First I want to thank all of my readers who have so patiently waited for this chapter. Work got a little crazy for a couple of weeks and I also had a dear friend die. I hope you are not disappointed, as the muse abandoned me and my thoughts were scattered when trying to write it. Special thanks to all of those who review or have added my story to their favorites or alerts - it keeps me writing to know that you like my tale.
Second, huge thanks to my beta readers Erynnar, Brownc0at and Tarante11a. You are all magicians with words, I am humbled by your skills. All three have stories on my "must read" list - check them out.
Finally, thanks as always to Bioware, Dragon Age has provided such fertile ground for the seeds of my imagination.
Chapter 13: Sky
Aithne closed the door to Zevran's chamber and paused in the hall. It was better to give Zevran space to come to terms with her confession, and, to be completely honest, she needed a little time too. Love was not something she had ever expected to feel for the handsome assassin, and it left her uncertain. She debated going to her own chamber and retiring for the evening, but with her thoughts in turmoil it seemed wiser to do something else. Making a decision, she turned and headed for the royal apartments, the Mabari trotting at her heels.
Aithne was ushered to the queen's sitting room after the guards announced her. The room was comfortably furnished, and late afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating the pregnant queen, who was seated on a richly upholstered divan with her feet propped on an ottoman. Rothana was going through a stack of letters and waved the Grey Warden to a cushioned chair. "Thank you for your offer to track down Morrigan last night. The child has weighed on Alistair's mind for a long time." Rothana paused, noticing the red Mabari accompanying the slender elf. "I see you went to the kennels. She is a beautiful dog, is she not?"
"That is part of why I came. I wished to thank you both for her; she is magnificent. I am surprised that she was not kept for breeding when she failed to imprint."
"You're welcome. In truth, she was considered, but the kennel master felt her temperament was a little uncertain. Alistair was sure your Dalish talent with animals would allow you to imprint her and a loyal Mabari will add another effective fighter if Nathaniel's fears of Weisshaupt's interference are correct."
"That is something else I wanted to discuss. I assume since you were present for last night's meeting…" Aithne wondered how one politely asked the queen if she was privy to all of the state secrets. She had hoped to find Alistair, but perhaps it was best to address her concern to Rothana.
Rothana watched the Dalish woman. She had never been friendly with her; it had been hard to fight down her jealousy at Aithne's prior involvement with Alistair. Still, the former chancellor had always acted in the best interests of the crown and Ferelden.
"Are you asking how much I know? I assure you Leliana and I worked together before she left. Eamon is a good enough politician, but he is ill equipped to direct espionage. I can coordinate information from our sources with Nathaniel, and I will direct our efforts in determining the nature of the threat to Morrigan and what, if any, action Weisshaupt plans against Alistair."
Aithne looked at the queen with new-found respect. She had been concerned about the leadership of the network of merchants, bards and other agents assembled by Leliana and Zevran. It appeared Leliana had been discussing more than shoes and hair in the time she spent with Rothana. "I'm glad Leliana confided in you. I was concerned we might need to find someone else to run things."
"I became involved several years ago, and I have been leading our efforts since Leliana's departure." Rothana did not add that it was her own efforts to spy on Aithne and Alistair which had drawn the bard's attention. In any case, helping Leliana with the intelligence network had been more fulfilling than simply running the domestic affairs of the castle. She might not have the first hand experience the Orlesian bard could claim, but she was bright, observant and had been raised to Ferelden's convoluted politics.
"Ward our king and kingdom well then, Your Majesty. And Rothana, I'm glad he found you." Aithne rose and bowed to the queen, arms crossed at her chest with hands on her shoulders, a Dalish gesture of respect. She left with the queen's acknowledging smile, the red Mabari trotting at her heels.
Winding her way through the castle Aithne reahed the gardens stretching behind the palace. "You need a run, don't you girl?" Seating herself on a stone bench swept clean of snow, she watched the dog investigate. Without being imprinted, the Mabari would have had little opportunity to venture beyond the kennels and the training yard. As she watched the dog revel in her freedom, Aithne contemplated how the closeness of the city trapped her after months of traveling. She had certainly spent enough time in Denerim; it had simply never been home. Home, that was a strange thought. She didn't know what home was anymore. Rising, she meandered down the path where she had last seen the Mabari.
