Chapter 8: Complications

"I'm sorry Teagan, what did you say?" Aithne tried to direct her attention at the Bann, who was Arl of Redcliffe in all but name. He had new lines creasing the corners of his mouth and he looked tired, yet his blue eyes were friendly as ever.

"Oghren is waiting for you at the castle. He has a message for you from Alistair."

Her world spun for just a moment before righting itself. Taking a deep breath she asked, "Do you know what it's about?"

"No, but from Oghren's grumbling it involves one of your old companions."

Relief with a wisp of disappointment slowed her racing heart. Alistair was in her past and she needed him to stay there. "Do you know who?"

"He won't say, just grumbles about 'the general of Ferelden' being demoted to messenger boy. In truth, I don't think he really minds except he had to ride to get here." Teagan grinned at the dwarf's vocal dislike of horses.

Further conversation was interrupted as Zevran began a slow slide off his mount. Aithne kneed her own horse over to catch him before he slid to the ground. "Teagan give me a hand please." She struggled to pull the assassin up, broken ribs stabbing her as she wrestled with his limp form.

The Bann dismounted and aided her in positioning the unconscious elf so she could hold him comfortably. It was then she became aware of the smell and the damp dressing leaking pus on his right shoulder. Teagan helped her steady Zevran as she ripped the foul thing off. If he was taken aback by her language when the fetid wound was uncovered, he gave no sign.

Eamon's brother waited for her curses to wind down before he gently suggested they make all haste to the castle. She was only vaguely aware of their arrival at Redcliffe, as Teagan himself carried Zevran's slack form to a guest chamber and called for the healer. Clutching Zevran's burning hand she berated herself for accepting his "I'm fine, now hold still and let me finish these stitches" after the battle. The wound looked deep — the flesh smeared with greenish pus and red streaks radiated along his skin.

The healer arrived, a young mage fresh from the tower, and set to work cleaning the wound and flushing it with raw whiskey. Zevran thrashed and mumbled as the wound was cleaned and debrided; Aithne had to crawl up onto the bed to hold him still. The procedure was painful but necessary if he was to have any chance to live. She had seen more than one man perish from a suppurating wound — healing spells were of little use when the tissue was so diseased. After packing the wound with an herbal poultice designed to draw the infection, the mage turned to her.

"No offense, but when did he last eat?"

Fingers bumping along Zevran's prominent ribs, Aithne shook her head. "I don't know. The last good meal we had was two weeks ago, before he was wounded." Their interlude by the hot spring seemed almost a fantasy now.

"You will need to get some broth in him as soon as you can — nothing too rich for a few days. The same goes for you, m'lady." The young mage shuffled nervously. "The Bann wants me to take a look at you before I go down to help the other refugees."

Aithne nodded and stripped off her armor and shirt. "Zev took care of me right after the battle. I think everything is healing well except the ribs. Save your spells for the Orlesians, some of them are in real need." She stood for the mage's examination as the woman checked her wounds and complimented Zevran's suturing. "You are right m'lady. Let me just bind those ribs for you, then I will head down to the village."

"Thank you Petra, and call me Aithne." She finally remembered the mage's name. It was the girl Wynne had saved from the demon during Uldred's failed coup.

Heartsick and exhausted, Aithne pulled off the rest of her clothes and slipped into the night shirt some kind soul had laid out. Wrapping herself around Zevran and burying them both in a nest of blankets, she fell asleep.

When Oghren came up to see them, he opened the door and stopped at the sight of the two elves curled together. "Well I'll be a bronto's behind. Who'd have guessed?" Chuckling to himself he quietly closed the door and went to find more of Teagan's excellent stout. It looked like his message would just have to wait.

It was dark outside when Aithne woke to Zevran sweating and shivering with fever. He cried out, "No, stop. Promise I'll be faster next time. No! No, don't make me kill him, just hungry."

His fever dreams continued for some time, clearly memories of a little boy subjected to Crow training methods. All she could do was hold him, her heart breaking at the abuse he had overcome to become the man he was. At last he subsided into a deeper sleep and she eased him back on the pillows.

