Chapter 12: Gifts
Aithne woke to the steady thump of Zevran's heart beneath her ear; her hand lay on the smooth skin of his chest, sensitive to the honed muscle beneath. A slight headache from the wine pinched behind her eyes. The Antivan red he had opened after – oh no. With unfortunate clarity she recalled the painful council meeting and their fight afterward. She had gone to him and told him – Gods preserve her, had she really said that? She had meant every word, but to tell him, when she had only realized it as the words tumbled out?
She lay still, listening to his heart rate increase as her tension roused him, wishing she could hide. She did not want to see him, not distant and closed as he had been; or worse see the wound her harsh words had inflicted. Courage. She looked up when his hand moved from her ribs to trace the line of her hip. No words, just a demanding kiss as his fingers continued to roam. It was easier to surrender to the passion than to try to understand, so that was what she did.
Afterward, he tucked her back under the covers while he dressed. "I'll only be a minute," he said, and slipped out the door.
Aithne reclined against the soft pillows and debated rising to clean herself. Before she managed to turn thoughts into action, he had returned with her robe and fresh clothes.
"We'll have breakfast and water for a bath shortly." Zevran fidgeted with something in his hand as he prowled restlessly around the room, pausing to rekindle the fire and pick up the wine goblets and blanket from the previous night.
Servants brought breakfast and laid it on the table. They sat and ate, neither willing to break the silence, while the bath was filled. Finally, the last bucket of steaming water was poured and they were left to themselves.
"I owe you an apology for last night." His eyes were shadow-rimmed and turbulent. "I should not have said those things."
"No, but my own words were no less cruel…."
"But you spoke the truth. I am sorry, Aithne, it is difficult. I was always taught not to care, that it would make me weak…." Abruptly reaching a decision, his hand went to his pocket and pulled out an earring. "I was thinking – you have given me so many things, not the least of which has been my freedom from the Crows. I would like you to have this – I took it from my first mark, a Rivaini princeling. He was wearing this and little else."
The earring sparkled on his fingertips as he held it out to her. She could not read him. After years of practice, that surprised her; it could be a parting gift, an apology, anything at all. That it held meaning for him was clear. He would not have kept a simple trophy for so many years; would not be waiting, tension betrayed by the forced calm of his features, for her response. "Thank you, Zev." She swept her hair back, allowing him to place the gold hoop in a delicate earlobe. For the first time, she was actually grateful that she had allowed Leliana to pierce her ears.
A knock sounded at the door. Zevran traced the curve of her ear before turning to answer it.
"Morning Zevran, you haven't seen Aithne have you? She's not in her chamber and…oh." Alistair blushed red and started to back out of the room at the sight of Aithne, clad only in her robe, casually eating breakfast.
"Alistair, what did you need?" Aithne remained seated; the King's appearance was a complication she did not want.
"Um…I, well I was thinking last night, you are risking yourself to find m…Morrigan's child. Anyway, I know you haven't wanted another Mabari since Rabbit was killed, but there is still one pup from his last litter that has never imprinted – she's almost two now and well trained. I… would you at least look at her? I would feel better knowing you, and Zevran, have some back-up." Alistair paused, "I am glad the two of you have…are…um, together." He turned to go, and then swung back. "Don't forget, First Day court is tomorrow. I expect you both to attend – if I have to suffer through it, you should too."
Zevran shut the door behind the embarrassed king. "I would think he has been married long enough for the blushing to stop."
Aithne sighed. "First Day court. I wish we had stayed in Redcliffe a few more days. I hate attending court."
"Ah, but you are a vision in a dress; it always made me wonder what delights lay beneath."
"Nothing you hadn't seen before, I'm sure. I'm going to take my bath before the water gets cold." Aithne glanced at Zevran, who appeared rather nonplused by her response. "Come with me this morning, Genitivi should be back in town and I would like to see what he can do with Marethari's scroll. You needed your boots resoled anyway." She smiled. He still wore the Antivan leather boots she had given him, though there was probably little of the original leather left at this point from all the repairs over the years.
"Compliment a beautiful lady and she talks about boots." Zevran shook his head in mock bewilderment. "I'll get the scroll. Is there anything else you want from your room?"
"No, I don't think so. I'll have to pick out a dress for court later…."
