Title: A Murder of Crows 9/?
Author: Rhion
Rating: AO - Sex, Drugs and ROCK n'ROLL!
Summary: F!Surana and Zevran each have their secrets. Some are stranger than others. The trouble with secrets is that they are best kept by only one person. But there's always someone else who knows the hidden things.
AN: The memory/dreams are all weird time funny. I like playin' with time and perspective in stories...bellaknoti beta'd, and ZevGuy is currently singing 'Rock the Cradle of Love', so I just might die of the awesome.

Also, been workin' on my own wiki's for my version(s) of Antiva and the Crows. Please feel free to use any of the ideas or themes if you like, just lemme know if you do. I've spent a ton of time compiling research and whatnot, there's other ones that are partially written, and plenty that are at the very least fully outlined while I figure out how I want to phrase certain things. So, like I said, feel free to use any of it, just lemme know if you plan on liftin' a buncha details directly. They can be found on my DreamWidth account, and a link to that can be found on my author page here on FF.n

XXX
Murder 9
XXX

Little Atathis had come to visit again, begging coin tricks. "Again? Da'len you have exhausted all the things I can teach you!" Well, not all the things I could teach you. However – those are not things for little Dalish boys,he thought, ruffling the child's hair as the small boy tugged at his shirtsleeve.

"But, lethallin, I want to be like you." This was said all in a rush.

Falling to a squat before the boy, Zevran grabbed his pointed chin. "Ah, you do not wish to be like me. I am too flat-ear; I have forgotten the ways of our people, for the most part. You are meant to be a strong warrior for the people, guiding and guarding them."

Eyes were staring at him, but Zevran disregarded them. Let them look, was his motto. If Alistair and Wynne kept it up, the Crow hoped that their eyes might melt in their skulls. Disbelief and shock were wonderful things. Not only that, but it kept them uncertain, too busy contemplating whatever nefarious thing he may or may not do, leaving little actual time for them to find ways to bother him.

Zathrian was two days in the ground, and Lahar was eight days in a coma. True to Lanaya's word, the clan had left them alone, the children having remained as insurance for the tribe's good behavior. Now that the old, corrupt Keeper was buried, the hunters easing out of their own curse-induced comas, the clan had finally shown some respect to Zevran and the others. They had been given permission to stay with the clan until Lahar was well and ready to travel. Towards this end, Wynne had several times stated with firm conviction that Lahar was simply working something out in the Fade, and would wake up at any minute.

The Crow's smile was easy on the surface, but he knew it didn't quite reach his eyes as he pulled out a small throwing dagger, showing it to Atathis. "Well, I suppose I could show you something other than tricks, to make your hands clever."

His nights had been haunted by memories; they assailed him with a viciousness that would not relent, and no matter how much Wynne said Lahar would awaken, Zevran was... concerned. The young mage was his lifeline, his one shot at freedom. If she didn't awaken, the consequences for his rebellion against and failure to the Guild didn't bear thinking about.

For many minutes, the bronze elf showed the tiny little Dalish boy how to hold the throwing knife in his hands, correcting and re-correcting the grip until it was perfect.

Leaning down so he was right behind Atathis, he pointed. "See that stump?"

"Uh-huh!" The boy nodded vigorously.

"Alright." Wrapping his fingers carefully around the boys' hand, he said, "We're going to try and hit that. Do you think you're ready to try?"

Before he could gain the expected affirmative, Leliana went past, carrying two bowls to the aravel where Lahar lay. Pausing, Zevran frowned. Eight days of nothing but bowls of water and broth. That was all Lahar had been given.

He laid a hand atop Atathis' head. "Da'len I have a request of you. I need your help with something."

XXX

Children were the best source of information anywhere. Them, and slaves or servants. People often forgot to hold their tongues in front of such audiences, and so with the right words – or bribes – information was there for the taking, and Atathis had been a veritable font of good information.

For instance, where he could get the long leather tube that was in his hands, and the bowl of mashed halla cheese, soaked in milk. Beside him, Atathis squirmed on the bed, balancing the bowl of food in his lap. Lahar was sunken, proof positive of the energies that burnt through her with each spell, etched into the hollows of her cheeks. Coupled as it was with no food beyond broth and water, the young woman was wasting away.

