? Lucia hugged him closely, partly to assure him that she was there, and partly to avoid his gaze so that he not find out that even thinking of what had happened between herself and Zevran turned her all around. She banished those thoughts quickly and let go of him just as he began to speak again. She could see Alistair was trying to power through his conflicting emotions.
I need to do that too. He believes I've already dealt with my feelings. How can I do this to him?
"You are to be my Queen," he continued with a touch of devotion in his voice now. "Everyone in this city, Maker, everyone in Ferelden will know you now. If he's here as I suspect, he will certainly want to know how you've fared, don't you think?"
Lucia, wide eyed, could only stare. Nothing intelligent came to her lips.
"I..."
"Perhaps if we...well, if you just happen to be...at the same place at the same time, well that cannot be helped can it?" he said, and she saw for a second the flash of his eyes and the impish grin that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.
"You're setting him up!" she gasped.
Alistair smirked.
"Only a little?" he wheedled. "I know you don't want to see him, and Maker knows I don't. But...you know him. He'll only let us see...what he wants us to see."
Lucia swallowed, unable to argue even weakly with Alistair's logic. She knew he was right - Zevran could be a stealthy as a black cat on a moonless night. But, as she looked up into his eyes, she couldn't deny the fluttering of excitement in the pit of her stomach.
She wanted this, even if it seemed stupid and dangerous. Seeing Zevran that was. Stupid.
But I want to.
Yes, she did.
"And when…if…we manage to corner him?"
Alistair brushed his fingers against the softness of her cheek.
"There is no if," he said raising one eyebrow. "Remember? You and I, Grey Wardens. We can do anything, especially together."
Lucia bit back the sarcastic remark that threatened.
Together? You mean like how you left me behind when you went off to slay the archdemon?
She shook off her desire to snap at him, knowing he had been through just as much as she, if not more – and she couldn't. Not with his coronation on the horizon and their happy ending so close she could practically taste it.
Her response was a huge breath. Alistair pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"We question him," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm where it touched. "I know you've had questions. I only want to put your mind at ease so we can move past this. We deserve to be happy," he whispered to her and when she pulled away to gaze up into his eyes she saw there a flicker of desperation and hope before the ever present devotion lit them up. "You can ask him whatever you want, and I'll make him answer."
She knew he needed the closure as well if he was going to move on – after all – at one time, there had been something real between herself and Zevran, and she imagined it was difficult for someone as…new to romance as Alistair was…to understand.
She reached up to stroke his face for a moment, praying that she could find and give him the assurances he wanted.
"We do," she whispered, before kissing him as tenderly as she could muster.
Her Alistair. Wonderful, sweet, vanilla Alistair. The room was quiet for a few moments as each of them fell into their own thoughts.
After a long while, Lucia began to speak in a low voice, thinking of those things that Zevran had not told her, and the questions her father had avoided for so long.
"Do you ever wonder about your mother?" she asked him softly. "I mean…I know you know everything you need to about her, but…just about things. You know, things you might not know. Things Eamon didn't tell you or even…what Maric might have told you were he still alive. Cailan too."
Alistair gave her a quizzical look.
"Honestly? No," he replied running his fingers through her long tresses haphazardly. "But I don't blame you one bit. You told me a long time ago your mother was murdered. It seemed rather strange that your father has hardly ever offered you any sort of comfort about that."
Lucia swallowed and nodded as she heaved a sigh.
"Only instilled a fear of the Crows in me. It seems silly now, doesn't it? After everything I've faced?"
Alistair chuckled. "Perhaps," he agreed. "Or…maybe you don't need to know. Have you ever thought of that?"
"No, never," replied Lucia. "She was my mother. I remember growing up with her, being showered with love and laughter, and…I just can't remember when that stopped. Or why it stopped – only later did Father tell me the awful truth. Why would anyone kill a woman like my mother?"
She could see Alistair thinking on her words with patience, searching for the right thing to say. When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet.