The snow covered gardens were abandoned and peaceful, and Aithne lingered with the dog until the blue sky dimmed and the first stars glinted in the heavens. She spoke to the Mabari, "You see those stars, off to the west? That's Andruil – the Huntress. Perhaps I am foolish for following an imprisoned goddess." Aithne stroked the dog's head as the animal followed her gaze up to the heavens. "What, I wonder, do you see when you look at the sky?"
The Mabari whined and pushed further under her hand.
"Do you see something?" The dog remained silent. "What should I call you anyway? I can't just keep calling you dog. What about Sky, you seemed to like that?"
The dog shifted under Aithne's had and gave a soft "woof."
"Sky it is then. No sillier than Rabbit. Your sire was named Rabbit – he used to bounce everywhere and it seemed appropriate. I think my companions thought I was daft to name a warhound after a bunny. It fit him though. He was a fierce warrior, but he also liked to play, and he gave me many moments of laughter. You, I think, are more serious." Aithne gave a snort of laughter. "Look at me talking to you. I know you understand a lot, but I have no idea how much. I suppose we should go in now, you're probably hungry."
At Sky's approving "Woof," Aithne headed toward the kitchens. They would surely have some scraps for a hungry Mabari.
Later in her room, Aithne changed into a loose shirt to sleep in. The fabric still smelled of spices and leather – of Zevran. She allowed herself a moment's indulgence in the scent, lonely as her bed would be tonight, before lighting a candle and selecting a slim volume of Dalish poetry from her saddlebags. Marethari had thoughtfully included it with the scroll and a few other items that had belonged to Aithne's parents. Sinking into the luxury of her feather mattress, she patted the covers to encourage Sky to jump up on the bed. Comfortable and warm with the red Mabari beside her, Aithne opened the book and stared at the inscription. The delicate tracery of elvish inside the front cover was in her father's hand; the book had been a gift to her mother.
Absently petting Sky, Aithne wondered about her parents. She had few memories of them; they had been killed when she was only a small child. What would they think of her; a Grey Warden, subject to a shemlen king, slayer of an Archdemon, in love with a flat ear city elf who could break her heart again….
Oh Zev. When had she fallen in love with him? Aithne tried to think, tried to recall when her feelings had changed – he had been her best friend and confidant for so long it was hard to separate that from what she felt now. When had their late night talks become more than just conversation? When had they included the desire to remain in his company, just to be there? She couldn't remember, not right away certainly. It was sometime after Amaranthine, perhaps, somewhere in the loneliness of watching her former lover with his wife. Somewhere in Zev's teasing support, his understanding, his always being there. Her love for Zevran was different from the shy desire and joining of purpose she had with Alistair – no less passionate, but more subtle; founded on long friendship, not the urgency of danger and youth. Had it been there when she was still pining for Alistair? Possibly. It was hard to be sure when the Antivan assassin had become central to her life. It had certainly occurred long before she realized it, long before their fight had forced the confession from her lips.
It had been a poor time to blurt out her feelings. With her words, she had reopened the wound he carried from his role in the betrayal and death of his first love. It was no wonder he needed time to come to terms with her admission of love. Truthfully, Aithne feared even their friendship might not survive. This could push Zevran back to the precipice he had teetered on when he had first taken the contract on the Grey Wardens. For all the training the Crows had given him in weapons, stealth, and seduction, they had purposefully forced their recruits to create an icy shell to survive. Zevran had a history of running when his shell was breached.
Aithne sat in silence, hugging Sky, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. She would find Morrigan on her own if Zevran could not come to terms with her confession. Yet duty and honor were cold bedfellows, and she longed for his wiry strength next to her.
Morning found her, Dalish poetry lying askew on the covers, a snoring Mabari sprawled across half the bed. She lay still for a few minutes, soaking in the warmth, before slipping out of the blankets to pull her clothes on. Sky woke with Aithne's movement and jumped off the bed to stand whining at the door. Buckling her baldric and pulling on a wool cloak, Aithne headed out.