Leaning down, Zevran pried her mouth open, tilting her head back so her throat would stretch, carefully examining the back of her mouth. With gentle, sure and experienced fingers the Antivan probed, watching as the flap of fleshy cartilage wiggled in the back. Satisfied that he would be able to successfully insert the leather hose, the Crow eased the tip of it into the tube that ran from mouth to stomach. In reaction, Lahar's body jerked once, and Zevran quickly scooted to the head of the bed, locking her head in place between his knees. Pausing in his work, he listened,Good airflow still, perfecto, preciosa you are doing well, just a little bit more...That's it, that's it...

With the hose in place, he snagged the funnel he had fashioned and rested it on the part of the hose that stuck out of her mouth. "Atathis, I need you to go very slow and pour some of the food into here."

Eyes huge, the little boy nodded, licking nervous lips. "It won't hurt her, will it lethallin? I won't get in trouble, will I?"

"No, da'mi, I give you permission to help me in this – so no one will fault you for doing as I say. No, she needs to eat. True, if she were awake, this would cause her discomfort," holding the tube and funnel steady. "But she needs this or she will be very sick, da'mi. Far more than if we do this."

Atathis swallowed audibly, doing as he was instructed. Good boy, this is a skill that is always useful. Knowing when to listen. It could save your life, or another's. This is a skill I can teach you that is far more important than nimble fingers. Keeping one eye on his Warden, the other on the little Dalish as food seeped into Lahar, giving her a fighting chance, his ears pricked.

Someone - Wynne from the tread. Augh puta can you not leave well enough alone? - was mounting the drop-down stairs of the aravel.

Ignoring that for the moment as unimportant, he gave Atathis an encouraging smile. "I will have to do this several times a day, da'mi."

A look of very serious concentration was on the boy's face. "May I help?"

"So long as you have no other tasks to complete," he assented, nodding. "Have you been listening to El'dirthera Sarel?"

Atathis stopped pouring. "I don't know that word. We just call him Hahren Sarel. What's it mean?"

Before Zevran could answer, Wynne entered, gasping in horror. "In the name of the Maker - what are you doing Zevran?" The mage moved quickly, a spell forming. "You stop this at once!"

"No." Firm and unflinching, he stared the Circle mage down. "Lahar needs food. She will have nothing left if she continues on this way!"

Atathis was frightened, pulling the bowl of milk and mashed cheese to him, and curling protectively into a ball. That made the Antivan inordinately enraged. He was but a child, and terrified by Wynne's stern countenance.

"We have been feeding her," she snapped. Pointing imperiously at Atathis, she declared, "I don't know what that man has told you child, but what he is doing is wrong, and will hurt Lahar."

Snarling, Zevran leaned forward, each word clipped. "Broth and water are not enough sustenance for a mage. Broth and water are not enough sustenance for anyone, for more than a few days!" Setting the funnel aside carefully, he reached out, laying a soothing hand on Atathis' head, but speaking to Wynne. "The Crows, we have frequent problems with this. Either someone refuses to eat or cannot feed themselves for whatever reason – we do this. It is effective and relatively safe! You are a fool, woman, if you cannot see that I know what I am doing!"

"Mark my words Zevran, if she suffers for this, I will see you punished." Drawing herself up, Wynne obviously had to force herself to not clench her hands in impotent anger.

"And if she dies from lack of food, I will see you punished, comemierda hija de puta !" he spat, not wanting to speak in words that Atathis would understand, but his meaning was clear to the three of them. "I will do it myself, and I am not nearly so kind as others."

"Well I never!" Jaw jutting out, Wynne looked down her long nose at him.

Ignorant old woman, you know nothing. Your ignorance betrays you; some healer you are. Eyes narrowed, Zevran waited for the woman to break his gaze. Ignorance kills in the real world. Pray that it doesn't cost us. Pray that it does not cost this whole Blighted country. Pray that I die before that happens, because you will not like the consequences otherwise.

XXX

The platter had several small dishes on it, the firebaked clay a deep sepia, throwing back residual warmth from the ovens in the rear of the tavern. Each dish was filled with a small portion of food, one held shrimp with basil and crushed garlic, another duck liver and onions, a slice of fried potato cake with olive oil and garlic atop it, and another with tomatoes and thick sliced cheese. A basket of bread sat beside the platter, and a larger dish of olives. Ah, it is good to be home. Zevran grinned down at the table, mouth veritably salivating at the chance to eat real food once more. Oh Antiva how I missed you, Llomerryn has nothing on your beauty. And, of course, your food. There is nowhere else that has cuisine so lovely and fine!

Snagging a few olives, the young Crow savored the thick, rich taste, "Mm-oh. Mierda, Taliesen, you would not believe what I had to eat out there!"