"Why does anything awful happen, Lucia? Why did all those people die in Redcliffe? What about Connor? What Eamon and Isolde have gone through? Why did one mage destroy a whole Tower on his own? Remember Zathrian? Is it really possible for one man to hold such a grudge against something he cannot control? What choice did we have when we killed him? The world is full of sadness, full of things we can't explain. Your mother was probably a wonderful woman, because you are," he finished tenderly. "I'm only sorry I can't make your loss less than what it is."
She was silent for awhile after Alistair stopped speaking, thinking her own thoughts.
"I guess I was thinking about what you said about Zevran. I want to know…things, I suppose. I thought maybe he would know something about Mother that Father won't tell me. I want to know why he betrayed me and why he didn't just kill me when he had the chance."
Alistair nodded.
"I swear, Lucia. I'll make sure he tells you whatever you want to know once we have him where we want him."
She nodded, giving him a smile.
"I know," she said, taking his face in her hands and leaning up to give him another kiss.
The rain was ear-splittingly loud. The roof of the hovel where Zevran had been renting a room was made of wood and tin. Clearly the wood was rotted through and weak in some places, and the plaster nearest the door had worn out, causing a steady leak along the wall and onto the worn floors. It dripped incessantly, in a steady, predictable rhythm that had lulled Zevran into a half-sleep.
He was aware of much, even in that state. He smelled the damp scent of mold and piss, felt the hard and lumpy mattress under his back, saw the broken plaster on the other side of the room, and heard the rain, driving and hard against the tin. Sometimes, it was loud enough to drown out the gruff yelling from the man who was renting a room next to him. Other times, the yelling was clear and vulgar.
He rolled over, groaning. He wondered if he could fall any worse than he had already. He felt alone and out of place, scared and even remorseful for what he had done to Renaldo Alfieri.
Perdoname Father. But what choice did you leave me? I panicked. I am sorry.
Lying there in that place, he lost track of time and didn't even realize that the rain had fallen off and the man next door was now silent.
Slowly Zevran got up and moved across the tiny, dirty room and saw through the small crack in the ceiling that it was no longer raining. The navy sky was mostly still gray and muddled, but here and there he caught a glimpse of the faded stars peeking around the heavy clouds. It had been a long time since he had taken a moment to stare up at the heavens, he realized.
Zevran began to think then of being in Ferelden for the first time, traveling with the Wardens (with her) as they aspired to end the Blight. Yes, that had been the last time he had taken the time to see the stars.
There is still beauty left in the world.
It had been that bard, the red headed lovely one, who had said those words, and they now came back to him in that strange lilting and yet comforting voice of hers.
He found himself recalling nights long after all the others in the ragamuffin team had retired to their tents and random dreaming, and he had lain awake under the twinkling stars, stories his mother had told him of the Dalish –and more specifically of the man she had loved haunting him. Though his mother's first love had not been is father, the idea of his mother loving someone so much she had given up her life with the Dalish to run away with him had captured Zevran's thoughts.
She loved him so much she ended up homeless on the run-down streets of Antiva City having to sell her body to make ends meet. This is what love does to people? Insanity!
It had taken a certain grey warden to get under his skin and awaken so many things inside of him. And now…he felt like he knew what his mother had been thinking so long ago.
It is because now I know how she felt. What I did to my own father is worse than what she did to herself, is it not?
It gave him a peculiar kinship with a woman whom was his mother but at the same time, a woman he had never known.
Love? A foolish notion yes, and yet…one that had the potential to be the deadliest of traps. Is that how his mother had felt? Was he, Zevran Arainai, loveable in spite of all he had done and was not sorry for? Perhaps his time for love had come – and gone – with Rinna's death. Or perhaps it was simply that he had never deserved love. Either way, such thoughts would not allow the assassin peace, haunting him from the moment he had returned to Ferelden after trying to kill his Master.
It is then quite unfortunate that Lucia Cousland had been so easy to love!
Zevran thought that it complicated matters further, for he recalled how simple his life had been in spite of Rinna's death and the assignment that he had accepted in Ferelden. And then, there had been Lucia. He had bought time, watching her silently as she led her group towards a distant goal, facing what lay before her sometimes with feeling and other times without emotion, but always with compassion. He recalled watching thoughtfully, with interest, then admirably, and in the end with a secret desire.