After allowing Sky a good run, she turned her footsteps toward the practice yard. If she was to be stuck in court all evening, it was best that she get some exercise first. The clash of steel and the scuff of boots on cobblestones alerted her to a bout in progress.
"Pick your feet up and turn Nate, you have to be faster than that." Zevran's voice floated across the yard.
Aithne turned the corner to see a sweating Nathaniel trying to keep up with the agile elf. She paused in the shadows to watch. Nate was good with his sword and dagger but he was no match for the fluid Antivan. She watched as Zevran led the dance, drawing the larger human into faster and more graceful movement. Had it been a real battle Zevran could have taken the Warden Commander at any point, even with the slight burr in the motion of his right arm from his recent wound.
Nathaniel fell away, arms spread in surrender. "You could have had me a hundred times by now, but thank you for the lesson."
"You are improving, but still too slow. I think you forget you are not wielding a bow." Zevran turned to where Aithne stood in the shadows. "Care to show Nate a real dance?"
She grinned and stepped forward, both rogues had known she was there but the startled glances from the bystanders were priceless. "Ready when you are." Signaling Sky to stay, she stepped forward, drawing the daggers she carried today. It had been a while since she had practiced with two daggers; she liked the speed and versatility of using them in close quarters or when a longer reach with a sword was not needed.
Dance was the right word for what they did, all swiftness and grace. Metal wove in blurring patterns as they closed, intertwined, leapt and separated. It was barely possible to follow individual movements in the whirling pattern. It was clear to all present that these were two masters of the art. It was over as quickly as it had begun, Aithne disarming and twisting Zevran's right arm, dagger at his throat. "I shouldn't have been able to do that; you need to work that scar," she whispered, her voice too low for any but Zevran to hear.
"Well fought, my lady, I concede." He smiled as she handed his dagger back to him, softening the lack of innuendo that would have been his normal fare in such circumstance.
So, he was still upset. "Perhaps we should give Nate a chance to redeem himself." If he was not ready she would not press him.
"Archery, now there I have a chance." Nate strung his bow and walked over to the archery butts.
As much as she and Zevran were masters of sword and dagger, Nathaniel was an artist with a bow. Aithne had thought Leliana an expert, but the bard was only competent compared to Nate. Some of his effectiveness was certainly due to his strength, because the ability to draw a heavy bow increased the penetration of his shots, but his accuracy and concentration were equally important. Having been a Dalish hunter, Aithne had always felt good about her skill with a bow – at least until she had watched Nate in battle.
Zevran was worse than usual; drawing the bow clearly pained him, in spite of Petra's healing. He quickly stepped aside to watch Nate cluster three or four arrows around Aithne's one, over and over again, at twice her distance.
Laughing, Aithne finally granted Nate the victory. "If we had a hundred archers like you, we would never need to worry about a blight again. You could simply shoot the Archdemon when it first appeared and everyone could go home."
"Only if it stays far enough away that I don't have to use my sword." This generated nervous laughter from the bystanders, none of whom could hope to challenge the Warden Commander even in melee combat.
A page came scurrying up as they gathered their arrows from the targets. "Their Majesties request your attendance in the royal apartment."
They joined Alistair and Rothana in the queen's sitting room. Savory aromas drifted from an array of breakfast foods assembled in anticipation of an early morning meeting involving multiple Grey Wardens. Aithne found her appetite had moderated a bit over the years, though she still ate far more than prior to the Joining. Filling a plate, she found a seat while they waited for Anders and Oghren to appear. She was mildly surprised when Zevran elected to sit next to her.
Oghren finally appeared with Anders in tow, the mage sporting a sheepish expression. "Sod it, I'm all for forgin' the moaning statue, but how a man in a skirt always ends up with all the women...?" Oghren huffed. "Had to chase all over the castle to find him."
"Is there an angry father involved this time?" Alistair ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.
"Um, no. At least I don't think so." Anders shuffled nervously.
"If you're going to chase skirts, do it at the Pearl. I've had enough complaints." All the authority of the Arl of Amaranthine and Warden Commander of Ferelden infused Nathaniel's command.