Beside him his fellow Crow leaned on his elbows, drinking from his mug of wine. "If I have to hear about the abomination of what they do to rice one more time..."

"Tchk, fine." He spit out the olive pits on the floor, to join the others already littering it. What did he care for the masked glower of the barkeep? He was a Crow! And he would be one of the finest in all of Antiva. One day. Probably soon. "Be that way."

Taliesen shifted on his short stool. "No need to be catty Zev." The human sighed, picking at a shrimp absentmindedly, as around them the smell of coffee, pipe tobacc, cannabis, and people filled the air, along with the fitful spring breeze. "But that's all you've talked about for the last three days. Food. You would think that they had only been feeding you the slops given to the recruits."

Zevran hid a small frown. Usually Taliesen was much more amused by the elf's complaints and over-the-top behavior. It was why they had always gotten along so well, but since Zevran had returned to Antiva City from that business in Llomerryn, the older of the two had been... different. There was an air of hardness to him, that the elf wasn't sure he liked at all.

"What can I do? I do not like to see rice, let alone vegetables – aie, what they do to the vegetables! - butchered so!" Watching carefully, he measured the dark-haired man. "And the yogurt for the meats? Braska, it is filthy-bland I say. A complete crime!"

"It's a wonder you don't look like a whale," the human grunted, finishing off his wine in one long pull. "Food, always with the food. Or sex. Or drugs. Ugh, it's impossible for me to believe you survived our training."

His shoulders tensed, and his tone sharpened. "Ah, yes. 'Good-time Zevran'. Hedonist extraordinaire. No thoughts in his pretty, blond, pointy-eared head but for pleasure." Snatching the jug of smooth red wine from Taliesen, he snarled, "You forget who I am Tali. You forget what I have done, where I come from. You forget yourself. I am not the one who came from a family, I am not the one who never knew hunger until going to the intermediate barracks. You are. Is it truly a wonder that I enjoy my pleasures where I can find them?" Refilling his own cup, he fixed the human with his gaze. "Was it not you who told me that I should enjoy myself when I can, however I can?"

A gloved hand clamped down around his wrist, squeezing with cruel strength, but the grip was a bit off from what Zevran remembered. However, he was too distracted by Taliesen forcing his hand to the table, pinning it there, to examine the difference further. "Shut up Zev, you stupid knife-ear. You think you're so knowledgeable and think that my life was so great."

Zevran bared his teeth. "That is whoreson to you." Jerking his hand from Talisen's hold, he snapped, "We both know who is the brains in this outfit, and it most certainly is not you. And we both know whose mama put forth the recommendations for their elevation." His voice dropped to a menacing hiss. "Without me, and without your mother, you would be the dead one far more often than I."

"Lethallin!" The voice was clear and ringing, cutting through the noise of the tavern. Zevran spared a glance in the woman's direction, but looked away after seeing that it was just some wild Dalish in her impractical leathers. "Lethallin!"

Leaning in so that he was almost nose-to-nose with Taliesen, he continued, "I do not like the way you have been acting, my friend, and if it continues, I will leave you behind. Status you have or no, I care not. Call me a 'stupid knife-ear' again, and I will walk out, and you will be left holding the bag."

"And who will watch your back? Eh?" Jaw set, the human growled. "Who will keep the other Crows from bending you over and fucking you until you burst?"

Any response Zevran would have formed was halted by that crazed Dalish coming too close. Stilling, Zevran began to turn to face her, to be met with a hand landing on his shoulder. Stiffening imperceptibly – he didn't like to be touched without warning – he rose, dislodging her hand from his shoulder in the motion.

They were of a height; Zevran was not a tall man, even for their shared species, and his amber eyes met ones of a startling navy blue. "Lethallin!! Why did you not answer?"

"I am sorry," he responded, measuring his words carefully, "but you must have me mistaken with someone, my good woman."

She shook her head, searching his features like she was devouring them. "No, no – I am not mistaken. I know you da'len, or, I knew your mother, at least."

He didn't know any of those fluid words she was using, but he wanted to know more, for some reason, and it served as a distraction from Taliesen and his strange behavior. However, it wouldn't do to have any sort of meaningful conversation with such a large audience. Zevran was no longer sure of how his fellow Crow would respond to such things. So much change in his friend, in less than two months of being gone from Antiva City.

So, Zevran took the woman by the arm, and pulled her towards the stairs in the back. "Well, perhaps we can get to know each other better, hmm?"

