Chapter 15: Storm

Spices and leather, smooth skin and hard muscle under her fingertips. Aithne stirred and struggled for consciousness to find herself curled around Zevran, the grey morning light peeking through the small porthole.

Bump. A cold damp nose poked the back of her neck again, as a quiet whine reached her ears.

"Sky." Suppressing a sigh, she eased away from Zevran, trying not to wake him.

He rolled to his back with the loss of her warmth and peeked up at her with sleep-fogged eyes. "Mmm, don't go."

"Sky needs out. Stay there. I'll be back in a few minutes." Gathering her discarded clothes, she dressed quickly, anxious to get back to the tempting sight of Zevran, his morning arousal clear as he tossed back the covers.

He stood and gently brushed his lips to hers. "I'll find us some breakfast, and then we can pick up where we left off last night, no?"

Aithne reflected on the luxury of returning to bed with Zevran as she took Sky up to the deck. As a passenger she had little to do aboard the Siren's Call, and she intended to enjoy her freedom. Sky finished her business, and Aithne rinsed the mess off the deck with seawater. At least Anders had brought a little box and some dirt for Pounce.

Hearing Zevran's voice in the galley on her way back to their cabin, she paused in the narrow door. An exhausted Anders blushed under Zevran's scrutiny as the mage balanced a tray of food.

"Tired, my friend? Isabela is rather a handful, no? I would suggest something more strengthening than that," Zevran gestured to the light breakfast already on Anders' tray, "if you wish to keep up with her brand of exercise."

"I could say the same to you. It wasn't silence I heard from your cabin last night."

Zevran laughed at Anders' retort. "Ah, but I am adequately provisioned." He lifted the cloth over the tray he was holding, revealing a hearty meal of sausage, eggs, biscuits and honey. Steam curled from two mugs of strong tea. Looking up, he noticed Aithne in the doorway. "Perfect timing my dear, the cook has even provided some scraps for Sky and Pounce." He indicated another tray, still resting on the counter. "If you will assist, we can let Anders return to his morning exertions."

Aithne grinned at Anders, who sported a tinge of red on both cheeks. Zevran could generate an undertone of sexuality in even the most innocuous conversation; when given a more direct opening, his tone and inflection could make even a sailor blush. Leaving Anders in the galley with the ship's cook, who had ignored the entire exchange, Aithne and Zevran returned to their own quiet refuge.

Setting the scraps for the animals on the floor, Aithne smiled as Sky allowed Pounce to steal the choice pieces of fish from under her nose. The Denerim kennel master would no doubt be astonished to see the Mabari tolerating the spoiled cat.

Zevran wrapped his arms around her, and Aithne leaned back into his embrace. "I was thinking; breakfast in bed?"

"Mmm, sounds delicious. Do you have any ideas for dessert?"

Much later, Aithne was nestled contentedly against Zevran's chest. "I think we should have breakfast in bed every morning."

"My dear Warden, you do have some splendid ideas." Zevran shifted so he could see her face, and then winced as his right shoulder shifted.

Aithne sat up, aware of his discomfort. "I think it's time to work on that shoulder. Petra said you would need to rest it for a few weeks, but it should be healed by now. It's probably time to start the exercises she recommended."

"I already have; the scar seems to limit movement." He gave her a worried look. "I can force almost a full range of motion, but it's slow and throws my timing off."

She pushed him back and, with deft fingers, began to work the hard knots of scarring in his shoulder. The depressed area visible on his skin, now fading from angry purple to white, was only slightly larger than a sovereign; it was the network of fibrous tissue running through the muscle from the infection that pinched and ached. Zevran forced himself to relax into the pain/pleasure of Aithne's hands. This was nothing like the art of sensual massage he was familiar with, but along with the burning sensation of scar tissue breaking up, he could feel the easing of muscles held unconsciously tense.

It hurt, nothing like the torment he had endured as part of his Crow training, or the sharp pain of a battle injury, but it did hurt. "So how did you learn this…?" Conversation could serve as a distraction to discomfort, an aptitude he had used often in the past.

"Most Dalish clans are small enough that each member needs to learn more than one skill. I was a hunter, but I also had an interest in healing, although I lacked the…abilities…of a Keeper. I learned what I could of herb lore and other healing arts, saving those that required the grace of the Gods or use of magic. Yours is not the first injury I have seen that requires more than magic. I would think, with what little you have told me about the Crows, you would have had this problem before."

Zevran chose his words carefully; his youth and training were not subjects he enjoyed. "No, care was always taken so we were not permanently damaged…, at least those of us who showed promise. After all, you would not cripple a horse or a dog that you intended to give good service." He met her sharp look with a half-smile. He was still raw from the emotional upheaval of the past few days; time to change the subject. "But we were discussing you, my Dalish lady. I knew you were skilled in potions and poisons, why did you never say there was more?"