He stepped away from the wall now and moved back to the miserable mattress on the other side of the cramped space, knowing it was either a sleepless night or…he would have to find something to do. His thoughts were his only friends now that Taliesen was gone and he had forsaken his life in Antiva City.
His room faced the back alley of the building, and here nothing stirred, most likely from the late hour and the unsavory feel of the neighborhood. It was because of that quality that Zevran had chosen such a place. The air was cool and wet and he took several breaths of sweet air. Several hundred feet away from him a group of men and women ran through the cobbled streets, yelling joyfully in support of the soon to be King Alistair.
Ah, the coronation – Zevran had nearly forgotten it. It was difficult for the assassin to imagine the awkward and shy spoken man in any position of power, let alone the throne! He almost laughed.
Oh Lucia, do you even know who he is and how wrong he is for you? Do you truly ache for him or is this choice to be his bride driven by your desire to be the proper noblewoman and daughter? Do you even know what passion is?
The last thought was inconceivable, for he knew no woman as passionate as Lucia Cousland. Everything that she had done and not done had affected her deeply – she relived all her decisions with deep consideration.
Zevran was of the mind that doing the 'right and 'wrong' thing was always arbitrary. His training had taught him that. What he considered the right thing was never universally claimed as such – and it was this way with all things. After all, most people believed the Crows were a group of evil, heartless men who killed for pleasure and sport. What Antiva City was doing in harboring such monsters was 'wrong.' And yet…he had never looked at being an assassin as something to take shame for, nor any of his killings as being wrong. It was simply a matter of looking at things from a different perspective. With the Crows, he had established a name, money, clothing and nourishment. No, it was not a bad life – nor had it been wrong. Such was the arbitrariness of right and wrong – and he had learned it early in life.
And of course, there is the matter of my Father. Would those around him see him as evil when I have always admired him for his tenacity, his quick thinking and for taking me in when Mother needed help the most? It is most arbitrary indeed.
Now he thought of Lucia and watching her learn such a lesson when pain and frustration had reflected in her eyes as those she had led often disagreed with her decisions. Zevran, himself, had never spoken his opinion on her decisions for he despised the self righteous, and would not point out her faults if he possessed them himself.
He had seen her cry for the first (and only time) after Connor Guerrin had died by her blade and Alistair had turned from her like a stubborn, petty little boy. Zevran had seen the disappointment in the eyes of the ravishing bard, the indifference in those of the Qunari and the apostate's smugness. None had reached out to Lucia in her distress, but it had been clear that Alistair's opinion mattered above all others.
There had been a mixture of rejection and disgust in Alistair's eyes – it was this that had caused Lucia's sparkling tears. Zevran had wanted to hold her and tell her that some people were not worth the tears, and certainly not a half-man like Alistair. It had been difficult to stomach the overly muscled fool after that. Though it may have been an opportune time to reach out and comfort Lucia after that night – he had not, for it had been obvious that the silly, blithering templar mattered to her, and she to him. Strange how a man who stated he loved her at the same time had the capacity to act like such an ass.
In the end, however, Zevran had convinced himself that Alistair was a better match for her – seeing as he was the future king of Ferelden.
And I am nothing but an elven assassin who happens to be good at waving around a dagger and putting delightful poisons in people's drinks.
He had told himself thus, and decided that whatever kind of true love that was between Lucia and Alistair – well, he wanted no part of it. Let them indulge in the stupidity that was love. He had bigger things to worry about (and he would not have admitted he was jealous).
He did not, however, lose hope. Perhaps that was love working its unique brand of magic, though he was not certain. In any case, he hoped that one day Lucia would give him a second glance in spite of the blossoming romance with her fellow warden.
And for whatever reason, he got lucky.