The Dalish woman seemed ready to protest, then looked around at the tavern and its rough occupants. "Hmm, yes, I suppose we should get better acquainted. Privately."

Once in one of the small rooms reserved for customers – containing nothing more than a bed and a cracked washbasin and pitcher – Zevran turned to look at the woman. Examining her intently for only a moment, he figured she must be a mere handful of years older than him. Certainly not old enough to have known his mother. Perhaps she merely used it as a ploy to get me in private? Shrugging mentally, Zevran realized that this must be the case, which told him how to proceed.

Reaching out he curled his hand over her cheek, leaned in before she could protest and kissed her. Her wide lipped mouth opened in shock, and she flinched away, shoving at his shoulders. Releasing her, the Crow watched as the unnamed Dalish wiped her mouth in horror, as if she had somehow beensullied by what he had done.

"Da'len! Why would you do such a thing? I am your aunt!" Covering her mouth, she backed away from him warily.

My aunt? This woman has to be crazy; she's barely more than a girl! He frowned at her darkly. "You're practically a child, woman. You're not old enough to have known my mother, let alone be my aunt, my dear. Do not take me for a fool. I am a Crow, and such as myself have foolishness beaten from us early on."

"Oh...da'len..." Large blue eyes, wide as could be, shone from her skin that was almost the same shade as his, her red hair like a flaming brand. "A Crow? Myrillia would never have stood for it!"

Suddenly all the air whooshed out of him. No one alive remembered his mother's name, other than him. One of the whores – Jamya – had told him what little he knew of his mother, perhaps she still remembered strawberry blond Myrillia with the straight nose and amber eyes. Swallowing the bile that burnt at the back of his throat, Zevran found himself angry. This woman had somehow known his mother. Claimed kinship with her. And his mother had been a whore. Sold into slavery when her suddenly-dead husband's debts had to be paid.

"Well then," he rasped, his throat constricting on the bitterness, "someone should have told the whores who raised me that. Or perhaps her family could have done something? No, rather she became a whore." Crowding the Dalish woman, Zevran trapped her with hands braced on the wall on either side of her head. "And someone got her with child for no more than five silvers, probably less. Seven months later, she died giving birth to me prematurely. She was sold over less than ninety silvers worth of debt, but truly, what matter of it? What matters of her desire? Of her not wanting to stand for some child made over a few silvers being sold into the Guild? Uhn? Uhn?" Punching the wall beside the Dalish's head, he fought not to yell in her face. "What matters of anyone saying what they will and will not stand for? I am a slave. Purchased for three whole sovereigns - a damn sight more than my mother!."

A hand came up, cupping his cheek, horror and pain in large blue eyes. "Aie, hamin da'len. Ar tu'abelas. My boy, my nephew. We knew not of what happened to her. She left us and our wandering ways."

The gentle touch on his cheek made Zevran's skin burn, yet he found himself leaning into it, eyes lidded. "For an elven woodcutter. He died of the ague, and she was unable to support herself. The tax collectors..."

"Hamin nephew, peace, put away your bladed words." A work-roughened hand – or maybe it was from a bow? Or blade? The callus on her hand was similar to his – passed over his brow. "As your aunt, I claim you. You take my name now, you take the name of Arainai."

Wincing he pulled away, still bitter. "I am no Dalish. I refuse your name; I don't want it!" Gesturing, "You speak in words I don't know, you say things that cannot be. You cannot be my aunt, yet you knew my mother. An aunt would know her blood, an aunt would know that her blood was a slave. Take your meaningless platitudes and damn yourself to the Pit."

"Come with the clan, we leave first light." She was fast, he would grant Arainai that. She caught him by the shoulders, giving him a shake. "You are no slave. I will not let my blood be used and abused as a Crow."

Shoving her away, he snapped, "I am what I am, and I am no blood of yours! I repudiate you."

….

Sitting cross-legged, Zevran hung his head from the forgotten pain. "Why do you stir such things in my mind Crow?"

"You were wrong, weren't you?" As always, there were only questions, never any real answers.

Biting his lip, Zevran shook his head. "No. I wasn't. I couldn't have been."

"She knew you as her blood, even from seeing you simply sitting down, from behind, didn't she?" Crow was across from him, mirroring his pose.

Swallowing his pain, he admitted, "Yes. She did."

"At least you can admit when you are wrong." Crow nodded, seeming satisfied.

…..

Sore laying in bed, Zevran stared at the ceiling. Rinna was curled up against him, curly blond mop of hair cascading over his forearm from how he was holding her to him. He could tell she was awake, no matter that she feigned sleep. In the morning, he had to scope out his next mark; he had no time for such games as she was playing tonight.