"Yes, Sir." Anders would obey for a while, at least until the next temptation crossed his path.
Giving Anders a cold stare, Rothana addressed the group. "Isabela docked with the morning tide. She can have a new cargo loaded and her ship prepared to sail by mid-day tomorrow. Leliana left word that she could be contacted in Markham City in the Free Marches. Our loyal captain can take Aithne and Zevran as far as Ostwick, on the coast. I think, perhaps, Anders should accompany them."
Nathaniel started to voice his objection, but, seeing the look of relief on the King's face, he reconsidered. A change of climate might be just what the mage needed. "A fine idea; a mage might be useful in determining how dangerous the child is."
"But…I don't…have never sailed...." Anders stammered and looked for support.
"I've never sailed either, Anders. Welcome aboard." Aithne schooled her features to avoid laughter at the mage's discomfiture.
"You have never met Isabela, have you? I believe you will find sailing perfectly agreeable." Zevran returned his attentions to his breakfast, all innocence.
Anders subsided in defeat, but not without a brief glare at Zevran. It hardly seemed fair; the elf had certainly had his share of liaisons, and no one had ever objected. To be honest, he had to admit that Zevran had not pursued unmarried daughters of landed nobles.
"You all need to sniff the nug droppings. We don't need to determine how dangerous the child is – we know. Or maybe the blight and the Archdemon were just sodding fun. We're Grey Wardens. We kill darkspawn – remember? We don't find their next bloody Archdemon for them." Oghren huffed and crossed his arms.
"Oghren, no one denies there is a risk, but if the child might help us defeat the darkspawn for good it seems worth it." Alistair had seized on the notion that the result of the ritual with Morrigan could be used to prevent another blight.
The dwarf snorted and shook his head. "You just don't see, do you? Any risk at all is too much."
"Morrigan asked for our help. She was my friend, yet I still do not believe she would have called on us if she thought we would kill her child. I intend to listen to her and see the child myself before making any decision. But know this, Oghren; if I find the child has any hint of evil or is likely to be captured by the darkspawn, I will destroy it myself." Aithne caught the dwarf's eyes and held them, forcing him to see her sincerity and determination.
Oghren finally dropped his gaze and turned away. "Do what you will. I can't support this, but I won't interfere. When it goes to sodding hell, don't say I didn't warn you."
With Oghren's disapproving silence hovering over them, the meeting was quickly concluded. Rothana detailed Ferelden contacts and their probable locations on the northern peninsula of Thedas, as well as specific code phrases needed for recognition. A pouch of mixed currency was supplied for the purchase of mounts and other necessities upon their arrival in the Free Marches.
Good-byes were said. There would be little opportunity later, with First Day court and the responsibilities of the royal couple. "Maker speed you and gift you with luck. I am afraid you will need it." Alistair stood next to his wife, carefully observing the propriety demanded by his role as king and husband.
"Mythal's grace be upon you and your child. May she watch over and protect you." Aithne smiled. "I look forward to greeting Ferelden's new heir on my return."
Aithne was stopped before reaching her chamber by Zevran's touch on her arm. He held the burgundy dress out to her. "I thought you might want this."
She studied his nonchalant posture, only his eyes betraying uncertainty. "Thank you, Zev. I will wear it tonight."
He nodded and turned away, but not before she noticed his gaze resting upon the gold hoop he had placed in her ear.
The castle was fragrant with the evergreen boughs that had been woven amongst the ribbons and other First Day decorations adorning every available wall. With Rothana visibly showing the bulge of the future heir, the nobility were in a celebratory mood. Aithne sat next to Zevran in the vast dining hall; thankfully, they had not been assigned seats at the king's table. She was uncomfortable enough with Zevran's carefully polite conversation, coupled with the blatant desire in his gaze when he thought her attention was elsewhere.