A soft knock sounded at the door and a tired Petra stepped in, followed by two servants bearing trays. The wonderful aroma of beef broth followed her into the room.

"Sorry it took so long to check back. You were right about the Orlesians needing my help. I have no idea how they made it this far." The mage's face was pinched and blue circles framed her eyes. "I brought some willow bark tea and broth for both you and Zevran. I would like to change the poultice again too."

Nodding, Aithne unwrapped the assassin's bandaged shoulder. The linen was covered with more pus and drainage from the wound, but the flesh already looked better. The angry red streaks had receded some and there was a healthy pink tinge to the damaged muscle inside the wound.

The mage probed the wound and smiled. She had tried a new poultice based on bread mold and the results were surprisingly good. "We will need to change the dressing four times a day for the next few days, but I think he is on the mend. Now, you need to eat."

Aithne savored the broth and hearty rye bread while Petra and one of the serving girls spooned tea and broth into Zevran. She finished her meal as they poured the last mouthful into the assassin.

Petra beckoned her over to the supplies on the second tray. "I need to go back down to the village tonight, several of the children are still critically ill and Zevran's is not the only wound gone putrid. His poultice will need to be changed again and he will need more tea and broth around four bells. I will show you what needs done and have Becca," the mage motioned to the sturdy, middle aged serving woman, "come help you."

Petra showed her how to mix the bread mold with the herbs and use "warm, not hot" water to make the poultice. Measuring out two portions of willow bark the mage directed her to make sure she took some too. Finally, indicating a level on a bowl the mage addressed her, "make sure he drinks at least this much broth."

"Thank you Petra." She touched the mage's arm as the woman turned to go. "I don't know if I could stand to lose him."

The young mage studied the careworn grey warden. "You saved us all at the tower, it's the least I can do."

Alone with Zevran, she tossed more wood on the fire and slipped back under the covers next to him. Laying a hand on his chest to reassure herself he was still breathing she sank into sleep.

The hearth had burned low again when Becca's knock woke her. Automatically, Aithne checked Zevran, his fever had dropped and his breathing was deep and even.

"Come in," she called as she struggled out of bed, her ribs and half healed wounds protesting the movement.

The serving woman had brought more broth and warm water for the poultice and the tea. Aithne removed Zevran's bandage while Becca fed the fire and lit some candles so they could see. The wound was still improving and the dirty bandages were not as foul. In a matter of minutes they had the fresh poultice made and Zevran's shoulder covered in swaths of white linen again. Adjusting the pillows, Aithne propped him up to feed him when his eyelids fluttered. "I see you have me naked in bed, are you going to have your way with me?"

"Absolutely! I am going to dose you with all sorts of horrible herb tea, force feed you broth and poke you when I change your bandage. How dare you do this to me! Even a stupid nug has the sense to clean a wound from a darkspawn blade, they're filthy. Of all the thoughtless…" She trailed off in a string of Antivan curses she had no doubt learned from him and ended with a fit of coughing. Wiping her eyes, she glared at him. "Did I miss any?"

"Not many, good thing we aren't in Antiva. You almost made me blush." His voice was weak as he strove for his usual bravado.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have treated the wound for you.".

"You fell asleep. I did have one of the other women clean and dress it but by that time we were out of poultices and even raw elfroot. Later I thought it was just the ague everyone had." The truth shone from his fever bright eyes.

"Next time, wake me. You could have died." Brushing a gentle hand on his cheek, she turned away so he would not see the tears that threatened to spill. Hells, she had cried more in the last two months than during the whole damned blight. She looked up to see Becca studiously ignoring them as she gathered up the soiled bandages.

"If you don't need anything, I'll just go m'lady." The servant retreated from the room, arms full of dirty linen.

Aithne waved dismissal and picked up a cup of willow bark tea that had been steeping. "Time for the horrible herb tea."

"Willow bark?" Zevran grimaced when she nodded and handed the cup to him. It worked but it tasted awful. A spark of humor lit his face as she lifted an identical cup and frowned. "So I'm not the only patient here?"