Nudging her, he lifted his shoulder a few times. "Get up woman; I need to sleep."

There was no answer but for steady breathing, warm and moist against his neck. With her breasts pushed up against his side, Zevran could feel her heartbeat, and it was far too fast to be her sleeping rate. Closing his eyes, he drifted for a moment, but not long. Just enough to enjoy the sensation of a warm, soft body pressed to him, with no worries for attack... at least for the moment. No Crow was to be trusted, no matter how well they were known, and especially not one's apprentice who also was a lover.

Grunting, he swatted her bottom gently. "Rinna, I can feel your heartbeat; I can hear your blood in your veins. You are awake. Now get up."

Finally she spoke, curling in closer. "I don't want to; I'm comfortable."

"I'm not going to sleep with you woman." He shifted away in an attempt to gain some distance. She really did feel too good beside him, and he didn't want to deal with the temptation.

"Well, if we can't sleep..." One dancer-toned leg slipped over his hips, smoothly moving to straddle him. "...how about we don't sleep at all?"

Moaning, Zevran felt his flesh stir automatically at the sensation of wetness. Hands planted on his chest, Rinna rose up, angling her hips. Zevran met her halfway, sliding in easily; they both groaned in unison, once they were joined. Silken muscles clamped on his cock, holding him deep inside. Rubbing her thighs, he allowed Rinna her head, rocking up to meet her and watching her firm breasts sway with each slow lunge.

The sheets were tangled somewhere down near his feet, the linen rough with sweat from the amount the two Crows had given each other earlier. His lids drooped, captivated by the vision of the elven lass enjoying his body without any of their usual frenzy. Smoothing his palms over hips, belly and up to her breasts, Zevran molded them in his large hands the way he knew she liked it. As a reward for his efforts, he earned a kiss, Rinna bowing over him so her lips could meet his.

At that, his upwards thrusts slowed to a halt, his breathing going deep and easy. There was something about Rinna, and her mouth on his, that made it hard for him to think. Burying a hand in her hair, Zevran held her close, the other hand going to her hip, causing her to still. The taste of saliva and sex on her tongue met his, twining and tangling, the two Crows – teacher and apprentice – near silent, the way only long-trained assassins could be. Finally, Rinna pulled away, but Zevran followed for a moment before catching himself.

Licking his lips, the Crow sat up, gathering Rinna close, claiming her mouth once more. The look in her eyes before they closed was intense, in those dark coffee depths. In a heap they fell to their sides, Zevran on top, hungry for more and less at once. His skin shivered in reaction to the stroking over his broad back, to his hair being loosened from the thick braid he always wore it in when not washing it. Like sleeping, Zevran never let anyone take his hair down. It could be used as a weapon – either against him or for him. In fact he had even taken out a mark once with the thick rope his hair became when braided. But her fingers felt so good, so Zevran ignored the warning voice, and all his training, for the moment. His world was focused down to Rinna, to the weight of his thick blond hair becoming looser and looser by the second.

She murmured, "I've always wondered how long it really was," pulling a thick swath of it through her spread fingers, and Zevran groaned, sucking on one of her nipples desperately. She arched slowly into his mouth, her eyes closing in ecstasy as her fingers combed through his hair.

He was driven to action; grabbing one of her legs, licking and kissing – gently, urgently, worshipful – Zevran mapped her torso. His hair was being spread over his shoulders and back, Rinna sighing quietly to herself, a tiny gasp coming from her overly lush lips when he nuzzled at her sex. Lapping at the folds, he groaned, the fingers massaging his scalp maddening. A heavy strand of hair slithered over his arm feeling like the cornsilk it so resembled. Swollen lips of Rinna's womanhood greeted him with their glistening nectar, his questing tongue snaking over each petal.

"Zev-" Her hips lifted from his bed for a moment before sinking back down.

Savoring the way her smell and taste and touch filled his senses, Zevran brought her over the precipice. Moving back up Rinna's body, he returned to kissing her, satisfied from this simple act in a way he couldn't remember before. It was intense. He needed her to leave. Now.

He looked at her, propping himself up on his elbows. "You should go to bed Rinna."

"Why? Yours is right here." Lips found an ear, and Zevran moaned as she nibbled at it softly.

"I mean it Rinna, go to bed," he growled, unable to stop himself from kissing her again. "I swear, I'll kill you if you don't leave. Now."

A tinkling laugh was what he received in response. "Promise? Make sure you're thorough."