Zevran disappeared out the door and Aithne hastily finished her bath. She was pulling on a dark brown tunic when he reentered; her saddlebags in one hand and – oh Gods – the burgundy dress Leliana had talked her into and she had never worn, the one with the cream colored lace and the low neckline, draped over his other arm.
"Zev, what are you doing?"
"Making sure my Dalish lady is the most beautiful in Denerim, no? It would not do to attend First Day court in a wrinkled dress." He carefully hung the garment so the offending wrinkles could relax.
"I hardly think I would qualify."
He gave her an appraising look. "In this it is my opinion that matters, no? I say you are magnificent, thus it is so."
"You might want your bath before the water gets cold." She shrugged off his words; by human standards she might pass for pretty, but as an elf she was no more than average. Zevran could charm the Revered Mother out of her Chantry robe given enough time – his flattery, while pleasant, meant little.
It was still only mid-morning when they entered Denerim's marketplace. Even the previous night's storm had not stifled the bustle as the city's populace readied itself for First Day. The holiday was meant to be a gathering of neighbors and family, a reassurance in rural areas that all had made it through the past year; in the cities it was an occasion for feasting and celebration. Savory aromas filled the air as all manner of holiday treats were offered, bright ribbons fluttered in stalls, a cheerful tune stirred the air as a minstrel played.
Zevran watched Aithne, her cheeks flushed with cold, sunlight glinting off the gold earring when she turned her head. He still was not sure what to feel; he wanted to announce to the world that she was his, but at the same time he wanted to run, as far and as fast as he could, to get away from the dangerous emotions she stirred in him. Last night he had lashed out with vicious accusations, stung by her unmistakable reaction to Alistair – and she had apologized and said those three terrifying words: I love you. I love you, three words that scared him more than all the Crows in Antiva. He had been glad when Alistair had interrupted this morning; she had accepted the earring, and he had not known what else to say. What if she had asked him why? He had given it to her in the guise of a thank you and apology, but he was afraid it meant "mine".
His musings were interrupted by the creak of the door to his favorite cobbler shop. He held out the boots to the middle-aged man sitting surrounded by boots, shoes, laces and bits of leather.
"Again, Ser Arainai? There is a limit to what I can do."
"Ah, but they were given to me by a fair maiden who will pine away if I do not wear them."
Aithne rolled her eyes; Zev was in rare form this morning.
"I'll do my best, but don't complain if the stitching doesn't hold. How soon do you need them?" Silver flashed from Zevran's palm, and the cobbler nodded. "They'll be ready after lunch."
Boots delivered, they walked to Genitivi's home, just off the market square.
"Hello Aithne, Zevran; good to see you, come in." The lanky brother greeted them. "You have been traveling, so I hear. Dare I hope you have found anything of interest?" Genitivi was always fascinated with any odd bits of lore or artifacts that came to light. The temple that had housed the Urn of Sacred Ashes had been his focus for several years now, but he usually returned to his home in Denerim during the winter months.
Aithne smiled; she had always liked the scholar, even if she did not follow the Chantry's teachings. "How are you with ancient elvish?"
"Ancient elvish? I know a bit, but I don't think anyone, even the Dalish," he nodded to Aithne, "can translate all of it."
"I would like you to take a look at this; it is a copy of a copy so I cannot be sure of its accuracy." Aithne handed the scroll to Genitivi.
The scholar unrolled it carefully and started mumbling to himself as he puzzled out the words. Finally he looked up, touching the scroll reverently. "Do you know what this is?"
Aithne shook her head, "No I could puzzle out a few words; dragons in general are mentioned multiple times, as is Arlathan. Specifically the dragons Dumat, Zazikel, Toth, Lusacan, Urthemial and, I think, Razikale, although the last name seems to be in a far different form than is used today."
"It is a firsthand account of the fall of Arlathan. I am afraid I do not have the skill to translate it fully, but it appears that the dragons Dumat, Zazikel, and Lusacan aided the Tevinter Imperium in the invasion of Arlathan. Urthemial and perhaps Razikale are mentioned elsewhere but I don't know enough elvish to understand what their roles were. Andoral, the dragon of chains, and Toth, the dragon of fire, do not appear to be mentioned at all." The balding scholar regarded the two elves with curiosity. "Not that I wish you had taken this elsewhere, but I think a Dalish Keeper might be able to translate more."
"The keeper of my clan has already tried. She was able to translate about as much as you did."