"Just drink your tea."

Aithne ended up feeding his broth to him. His hands still shook too much to keep a spoon steady. Before she finished, Zevran's eyelids were sagging but he managed one last sally. "Eat your food then perhaps you can kiss me better."

He was asleep before she responded with a soft, "Perhaps."

Midmorning sunlight had sluiced over the bed when an insistent tapping disturbed them again. Aithne rolled away from Zevran as Petra stepped in, looking no better than the previous day.

Zevran looked at the mage in confusion until she was introduced. "This is Petra, she was Wynne's apprentice at the tower."

"Ah, so you will be full of wisdom and advice I assume." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "I see she passed on the secret of her magical bosom."

Tired as she was the young mage blushed and stammered, "Just medicine and healing… her magical what?"

"Ignore him, that's just how he is." Aithne smiled at the dumbfounded mage.

"Ignore me? I compliment a beautiful woman and she says ignore me." Vibrant with mischief, he addressed the mage. "Do you know this cruel woman would not even give me a kiss to alleviate my pain?"

Aithne punched him in his good arm.

"Ow."

"Serves you right. Anyway, I did kiss you. It's not my fault you were asleep."

Zevran was silent, contemplating her answer, as she slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe offered by a timid serving girl. "How are the Orlesians?"

"None have died, though there are still some at risk. The children are doing better at least. Food and warmth can work miracles it seems." Petra smiled with the good news. "I see your patient has improved."

"Remarkably," she said dryly, observing Zevran's attempts to untangle the sheets and get out of bed. Stepping to his side she pushed him down before he could escape.

"Alas, here I am, at the mercy of three women." Zevran eyed them all lasciviously, at least as much as was possible while lying in bed gravely wounded.

"Oh, stuff it Zev." By some miracle he actually shut up so Aithne could concentrate on removing his bandage. When the blood and pus soaked wrapping was removed, he blanched.

"It was bad, wasn't it?" As an assassin he was all too familiar with the results of a putrid wound.

"Much worse than this actually — Petra has performed miracles since we carried you in." Aithne held his eyes, letting the gravity of her words sink in.

"Maker's blessing, thank you." He directed his words at the young mage, having seen more than one young apprentice succumb to a wound such as this. The foul stench of rot, the greenish-grey color as their flesh died and sloughed — it all came back to him. Turning away, he let them clean and dress the wound in peace.

Setting a tray of food on his lap, the mage left him with a final admonition. "You are still very ill. I will not be responsible for what happens if you leave this bed and try to go running about. You will stay here, eat and rest until that wound is healed. Do you hear me?"

Zevran laughed as the mage shut the door. "Wynne's apprentice indeed."

"Sounds just like her, doesn't she? Can you handle that?" Aithne indicated the food on his tray.

"I'll manage, my dear Warden. You need to eat too." He had to concentrate to hold the spoon steady but at least he could feed himself today.

Aithne was placing his empty tray on the table when the door burst open without even a knock.

"Warden!" A scruffy, red-haired dwarf nearly tackled her in his enthusiasm. "Good to see you. Sod it. Bloody great to see both of you!" He dragged her toward the bed to include Zevran in his boisterous greeting.

"Oof, careful — broken ribs." Aithne squeaked.

"Sorry Warden. The mage said…" snuffling a little in his beard the dwarf loosened his grip. "Well, she said you both had been fighting without me and nearly got killed! See what happens when you leave your old friend Oghren behind — no good comes of it."

"We've missed you too Oghren." Aithne planted a kiss on the smelly dwarf's brow. "How are Felsi and the baby?"

"Sodding great, Warden. He's running everywhere, loves the toy sword you gave him. And the fits he throws — he'll be a warrior just like old dad." The pride in Oghren's voice was unmistakable.

"So what brings you so far from home, my short friend?" Zevran's query was rich with the fondness he felt for the dwarf.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Alistair did have a message for you two. Here's the letter he sent with me." Pulling a missive from inside his tunic the dwarf handed it to Aithne.