"Braska woman, I swear I need sleep." Crawling after her on the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress, kissing her stomach as she slipped free.

"Oh, no you don't. Or are you getting old? Poor Zevran, twenty-two, you're a veritable old man!" More finger-dragging through his hair tugged his head back.

Growling at her, he nipped her hip. "Oh, for that my dear girl, I will kill you!"

"Like I said – promise to be thorough!" Wiggling her hips at him saucily, she went to his door.

"When have you ever known me to be not thorough? And make sure you lock that door on your way out!" he called at her as Rinna exited, stark naked as the day she was born.

Sighing he slumped onto the bed, dragging the blankets from the floor and wrapped himself around a pillow. It smelled of Rinna. Of Rinna, him and sex. Clenching his eyes closed, Zevran curled tighter around the pillow, mashing it to his chest as tightly as he could, so much so that he was able to put his hands on the backs of his shoulders.

Settling down to go to sleep, finally, he willfully forgot that his hair was still loose – tomorrow it would be a nightmare to untangle, but, for now, he didn't care. Rinna liked it down... A click at his door, locks being picked and tumbled, jerked him away from the muzzy thoughts.

Face pressed into his pillow still, he called out, "Rinna," drawing her name out long, "I told you to go to bed!" Glancing up, he saw Taliesen framed in the doorway, even as he closed it behind him. "Oh. What is it now? If you want anything, I am all tapped out, my friend. Rinna used me up, and I would not wish to shame myself by being a poor bed companion."

In all actuality, Zevran had no desire to entertain the human at all. Since the elf had returned from Llomerryn, that strangeness in the other man had yet to abate. His kisses and hands would be cruel, and Zevran got enough of that from marks. Everything would be all demand, take and take. No giving. Not that Zevran wasn't able to still enjoy himself, but he got bored with such constant aggression.

Taliesen – his mentor for many years, his lover for almost the same amount, and a friend still, as much as any could be – ignored him. His street clothes were discarded and he joined Zevran on the bed, touching the loose spill of gold that spread over the bed.

"I never realized it was so long," he commented, twirling a finger through the end. "You never let it down where anyone can see."

Grunting, Zevran sat up, gathering his hair at the nape of his neck roughly, and twisted it into a haphazard tail. "What do you want, my friend? I am in no mood for your play; I am tired, and there is nothing left for you here. It has all been taken."

That was true in so many ways... But Zevran didn't want to think about that, either. He was too disoriented and out of sorts – too tired, in all likelihood – for any games.

Something flashed in Taliesen's green eyes, so fast Zevran couldn't identify it. "If that is the case, then perhaps I shall see if Rinna still has anything to spare."

That struck a nerve, and Zevran, tired as he was, became angry quickly. Rinna and he had been at each other for half the day, and if he didn't have anything left, then she most certainly didn't need someone bothering her for more. Lunging at his friend, Zevran pinned the larger man down, biting hard, nudging knees apart with his muscular thigh.

"Perhaps I was wrong," he muttered into the broad chest and its dusting of hair. "I do seem to have some left for you."

Taliesen laughed, arching as Zevran set to taking him until the other man dropped from exhaustion.

….

Stretching languidly, he nabbed the rolled tobacc leaf stuffed with ganja from Taliesen. The two of them were relaxing under the moonlight-painted roof of the trainees' barracks. Rising to sit up, Zevran drew deep on the spliff, holding the harsh smoke in his lungs for several seconds. Releasing the cloud of dark gray smoke, he smiled, enjoying the warm languor that spread through his body.

"I leave tomorrow you know." Taliesen draped his arm over the bronze elf's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Nodding, he passed the blunt back. "Ah, so it seems you are to be a Crow before me. Well, I wish you luck."

"I'll need it," he said, taking a drag before coughing as he exhaled. Zevran snorted at that, as the human trainee leaned down to kiss him. "I won't have you there to keep me in check, to make me think before I step."

He hummed in the back of his throat after his sometimes-lover pulled away. "Good, you're too lazy otherwise."

A window below them – the very same one that they had used to gain the roof – creaked open. Zevran pulled away from Taliesen, slithering to one side, crouching. The curly mop of blond hair that came over the side was paired with large brown eyes, and a frown. Nearby, the human trainee cursed, stubbing out their blunt, scattering the reefer to the wind. Not relaxing, remaining tense, he knew that it was 'just Rinna', but amongst the initiates there was never a 'just someone'. Everyone was a potential rival; everyone was a potential opponent. Taliesen and Zevran were strange amongst their peers, and knew it. Rinna was a wild card, she had risen through the ranks of trainees at an alarming rate, using speed and accuracy like it was as easy as breathing. In comparison Taliesen, with his brute strength and dual blades seemed clumsy.