"If I had some time I might be able to do more." Genitivi suppressed his anticipation; it would be exciting to finally translate an elvish account of the fall of Arlathan.
"I'm afraid all I can give you is a few hours. I hope to find a Keeper who can translate more of it, and the Chantry might object if this were found in your keeping. We Dalish are all heretics, after all." Aithne gave Genitivi a cynical smile.
"I understand. If you will allow me then…." Genitivi trailed off, already immersed in the scroll to which he would only have brief access.
The two elves strolled through the market, sampling the holiday fare and perusing the wares for sale. When a cold wind started to blow off the harbor, they slipped into the Gnawed Noble Tavern for hot, mulled cider and fresh scones. For a few hours they were simple people enjoying the holiday, not a Grey Warden and a former Crow on a quest to find a child inhabited by an ancient power.
All too soon the idyll ended, and they retrieved the scroll and Zevran's boots and headed back to the castle. Leaving their burdens in Zevran's chamber, they headed down to the kennels to look at the Mabari Alistair had mentioned.
Zevran wondered if Aithne was even seriously considering another Mabari. She had been very attached to Rabbit and had refused all offers of another dog after he had been killed during what was supposed to have been a routine mop up of darkspawn near Dragon's Peak. Still, Rabbit had been a staunch ally; one of his pups would no doubt be useful in their coming mission.
Zevran studied her approach to the kennel indicated by one of the dog handlers; a female Mabari stood watching Aithne with intelligent eyes. The dog was an unusual deep red color and was a little smaller and lighter boned than her sire.
Aithne opened the kennel and held out her hand for the dog to sniff. Zevran shifted unobtrusively, a throwing knife ready to hand. Until imprinted, Mabari could be aggressive and unpredictable, so he was calculating speed and trajectory for the knife as the dog approached Aithne, stiff-legged and dominant. His slight Grey Warden simply stared the bitch down, apparently oblivious to the dog's greater weight and speed. Finally, less than two feet from the immobile Warden, the bitch whined and sank to the ground, rolling belly-up in submission.
"Come." Aithne gave the hand signal accompanying the voice command and the dog rose and followed.
Zevran noted the dog handlers staring at his departing Warden; by their reactions it was clear they hadn't expected her to be able to imprint the Mabari. Of course, when he had seen the animal's aggressive posture he had not been so sure either. While Aithne's imprinting the dog may aid them on their quest, it also appeared to have removed a problem from the royal kennel. And now he had a smelly, drooling Mabari moving into his room – the things he did for his Warden.
"Zev, I am going to take her to the kitchens and bathe her." The Mabari whined and hung her head. "None of that, you smell like the kennels. If you want to sleep in the castle proper I am going to have to bathe you." Aithne addressed the hound, who appeared to consider the idea, then padded off behind her.
Alone with his thoughts, Zevran forced himself to settle in a chair to keep from pacing. It had been easier to pretend to ignore the previous night's events and resume his normal casual banter after Alistair had interrupted that morning. Eventually he would need to decide what he felt. I love you. Those words provoked visions of Rinna, light fading from her eyes as her life blood poured from her. Gods help me, but I love you. What did that mean? He had shared more of himself with Aithne than anyone else in his life, during the blight and in the four years since. She was the one person who never judged him, accepted him for who and what he was. Aithne was the only one he had ever told about Rinna, and she had shared his sorrow, not pitied or condemned him as he had expected.
The door creaked open and there was a scuffle of paws as two hundred pounds of clean Mabari bounced in and circled his chair, snuffling at his knees.
"What are you going to call her?"
"I don't know yet, I'm sure something will come to me eventually." Aithne sat on the floor in front of the hearth, allowing the Mabari to wiggle its head into her lap as she absently stroked the dog's ears. This close to Zevran she could sense the turbulence of his thoughts as if they were her own. "If you would prefer some time alone, I can stay in my own room tonight."
"I… yes, I think I need some time."
Aithne rose gracefully. "Take what time you need." Restraining her urge to touch him, she signaled the Mabari and left.
Zevran sat staring at the fire, seeing only a pair of brilliant green eyes.
As always my thanks to Bioware, I own nothing.
Thank you to my beta readers, Erynnar and brownc0at, who have wonderful stories of their own and who take time out of their day to make sure I am posting something coherent.
A special thank you to everyone who reviews, puts me on alerts, favs or just reads and enjoys this story.