"It was not needed. During the Blight, and even in Amaranthine, we always had a healer available. If a wound can be healed quickly and cleanly, these problems do not come up."

"So what else have you been hiding? What would you have become, if you hadn't joined the Grey Wardens?"

"Besides a ghoul?" Aithne smiled, taking the sting out of her words. "If Tamlen hadn't touched the mirror, if we hadn't run across those shemlen…. I don't know. I would probably still be hunting with Tamlen and Rill, working with Marethari on my skills as a healer, maybe I would have bonded, had children. It's hard to say. I always dreamed of doing more, traveling, finding some long lost bit of elvish lore…. I doubt I would've, though. Tamlen was always the adventurer, I was too cautious."

"This Tamlen, would you have bonded with him?"

"No, it was expected, but he was more like a brother to me. I had thought, at the time, that I might meet someone from another clan…."

Although her calloused hands continued their work, Zevran sensed a distance, as her thoughts traveled to back to what could have been. "Would you change things, if you could?"

"If it meant no Blight, to return all those to life who died so needlessly, yes. Otherwise, no. The Blight was a terrible thing, but with all the loss and sadness, I found happiness, friendship, and… love. I always wished for adventure and excitement, but without the Blight I don't think I would have been brave enough to seek it on my own. And I learned to see things beyond the narrow view of most Dalish, that no one race is superior to another, that ignoring the shemlen will not improve things for the elves." With a self-deprecating laugh she continued. "I'm afraid I was not so different from Rill in my beliefs, when Duncan first recruited me. Tamlen suggested that we kill the humans who told us about the cave with the mirror, just because they were shemlen. I am ashamed to admit, at the time I was tempted."

Zevran studied her, trying to reconcile this confession with the reserved woman he knew. The woman who tempered practicality with kindness, whose willingness to consider all interests often drove him to distraction. "But you did not."

"No. Even then it seemed a foolish waste of life, to kill them just for being there, and likely to cause trouble for our clan – I guess it did anyway." She prodded him to turn over, so she could work on his back.

"Yet you have never faulted me for being an assassin."

"You and I have both been honed as weapons, by training and circumstance. How can I fault you, when my own hands are bloody? And, as you pointed out once, there are very few individuals who are truly innocent." She paused, and then continued. "Then, there is the thrill of a clean kill, a battle well fought. As a healer it is hard to understand, but I am also a hunter, and that part of me thrives on the knife edge of existence. Alistair never really understood that, you do."

He was silent a long while, as she soothed knotted muscles, old pains he hadn't even realized were there. "You spoke of children earlier, yet you have told me that Grey Wardens are unlikely to ever have children. Do you regret that?"

"I don't know. I would have little time for a child, so in that respect, no. Yet, in other ways, yes. You spoke to Shale once, about embracing life, experiencing all that it has to offer. The little time we had with Cathal made me think, wonder what it would be like, to have a child. Had we not received the message from Morrigan, I would have been tempted to bring him with us instead of leaving him with Ser Perth." Aithne now lapsed into a considering silence. "Do you…," gathering her courage, she continued, "have any children?"

Not entirely shocked by her question, Zevran considered his answer. "There are ways to prevent such… consequences. Being what I am, I had no wish to leave another orphan on the street."

"Twenty-five years, more or less, for me, and the Crows want you dead. I suppose it's best there are no children involved." With a last few soothing strokes she finished. "There, now see how that feels."

Zevran stood and stretched. Aithne's massage had covered his entire body, not just his shoulder, and, although sore, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Experimentally, he worked his right shoulder through a complete range of motion, appreciating the return to smooth function. "Thank you."

"It won't stay that way unless you exercise it. and I'll probably need to work the muscle every few days for a while."

"If I had known this was all it took to get your hands on me, I would have gotten hurt more often during the Blight." He gave her his best lecherous grin.

Aithne laughed as she gathered her warm clothes to go on deck. "That's why I love you. Now get dressed, I'm in the mood for a different sort of sparring." She gathered her daggers and left the stuffy cabin for some fresh air.

The midday sun had warmed the deck, and the sails billowed in the steady breeze. The salt air was a welcome change from the confines of a tiny cabin occupied by two people, a Mabari and a cat. Aithne nodded to Isabela, and noted that Anders was nowhere in sight.

"He's still sleeping. I think the famous Grey Warden stamina may be a myth." Isabela strolled over, her look of satisfaction contrasting with her words.

"Anders always sleeps 'til noon. If early rising is a test for a Grey Warden, I'm afraid he fails."

"I... What?" Anders emerged from Isabela's cabin, looking somewhat the worse for wear.

Aithne and Isabela shared a glance and laughed.

"Great, I'm funny now. Since you're finally up, I'll just go check on Pounce."