Zevran was one of the few who was consistently able to not only disarm, but to subdue Rinna.

And that meant she was dangerous, newer recruit or not.

"I thought I saw you two slip away," climbing the rest of the way up, she nimbly avoided dislodging any of the tile shingles. He watched as she pushed some of her wavy, shoulder length hair away from her face, revealing dainty pointed ears that were as sharp as her gaze. "The top two trainees in the barracks... there's whispers about you."

"Oh? Do tell, little chickadee, sing a song of it, eh? What do they say?" He carefully eased his fingers into his waistband, palming the small throwing dagger there.

As if she were utterly unaware that she was outnumbered and out-massed, Rinna crawled until she could lay down and look up at the sky, fishing something from between her breasts. "And what will you do to me if I won't say?"

Taliesen moved to accept the pouch she held out to him, while the halfbreed Dalish answered. "Ah-ha, so it is to be games of bodies rather than words?Como desees, guapa."

"Hey, this is the good stuff!" The human had by now opened the small pouch and sniffed it. "Where did you come across this Rinna? Cannabis like this isn't so easy to find."

A cocky smile, sharp – almost a complete copy of Zevran's usual one – twisted her mouth sensually. "From Maestro Soloise. I nicked it from his night desk." She snapped slim, dainty fingers. "Easy marks. Word is that most of us are too cowed to bother with such frivolous activities, except you two. I've been watching, and you both sneak off – successfully – more than any others. So, I wanted to see what trouble you got into when not under watchful eyes."

"And to see if you could join in?" Snorting, Zevran finally relaxed, accepting the bag of ganja and rolling some of its contents lightening quick into two spliffs.

Taliesen, ever the more open, and truly friendly one, smiled at the elven lass. "Welcome aboard then!"

Using a quick-light match, Zevran puffed the blunt to light, holding it out to Rinna. "To a mutually beneficial partnership in crime."

She smiled, rubbing a hand on each youth's thigh. "May it last as long as it can!"

XXX

Varathorn was watching him warily, tolerant, but suspicious of the interloper. Not that Zevran cared particularly, he was merely trying to occupy himself. Lahar had been catatonic for two weeks now. He had managed to keep her from losing more weight by force-feeding her halla cheese and milk, adding mashed grains and even vegetables to the mix. Now she was even gaining weight, but still her sleeping form looked wasted – devoid of the usual vitality and animation, leaving her something of a husk. So, he needed distraction. The Dalish craftsmaster would provide well enough.

Holding up a long shaft of wood, about half the thickness of his wrist, Zevran sighted down it. "Willow, good and flexible. It is a fine and practical choice, reliable. But I need something with more strength than this."

"May I ask as to what you wish to use it for?" Varathorn stilled his hands from their work on sharpening a new blade.

Stepping back, Zevran gave the unworked staff a few experimental passes through the air. "Mph, for Lahar."

The older elf tilted his head. "She is a mage, is she not?"

"Yes," he murmured, slipping a hand towards the bottom of the staff, and one to the center, moving into a smooth spin, watching the way the wood flexed.

"Does she not have a suitable mage's staff?" Zevran could feel the old man warily watching as Zevran re-familiarized himself with the feel of wood sliding along his palms.

It had been years since he had held a staff like this. Eyes closing, breathing deep and slow, building up speed and momentum, Zevran whipped into a back flip. Feet impacted the ground, rolling from heel to toe, absorbing the shock, the Crow twisted to the side and into a side flip, legs spinning so that if there had been an opponent there they would have received one foot after another. Stabbing the air with the end of the staff, then slicing back and forth, he was satisfied that this seemingly simple overlarge stick would do as a practice weapon.

Barely even warmed up, Zevran stopped. "There is no such thing as a suitable mage's staff. They are all unwieldy, and do not function as much of anything other than some clunky and gaudy, sparkle covered thing that wastes space."

"And so what would you do? They are not fighters fen'assan, and do not bear arms," he argued, shaking his head at what Zevran supposed he saw as a foolish, city-corrupted elf.

"What I shall do, valued elder, is make her a weapon." He set the willow staff aside, sorting through some of the other base materials. "She may not always be able to rely upon spellwork, and must be prepared for many types of situation. Surely you can see the wisdom in this?"