Zevran had never truly pursued her, and she had never pursued him – it had simply just happened, as if it had been meant by the Maker. Their coming together for those too brief moments was as unexpected as a rain shower on a sun filled day. He was glad for it too, for the moment came and went so quickly he had hardly been able to wrap his mind around it. Zevran had been used to being the seducer – being a Crow had taught him how to manipulate pleasure and use it as a weapon. Love as an emotion was thrilling, and, at the same time often cut deeper than any dagger. It could debilitate, confuse, muddle, influence, and in the end, it could destroy. He had never held himself to a higher standard – and he had used love just as he would have a sharp sword. To this end, he had not attempted to use such a weapon against the beautiful Grey Warden who had silently stolen his heart. At the time he had been faced with much more pressing problems – the predominant one being his mission to destroy her.
Lucia had come to him, unusually discouraged and confused by Alistair's secrecy about his parentage. She had hoped he'd be honest with her- his deception had reminded her of her father's secrets. Zevran had listened, saying very little. Her eyes had filled with tears and something – he did not know what – had possessed him to reach out and touch her face for the first time, feeling the softness of skin against his calloused fingertips. He had been reminded of an electric shock – ripping through him and awakening him completely. Making him realize in that moment how much it was he loved her.
No te preocupes, my dearest Grey Warden, everything will be just fine I am sure.
Zevran still recalled those words, the way he had spoken them, and the way she had gazed at him through her tears. Because something in those words had possessed her to lean in and press her lips against his. A kiss – their first – and only.
A kiss born from the need of comfort, offered with trembling lips and tear stained eyes. A kiss perfect in its simplicity – for that was all it had been. Her mouth was as soft as he had imagined, and he had felt himself melting in ways he had never melted before. Though he had never found out why or how she had been feeling that night – Zevran would always remember the exhilaration in his blood at the realization of all his secret wantings, and then the bitter disappointment when she had pulled away in a tearful apology. And so…for her it had been a mistake.
He had watched Lucia flee that night – she had disappeared into her tent and had not emerged again until long past daybreak, making the others raise their eyebrows (for she was a punctually early riser).
Zevran had expected nothing from their encounter and yet – something between them had changed. It was the softness in those green eyes when they looked on him. The furtive glances he could feel her stealing when she thought he wasn't looking. She had no longer minded the fact that he was sneaking a seat next to her around the fire. And her confidence in him – for she had opened up to him in ways she hadn't before.
Zevran had found that love began to sing a song in his heart – and with it he began to grow more bold in his interest, no longer caring what Alistair or anyone else thought of him. The love song made him forget his true purpose, his work as a Crow, everything. It only sang of the secret love he harbored for her, and it only knew of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up and apple cheeks blushed when sugared words fell from his lips. He loved how he was able to make her laugh even when she did not want to. He loved her colorful language, for it was entertaining to hear a woman of her breeding speak the way she did. He loved the look in her eyes when he managed to get her alone for a few seconds (though he was well behaved and never pushed for something she did not want). But most of all, he loved the dark looks that Alistair shot him and the frown that marred his boyish face for it told him what words could not. Zevran had finally begun to do something right – and oh – how he had hoped it was right for her too!
It was not to be.
Zevran stood in that alleyway, listening to the dripping water off of the roofs and feeling completely alone now that he didn't have the company and warmth of his memories.
But that song that Lucia had begun to sing in his heart had never completely ended and now Zevran still felt twinges of hope. He loved her – this was true, and he had trouble believing that she didn't somehow, in some way feel for him as well.
I must find out. I can deal with Father later – I have some time at least, but I must find out. If she even loves me just a little bit, well then, all is not lost.
Some would have seen this as the final coffin in a relationship that would never have worked out. Zevran understood that. After all, he had two small truths stacked against him. Well…perhaps not small truths. Fine…two massive truths stacked against him. The first being that he was to finish the job he had started, as if the first betrayal had not been bad enough he had been ordered to do it once more. And secondly was the truth of her mother's murder.
But the love sick elf considered his returning to Denerim a second chance.
If she loves me, all is not lost. I can deal with everything else, I will explain it all, if she only just loves me!
Time was of course, of the essence. He had none to lose for the coronation was nigh, the wedding soon after, and if Father had survived, then his hourglass was already running out.
It is now or never.