She wore the burgundy dress, its tight fitting bodice accentuating her slender figure. Fortunately, she was spared indecency by virtue of being only modestly endowed. A full-chested woman would have been a great deal more exposed. It really shouldn't bother her. Her original Dalish armor left considerably less to the imagination. It was simply that the purpose of this dress was not freedom of movement, but beauty. Rothana had even sent one of her maids to fix her hair in an elaborate coiffure as a peace offering. Aithne had scarcely recognized herself in the mirror earlier, but she had not been able to deny that for once she felt pretty; it was just that it all felt artificial. It might even have been tolerable if Zevran had chimed in with his usual risqué humor; however, he was still acting oddly and even refusing the verbal bait she offered.
The meal finally ended with the king rising to give his obligatory First Day speech and then directing everyone to the great hall for dancing. Aithne spotted Brother Genitivi beckoning to her as she rose. Genitivi had a standing invitation to all functions at the castle, in thanks for his assistance on the quest for the Urn. He rarely bothered to attend, his interests more focused on the intellectual and spiritual than the social.
"Genitivi, I had not thought to see you here."
"I was able to translate more…." In his eagerness the Brother had forgotten to tell Aithne he had copied her scroll.
"Translate more?"
"Well, when you left the scroll, I was able to copy most of it. I do not think I made many errors, although I would like to compare it to your copy again to be sure." Once again Genitivi's curiosity overcame his caution.
"We are leaving in the morning, perhaps when we return. You were able to translate more?" Aithne had left the scroll suspecting Genitivi might copy it. She couldn't fault him on his thirst for knowledge – after all, her own people were equally as eager. She directed their steps away from the nearest nobles – this was not a conversation that should be overheard.
"Only a little. There are several references to the dragons' ability to alter the very nature of the people and things around them. It seems the magisters did not age while under the influence of the dragons, and, perhaps more importantly, there are references to the evolution of new magical talents – simply because the dragons wished it. It is possible to discount this as just a fairy tale, but the elf writing this clearly believed that the dragons could alter the very nature of a being with their will." Genitivi appeared to become more excited. "What if the darkspawn came to be as an extension of their will?"
"Careful, the Chantry would think that heretical. See what happens when you associate with Maker-forsaken elves?" Aithne teased him, her mind whirling with the implications. If this had even a sliver of truth, then maybe Oghren was right.
"Aithne, it is just a supposition. However, since the thought came to my mind I have not been able to shake it. Perhaps it is the Maker's guidance, perhaps just the foolishness of an old man. I don't know." The Chantry brother was still trying to deal with the tremors this idea caused at the roots of his faith. "In any case, I have a feeling you brought the scroll to me with a purpose in mind, not just out of idle curiosity. Be careful in this; the Old Gods were not beings to be trifled with if they could guide an assault on the Golden City. Have care, my friend." Concerns voiced and warning issued, Genitivi began his retreat from the overwhelming noise and commotion of First Day court.
"Thank you, Brother."
He turned to acknowledge Aithne's words, then slipped out of the crowded room.
Glancing about, Aithne noted nearly everyone had removed to the great hall to continue the celebration. There were only a handful of guests conversing in clusters in the dining hall, and none of her friends were among them.
Entering the great hall, it was Nathaniel she found first. He claimed her hand for a dance, and she was able to enlighten him as to the gist of her conversation with Genitivi while they followed the music. Nate promised he would keep in touch with the scholar, in case he made further discoveries in her absence.
Anders danced with her next, followed by Eamon and several of the nobles she had come to know in her time as chancellor. She looked for Zevran but had not been able to locate him, until a hand at her waist claimed her for a waltz. Looking up, she was startled by a pair of intense amber eyes.
"I could not pass up a dance with the luscious slayer of the Archdemon." Zevran's voice was soft in her ear.
She leaned into him, allowing the intimacy of the music to create its own little bubble in time and space. She could feel each step, the subtle play of muscle beneath her hand, his warm breath at her delicate ear. One two three, one two three; the cadence of the dance timed to the beating of her heart. All too soon, it was over. Zevran escorted her to her room and left her, in an all too Alistair-like gesture, with a kiss at her door. She had felt the tremble of his arm beneath her fingers, known it was a near thing between his sweeping her in his arms, and taking desperate flight away from her and away from his feelings.
Alone in her room, she changed out of the dress and sank down in front of the fire, Sky's head in her lap, as she tried to figure out how she had made such a muddle of things.