She unfolded the grimy piece of vellum and held it so Zevran could read it too.

"The package is in danger, M?" Zevran puzzled over the brief message and the terse instruction to contact Captain Isabela for further information.

"Oh, and there was a mirror in a gold frame with the letter. I left it in Denerim — it would have broken on the road. Alistair said you would know what it means Aithne. Said to tell you he sent Leliana to help in case I couldn't find you." Oghren was clearly out of his depth with the intrigue. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes, Oghren, I do. We will need to ride for Denerim as soon as we are able."

"Ride — that means horses. I think I need more beer." Aithne escorted the dwarf out of the room, encouraging him to continue his raids on Teagan's cellars.

"It's a message from Morrigan." Zevran voiced more statement than query.

"I believe so. It seems the child may be at risk. Things must be desperate for her to seek Alistair's aid — she never intended for him to know anything about the child." Aithne turned to him unease coloring her tone. "Anyone seeking power could be a threat, but I fear it is either Flemeth or the Wardens."

"I thought you killed Flemeth. The Grey Wardens' interest I can understand, but how would they know?" Zevran's sharp mind needed more pieces before he could see the shape of the puzzle.

"We killed Flemeth's body. Morrigan suspected the spirit of an ancient abomination would not be so easy to kill. In truth, I am not sure if there is a way to kill her permanently. If she desired Morrigan's body as a shell, then how much more tempting would an Old God be?" Aithne paced the room. "You know the Wardens have enquired and even threatened Alistair and I about our survival past the Archdemon's demise — they may have correlated Morrigan's disappearance with our continued existence. There's no shortage of people in Ferelden who could share the identities of our companions with them. The Wardens would view an Old God, even one in the body of a child, as something to destroy."

"You were not contemplating the same thing?" The assassin's query stopped her.

"Yes — but not without evaluating the child first. We discussed this. Maybe the child is harmless, likely it is dangerous, and mayhap it will help us eliminate the darkspawn for good. The Wardens in Weisshaupt are not able to bend. They would destroy the child without even thinking."

"Vir Tanadhal, my Dalish lady. I think I understand." Zevran's amber eyes followed her agitated movements.

A rap at the door and the appearance of Kaitlyn forestalled further debate. "Good morning Aithne, Zevran. I apologize for being such a negligent hostess — there has just been so much to do with the refugees. Not that I am complaining mind you, it's just that there's so many of them." Teagan's bride was followed into the room by several servants and an amused Sir Perth.

"When Teagan got your message… I can't imagine what those poor people have gone through. It's a good thing you found them when you did, I can't imagine fighting all those darkspawn by yourselves. And then your wounds — Petra says they were terrible — she feared for Zevran's life in particular." Kaitlyn was just as Aithne remembered from previous visits with the couple — bubbly personality, endless chatter and a good heart.

Averting further commentary, Aithne broke in. "Thank you for all your help. Zevran and I both owe you and Teagan a great debt. We are also grateful that you were able to take the Orlesians in. I know it is a strain on the resources of Redcliffe." Accepting a brief hug from the smiling woman, Aithne turned to the red-haired knight accompanying her. "It is good to see you Sir Perth." The knight had treated her with respect and kindness during the blight when so many others had dismissed her as an upstart elf.

Executing a courtly bow the chivalrous knight took Aithne's hand and kissed it. "I am glad to see you well Warden." Giving her bed ridden companion a smile he continued, "It is good to see you awake Zevran, your injury was most grave."

With uncharacteristic courtesy the assassin thanked both Kaitlyn and Sir Perth for their concern. Baiting them was simply not worth it, they were both kind, uncomplicated souls. His usual teasing would have merely hurt people he genuinely liked.

"You are such a gentleman." Kaitlyn had clearly never had the real Zevran unleashed upon her. "I know Petra says it's too early for rich food, but surely a couple of cinnamon rolls wouldn't hurt." Revealing a tray piled with the sweets she swept forward. "These are fresh out of the oven."