Varathorn shrugged, clearly uncaring but willing to humor the Antivan. "She is your asha. What I see as wise is not my my place to say." The elf sighed in exasperation. "Truly if you wish to make her a weapon of a staff, there is only one sort of wood with good flexibility and strength. Are you going to teach her what you were just doing?"

Zevran grunted. "But of course. What else would I be teaching her?"

"As you say then." Going across the worksite, he went to a chest and unlocked it. A long bundle was pulled out, which Zevran was presented with. "Ironbark. I can fashion it into a staff for her."

Pulling a flap of the leather back, he countered, "No, I will make it."

Varathorn sucked in a sharp breath of shock – it was rude, Zevran knew, to refuse such a skilled artisan's efforts, but in this case the Dalish would not truly understand what he intended to do with the wood. "And do you have the knack at all?"

Humorlessly, Zevran smiled, pulling out a long branch that he could warp and work to his needs. "In Arainai's clan, each of us had to learn three skills. I was proficient at two of the three skills I focused on. Hunting and woodwork. Worry not, I won't be wasting this resource."

Gathering what he would need, Zevran set to drawing where he would carve channels into the staff. Near the middle of the long piece of wood, he drew a starburst that wrapped around, the points of the star trailing into winding ivy and the shape of moondrop flowers. Then selecting a pointed gouging chisel from the tools he had nicked from Varathorn's supply, he went over the black designs, chipping out just the outlines.

Varathorn checked his progress from where he was working on a chainmail vest. "That is a very fine design you have there."

Keeping his eyes locked on his work, he kept the staff solidly braced between his knee and thigh. "Thank you lethallin. I shall be inlaying metal into it after I have the base chipped out, and will need some sort of wire and sheet to use as inlay." Pausing for a moment, he wiped away the wood chips. "I have some silverite from a broken set of armor that could be melted down; do you have the set up to do such a thing?"

The old man measured him thoughtfully. "You truly are aware of the difficulty of working with these materials?"

"I am not a fine craftsman, no," he admitted, "but I can make something like this. A staff is not so difficult of a weapon to make, and as my apprentice level test, I made several for my clan."

"Only an apprentice?" Seeming surprised, the Dalish's brows rose high on his forehead, as he began taking out crucibles and stoking a strong fire in his kiln.

Chuckling, Zevran replied, "Ah, I was too young and rambunctious to have the patience required to attain more levels than that." Also I did not stay with Arainai's clan long enough to, which he left unsaid. "I was much more suited to the life of ranger, which I was fortunate that my aunt was the clan's master ranger, so I had some bias towards those skills."

Varathorn rolled out a barrel of some pungent liquid. "Hmm... May I make a recommendation then? After you are done with the designs, soak the staff in this. You and I shall work at melting the metal for the inlay, and tomorrow, bury your Bonded's staff in coals so it will harden."

Blinking rapidly for a moment, Zevran frowned, then nodded. "I had not thought of that."

The old Dalish chortled, reaching out for tongs and heavy gloves. "For the time being then, I shall further your education in crafting. Perhaps we can learn a bit from each other?"

Nodding, he fell into the easy mode of rapt pupil, as he so often had in the past. "That would be absolutely marvelous, and a privilege."

Together the two men set to work, and Zevran found a moment's peace. It had been many years since he was last able to relax into learning, absorbing information and minutia at a pace that was probably startling to the Dalish. Then again, the way the Crow had grown up had forced him to be able to take in everything at once, sort it quickly into ordered lines in his mind, and gain the maximum benefit of any time spent learning a task. It was a matter of pure survival in the Guild, and Zevran was absolutely nothing if not a survivor.

It was what he excelled at most in life.

Surviving.

But what is living?

It was a question that would haunt him for a long time.

XXX

Da'len, E - little one
Lethallin, E - cousin
Perfecto, S - perfect/good
Preciosa, S - precious
Da'mi, E - little blade
Puta, S - Bitch/whore
El'dirthera, E - Our speaker/storyteller
Hahren, E - elder
comemierda hija de puta, S - aprox: shit eating daughter of a whore/bitch (implied: you shit eating motherfucker)
Mierda, S - Shit
Ar tu'abelas, E - I have caused sorrow/I am the cause of sorrow
Hamin - peace
Como desees, guapa, S - as you wish, good looking (f)
fen'assan - wolf arrow
asha - woman

Reviews are always welcome, they make my world go 'round and 'round and 'round and 'round until I'm a spiny dizzy happy mess!