Zevran passed Anders on his way to the deck, the mage barely acknowledging his greeting. Emerging on deck, Zevran spotted the two women. "Isabela, you're losing your touch. A night with you and he's grumpy?"

"Oh, trust me Zev darling; he wasn't grumpy at all in bed." Isabela's smile was pure cat with the cream. "On that subject, you two weren't up any too early either. Have a nice conversation, did you?"

Zevran restricted himself to a content smile, particularly in view of the color blooming in Aithne's cheeks.

Recovering, Aithne addressed Isabela. "Zev and I were going to do a little sparring, care to join us?"

"Indeed, I would love to see what you've done with those little tricks I taught you."

Aithne started with Zevran, carefully testing his reach and flexibility with a series of standard openings, before moving into their usual blurring dance. Zevran still compensated a little for a reduced reach with his right arm, but their bout was close to an even match. He finally bowed out as his shoulder began to tire, nodding to Isabela to take his place.

Other than a brief spar at the Pearl, when Isabela had taught Aithne a few dueling tricks, the two had never fought. They began with a series of feints, looking for openings or flaws in the other's skill. Finding none, Isabela moved first, seeking to throw Aithne off balance with a sudden twist mid-attack. Aithne responded, dagger deflecting rapier, dodging and striking with her other dagger in the perceived opening. Isabela turned Aithne's attack, and closed again. Their speed and skill were evenly matched, but Isabela was more experienced at fighting on the rolling deck of a ship. She finally threw Aithne off balance with an attack perfectly timed to the drop as the ship crested a wave, her rapier stopping a hair's breadth from the elf's neck.

"Fantastic, I haven't had such a match in a long time." The captain arched a brow at her crew, most of whom had stopped working to watch the two women spar. There was a sudden flurry of activity as men returned to their stations.

"You have them well trained, I expected more yelling after my previous voyage," Zevran observed.

"If I have to yell, they're off my ship. I only keep the best." She paused, following Aithne's questioning glance and Zevran's nod in answer. "So when did you get hurt, Zev?"

Sighing, Zevran shrugged. Isabela was too observant by half. "It's mostly healed; I just need to use it now."

"Better use it a lot. I wasn't kidding about being careful."

Aithne gave Zevran an enquiring look. "The Crows. I'll tell you later."

Zevran did share Isabela's concerns with Aithne later that night, and consequently their sea voyage lost its leisurely overtones, and focused instead on having him back in perfect form before they arrived in Ostwick.

In spite of the winter season, the Siren's course along the coast of Ferelden and into the Waking Sea was uneventful, if slow. The winds that had graced the start of their trip had slacked to a whisper, and though not becalmed, the Siren was not making fast progress. Thus, her passengers viewed the increasing south wind with gratitude instead of alarm, as the ship picked up speed in her northward journey. It wasn't until Zevran noticed there was no effort to take down any canvas as the wind began to gust, that he realized they were in for a storm.

Zevran made his way to Isabela, who was at the wheel watching the growing waves with fierce concentration. "You're going to run before it?"

"As long as we can; there are too many rocks to try to anchor this side of Brandal's Reach. Our best bet is to get into the open water of the Waking Sea before she hits." The captain glowered at the darkening sky, as if willpower alone could hold off the storm. "Best get below, this is no summer squall. She'll ice up, and an icy deck is no place for the inexperienced."

Zevran nodded, noting a crewman closing the hurricane shutters over the glass windows of the captain's cabin. "We'll secure our cabin. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Pray to the Maker, if it suits you."

As he headed for the stairs, Zevran saw Anders confer briefly with Isabela before retreating to her cabin. He had thought the mage would join them below deck, but it appeared not.

With the wind keening outside, the two elves worked to secure any loose items in their cabin. The pitching of the ship had already increased, and they were forced to chase stray items across the cabin floor several times before everything was put away or tied down. Sky joined them on the bunk with a nervous whine, and even the aloof Pounce was convinced to join them as they began to feel the occasional moment of freefall whenever the ship dropped over a particularly large wave.

They could hear the pounding feed above them and the strident shouts of the sailors as they gradually stripped canvas from the Siren's three masts over the next hours. The groan of the masts as they pulled against the shrouds increased even as the sails were furled. As the howl of the wind grew, all other sounds were masked. The crew finally retired from the deck, a frantic scurry of feet past their cabin to the crew quarters.

"Have you ever sailed in a storm like this?" Aithne asked, worry threading her words.

"No, the most I've ever been in was a minor squall. We see storms like this occasionally in Antiva in the late summer and fall. They blow in off Rialto Bay, or occasionally come down from the north, off the Venefication Sea. The winds can push water into the streets of the coastal cities, causing flooding and much damage. Even the Crows cease business until a hurricane has passed. I don't know much about these southern storms; perhaps they are not as severe." The cabin was dark; with the ship tossed by wind and wave it was too dangerous to light the lantern, so he could not see her expression. But he could feel her tension, an undercurrent of fear in his bold Dalish lady. The storm was a foe she could not fight. "In Antiva, we gathered in groups, ate, drank and told stories until a storm had passed. Have I ever told you the tale of Lord Averendo's shoes?"