"Can I 'ave one?" A dirty elf child darted into the room and made a beeline for Zevran.

"Cathal, what are you doing here? You should be down at the village with the others." The Antivan scolded gently.

The child's peasant accent thickened at the correction from his hero. "Couldn't Ser Zevran. Bad things happen to them that goes to the castle. I had to see you and Lady Aithne safe."

"Not this castle young one, Ferelden is not like Orlais. Bann Teagan and his wife Kaitlyn are good friends of ours — they would never harm us, or you." The scrawny youth looked at Zevran dubiously; this information was in direct contrast to the truths of his former life.

"This must be one of the refugee children." Kaitlyn smiled at the waif. "Of course you may have a sweet — then you must go back to your parents."

Cathal snatched a roll and mumbled, "No parents," around his first bite.

Aithne glanced at Zevran with a lifted brow, when he nodded assent to her unvoiced question, she directed the grubby youth to a chair and addressed Kaitlyn. "He lost his parents when the villagers rebelled; he has no relatives to look after him. If you do not mind, he can stay here with us, for now. He does, however, need a bath."

"If you will allow, I can assist with that. I have a bit of experience with five younger brothers." Sir Perth rightly figured that the child would be a handful for the two wounded elves.

"No! No, he's a chevalier…" Cathal was clearly terrified.

Aithne dropped to one knee to look the frightened child in the eye. "He's a knight of Redcliff and he will not hurt you in any way. As a knight he swore to Andraste to protect those that need help. Just as important, he is a friend to Zevran and I. You can trust him. Besides, if you go and have your bath, we'll save you another cinnamon roll."

"I think the cook has some meat pies ready too." Sir Perth appealed to the elf child's obvious hunger. Aithne smiled gratefully at the knight as he steered Cathal out of the room, still nervously chewing his roll.

"Well, that's settled, though I doubt you'll get the rest you need with him to look after." Kaitlyn seemed more amused than surprised. Her kind heart had gone out to the orphan, thinking of her own son who was only a few months old. "I did bring you something besides sweets. I have fresh clothes for you both and a basin of hot water and soap. Petra said you weren't to have regular baths until your wounds had healed but I thought this might help. Also you will want a change of sheets when you are finished – I have tended more than one patient with a fever myself." Teagan's wife prattled on, efficiently directing the servants to place the indicated items in the room.

Aithne stopped the human woman as she turned to go. "I really can't tell you how grateful we are for your aid."

"You were so generous during the blight, finding Bevin, giving us money for the sword. I would never have met Teagan if you had not helped us – I owe you everything." Embarrassed the generous woman ducked out the door. "I will leave you now — Petra needs more supplies for the refugees in the village. Please just let me know if you need anything."

Zevran waited for the door to close, and then commented dryly, "I thought it was only grown strays you picked up."

"Don't blame me, you encouraged the boy. Anyway, he has no place with the villagers, you know as well as I that the other elves don't want him, and the humans want nothing to do with the elves." The Orlesian serfs had made it very clear that the elves with them had been slaves purchased by the young chevalier and not members of their community.

His voice soft with introspection the assassin admitted, "He reminds me a bit of myself — before the Crows."

"I thought so. I don't think he should travel with us, given Morrigan's letter, our mission seems too perilous. Perhaps we can foster him with someone here at Redcliffe or with Shianni in Dererim — she has a particular talent for placing orphans." Aithne didn't wish to disrupt the child's life more than it already was but their mission was simply too dangerous to take him along.

"I agree — he'll have a better chance than most orphans anyway." Brushing away his serious mood Zevran grinned, "Now what about that sponge bath?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're incorrigible?" Aithne gathered the basin of hot water and soap.

"Almost every day my dear Warden."

I would like to thank all of you who have put my story on your story alerts or taken time to review it. As a writer, it keeps me going to know that you are reading and enjoying my tale. Please do not be shy if you have any suggestions for improvement.

Heaps of thanks to my beta, Tarante11a, who has been so gracious with her time.

Thanks, as always, to Bioware.