Hours passed slowly as they traded stories and conversation, always listening with one ear to the howling wind. Zevran was in the middle of a series of fanciful tales, supposedly told by a harem girl, when a tremendous booming crash shook the entire ship and the vessel suddenly listed to the side.

Leaping off the bunk, Zevran hurtled out of the cabin onto the deck, Aithne close on his heels. Abruptly, silence reigned, except for his own harsh breathing. He looked wildly around for the source of the change.

Anders stood, lashed to the wheel with Isabela, his entire focus on maintaining the force field he had used to encase the ship.

Zevran waved the crew to stay as they tried to shove their way past Aithne. The deck was a mad jumble of broken rigging, the main mast splintered and trailing off the starboard side, its weight forcing the ship to list almost to the water line. The top half of the foremast had also been sheared off and was tangled in the remains of the main mast. Glancing back, he was relieved to see the mizzen mast still intact. "Aithne, get the extra lyrium potions." Trusting her to acquire the potions he knew they would need, he signaled the crew forward to start cutting lines so the weight of the shattered masts could be shed.

Isabela was shouting orders to her crew as Anders began to shake from the effort of shielding an entire ship. Aithne poured a potion down his throat, then another, desperately trying to buy time for the crew to clear the deck. Time passed in frozen minutes. The sounds of frantic activity echoed in the unnatural stillness: shouting, a sailor's scream as his arm was caught between the heavy timbers of the masts, another as a hand was caught in a line, the crash of discarded potion bottles against the deck, the hiss of severed lines pulled away by the weight of the wood and canvas attached to them. At last the deck was mostly clear, the broken remains of wood and rigging trapped against the starboard hull by Anders' spell. Isabela motioned her sailors off the deck; the next part would be tricky.

Aithne poured yet another lyrium potion into Anders. "Anders, listen to me." His attention remained fixed on the shimmer of his force field. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Anders, listen. You are going to need to drop the force field and use a repulsion field to right the ship and get us clear of the debris. Nod if you understand."

He was shaking violently under her fingertips, from exhaustion, lyrium reaction, or both; she couldn't be sure. He gave a slow nod.

The ship crashed back into the waves and the screaming wind, and with a violent lurch, returned to an even keel as Anders manipulated the spells in rapid succession, then collapsed. Aithne was thrown violently against the deck and started to slide, only to be abruptly stopped by the rope Zevran had secured about her waist while she was busy with Anders. Struggling to her feet, she staggered over to the unconscious mage. She fumbled with the knots on the water-swollen ropes, trying to release them and get Anders to shelter. Isabela was fully occupied with steering the Siren, as well as she was able, into the waves.

Then Zevran was there, his belt knife slicing their bindings, helping her move the heavy man across the pitching deck to Isabela's cabin. They stripped the mage out of his sodden robes and lifted him onto the bed.

"Zev, can you stay with him for a minute? I need a few things out of my pack." Anders' breathing was shallow under the heavy blankets, and Aithne struggled to remember exactly how many lyrium potions she had given him. At Zevran's nod, she left the cabin. On deck, she noted that Isabela's first mate had joined his captain at the wheel.

Sky bounced in excitement at her return. "Easy girl, just take good care of Pounce for now." The Mabari whined, and then returned to the bed to curl up next to the nervous cat.

Digging through her pack, Aithne quickly found the supplies she needed and returned to Anders and Zevran. She fed the mage sips of an herbal infusion at intervals until his pulse slowed and his breathing became deeper and more even. "That much lyrium, it was a shock to his system. He should be alright now, but he's going to have a hell of a headache when he wakes up."

"I'm just glad we had the lyrium. Things could have been much more… interesting, if Anders hadn't been here to help." The wind had died some and the roll of the ship was steadier, less violent, yet Zevran still did not wish to tempt fate by giving voice to their near demise.

Half an hour later, the storm had subsided enough for Isabela to stumble into the cabin, leaving the Siren in the capable hands of her first mate.

They returned to the deck to greet the first blush of sunrise, the golden light chasing the retreating storm clouds from the clean scoured sky. Zevran swept Aithne into his arms and kissed her, just for the sheer joy of being alive.

Hurricane parties and Scheherazade's Thousand and One Nights, I couldn't leave them out.

Thank you to my betas Erynnar and Brownc0at who help make this into a story instead of just a jumble of words.

As always, thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I know I don't update very often, but I am not planning on abandoning this story - not when it is just getting going.

And my gratitude to Bioware for letting me play with their toys.